Quill came in behind her and carefully closed the door. "What the heck do you suppose that's all about?"
"I wouldn't trust Verger Taylor as far as I could throw a forty-gallon stock pot. So whatever it is, it's trouble."
"Maybe we should cancel." Quill walked into her bathroom, draped the wet towel over the heated towel rack, and turned on the shower.
Meg trailed after her. "Pass up a chance for a meal at Taboo? It was on my list of things to do this week anyway. If the food's lousy, I can complain and feel superior. If it's great, I can learn something."
"You're looking too disingenuous for my taste, Meg. There are limits to what I'm willing to do to save this week for you. Striking a bargain with Verge the Scourge and his offspring is not among them."
"Just don't worry about it, okay? What are you going to wear?"
"Something matronly. I think that kid's got ideas."
"You're out of your tiny mind. He's ten years younger than you are and six years younger than I am - " Meg stopped in midsentence. "Which isn't all that much younger, come to think of it. Come on, Quill. Seduction as the price of getting my food in front of that judge from L 'Aperitif? Phooey."
"I," Meg said, firmly removing Corrigan Taylor's hand from her knee, "am engaged to be married. So cut it out." She cocked her head and observed him through half-closed eyes. "How old are you, anyway, kid?"
There was a brief silence - awkward on Corrigan's part, deliberate on Meg's. "So," said Meg, after a sufficiently embarrassing period of time. "What is it that your father wants us to do?"
"It's nothing much," Evan said. "Just two small favors. One for me and one for him. Let's talk about it after dinner, okay? We should enjoy the atmosphere here. Relax."
Meg snorted, sipped her Chardonnay, and said with a grimace, "Australian. Too young."
Quill took a sip of wine. She was ill at ease and wasn't sure why. It wasn't Taboo, which was pleasantly reminiscent of some of her favorite restaurants in New York. It was long and narrow, broken into a series of rooms by artfully placed dividers. Smoky mirrors lined the walls to give the illusion of greater space. The prevailing feel was one of chintz, masses of flowers, and carefully courteous service. Nor was it Meg's rudeness to Corrigan Taylor, who was wearing a striped blue shirt, blue blazer, white chinos, Gucci loafers without socks, and a blush. She was used to Meg. She was willing to bet that a lot of people who got involved with Verger Taylor and his crazy machinations felt ill at ease most of the time.
"Is your wine all right?" Evan Taylor slouched comfortably in the chair directly across from her. The maitress d' had greeted him with democratic familiarity when they'd come in. They'd been seated immediately, passing a long line of waiting customers.
"It's delicious." Quill set the glass on the table. It was the house red, a cabernet, and it was very good. Meg had been clear about wanting to sample Taboo's commercial menu, and not any private stock. "I'm a little uncomfortable because I'm not sure why Meg and I are here. And I dislike being put into a position where we may be pressured to do something contrary to the way we work. Your stepmother hired us, you know. We're here in Florida because she's paid for it. And it's pretty obvious that the family doesn't get along all that well with her."
"So your loyalties are divided." Quill hadn't actually heard a sneer for a long time. She heard it now. "Quite the little Girl Scout."
Quill felt foolish. Her temper rose. "Loyalty isn't an issue. We have a professional obligation to fulfill and it's to your stepmother, not to you or your father. What is it exactly that you wanted to discuss?"
"I really would like to wait until after dinner. Just because it'll give you a chance to cool down. But I can tell you this now. You know that Dad's bought the Institute building."
Quill nodded. "Well, he didn't buy the Institute itself."
"You mean the training program, the staff, the Institute name?"
"That's right."
"What does he want the building for, then? It's not much use to him if it isn't a cooking school. All those kitchens."
"We'll get to that." Smiling, disingenuous, Evan kept his eyes on hers.
The waiter, hovering, distributed menus. Quill opened hers with a slight frown and asked for the first entree she saw: the Taboo steak salad. Meg, after demanding separate checks, ordered two starters, a salad, and two entrees for herself, and the same number of items for Corrigan, who blushed more brightly than ever. She then asked to see the kitchens and marched off, Corrigan in tow.
"She's not going to eat all that?" Evan asked, startled. "They'll make half portions for her."
"She wants to see the presentation," Quill said. "And she's shameless about eating off of other people's plates. I'm just glad I escaped this time. Your poor brother's in for it, though." She looked directly at him. "Tell me. I'm getting very confused. Just why did your father go the trouble - and expense, because I'm sure a building in that location cost a ton of money - of buying that property? What does your father intend to do with it?"
Evan ignored this question. He had lost his careless slouch and was sitting upright, in apparent distress. "Forget the separate checks. I'm paying for dinner."
"If you insist on paying, Meg'll walk out," Quill said. "It's a point of honor with her to pay for meals at competitors' restaurants. Then she's free to criticize. I'd let her alone if I were you."
"This is nuts." He shifted in his chair, cleared his throat, and made an effort to hang on to his sophistication. "I mean - we invited you to dinner." He smiled, weakly, without his former confidence.
Quill felt some remorse. He was, after all, pretty young to be taking on business negotiations on behalf of his notorious father, and she supposed that she and Meg together could be a little intimidating. She laughed a little. "It's Meg's career, you know."
"She takes it pretty seriously."
"Of course she does." Quill swung back to the matter at hand. "So. You were about to tell me what Verger wants to do with this building. Is he going to try and buy the Institute programs? Hire the staff? Make it the Taylor Institute of the Culinary Arts?"
"Not exactly."
"Turn that gorgeous space into condos," Quill improvised, "or a garage, or a recycling center, or Taylor's Tire Kingdom? Have you noticed how imperial every- body gets in Florida? Tire Kingdom, Mattress Kingdom. And if they don't get imperial, they get galactic: Video World, Bath World, CD-Universe..." Quill, aware that she was babbling, pushed the wineglass to the center of the table. "What is it about Florida, anyway?"
"You don't want to paint scenes from the beach, then," Evan said.
"That wasn't a question." Quill was surprised. "No. I don't. My sister asked me the same thing. Why would you, of all..." Quill bit off her words. There was some- thing about Evan-about his whole family - that inspired her to insult. She folded and refolded her napkin, feeling off center. Just how clever was Evan Taylor?
"Why would somebody like me have the sensitivity to understand why an artist of your caliber hates the state? Is that what you were about to say?"
"You can't hate a whole state," Quill said absently. Myles had said that. She missed him. "And I've been rude. I'm sorry."