"Those two aren't his friends," Tiffany said sulkily. "They're his sons. That's Corrigan" - she jerked her chin in the direction of a slight, blond boy of nineteen or so - "and the other one's Evan. And they're not staying long enough to have a drink."
Evan resembled his father in height-but the paternal genetics stopped there. He was dark, probably in his mid-twenties, and casually elegant. His voice was a pleasant baritone. "Sorry to barge in like this, but Dad has a couple of questions." He clapped his hand on his father's shoulder. "Take five, Dad. We'll get this sorted out. And I think a drink's a good idea."
"Yeah?" Verger's glower darkened.
"I do." Evan smiled at Quill. "We just need to talk a little bit. You're Sarah Quilliam?"
Quill nodded.
"I'm glad to meet you. My brother's glad, too. Aren't you, Cor?"
Corrigan blushed attractively, hunched his shoulders, and nodded.
Evan sighed and shook his head. "Graceless as Dad, bro. Believe it or not, Ms. Quilliam, we're here to talk things over. Like gentlemen. Right, Dad?"
"Sure," said Verger. "What about that drink?"
Evan sat down next to Quill. He smelled like soap and fresh air. "I had a professor at Yale who said that there is nothing in the human condition that is not ultimately compromisable. I've believed that ever since I heard it. There isn't any reason why all of us can't discuss Excelsior sensibly."
His father made a noise like a sneaky, angry dog. "Dad?" Evan's smile was engaging.
"Okay." Verger slouched onto a kitchen stool. "Okay, kid. This is why I brought you along. You wanna negotiate with this little tart? You negotiate."
Tiffany went "huh" in a resigned way.
Evan leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Tif. We've had some good times, haven't we? At the beginning. When you first married Dad."
Tiffany's mouth thinned. "I've been in absolute hell since I signed the damn marriage certificate."
"Tif, that's just not true. Remember that trip we took? On the Seamew? Just the four of us?"
"What I remember is that I was goddamned seasick for two goddamn weeks."
"And remember how Dad took care..."
"I remember shit! I have had enough of this." Her voice rose to a shriek. "And you people here are witnesses to how these guys have harassed me for three years of the most miserable marriage a woman ever went through and are harassing me still." She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and the color receded from her face. She waved her hand at Meg. "Get these people something to drink. Then maybe they'll get out of here."
"What I'm going to get," said Meg, "is a nap. And after the nap, I'm going to get a taxi to the airport. I'm going home. I refuse to get smack in the middle of a family squabble."
Quill stood up. Meg was right. She couldn't imagine anyone less of a victim than Tiffany Taylor. And she couldn't say "nice to have met you all," because it hadn't been.
Tiffany snapped, "Where do you two think you're going?"
Quill forced herself to smile. "I'm sorry, Tiffany. This kind of thing just isn't right for either Meg or me. We were hesitant about it from the start - and honestly, I don't think you'd be happy at how things would turn out if we stayed. We'll pay our own way back to New York."
Verger gave a whoop of triumph. Tiffany's cornflower blue eyes were narrow slits. "The two of you aren't going anywhere. Meg signed a contract. Remember?"
"I didn't sign on for this," Meg said. "This is a circus. And you misrepresented that charity."
"I don't think - no, I don't think that you can afford a lawsuit." Tiffany's voice was sweet.
"Sure, she can," Verger said. "I'll pay for it."
"Fat chance," Meg snapped.
Tiffany shook her head. "Oh, but all that time spent taking depositions and whatnot? She's a cook. And that's what cooks do for a living-cook. And she can't cook if she's in court."
Meg's face went pink. She took a deep breath. Quill braced herself.
Dr. Bittern stood up and said gently, "All this dissension. Please. If everyone would just sit down?" He gestured toward the couches. "Please."
"Good idea, doc." Evan Taylor nodded vigorous approval, followed by Corrigan, who so far hadn't said a word. Verger drew a large cigar from his vest pocket and lit it, grinning unpleasantly.
Dr. Bittern inclined his head toward Quill. "If you would, Ms. Quilliam, I will help you serve some wine. And we will all take a moment to calm ourselves."
Verger spat tobacco leaf on the floor.
In the midst of a charged silence, Quill took a bottle of Pouilly Fuisse and the wine cooler from the refrigerator. Dr. Bittern set wineglasses on a tray. He uncorked the bottle, set it on the tray, and carried it back to the living room. He set the tray on the coffee table, poured six glasses, upended the empty bottle in the cooler, and passed the glasses around. Meg refused with a curt shake of her head.
"There," he said. "We are set. Now." He sat down primly next to Tiffany. "What seems to be the chief trouble here? We will sort it out. You, Maitre Quilliam, thought that perhaps you would combine a nice vacation with some charitable work? And you, Quill, loyal to your sister, have accompanied her. You, Mr. Taylor, are afraid that this charitable work will in some way embarrass you?"
"Damn straight," Verger grunted. "Look at this damn thing." He waved the crumpled newspaper at them. "You know what this goddamn headline says? "Spurned Wife's Last Laugh!" This charity's a joke. Lemme tell you right here. Right now. Nobody laughs at me. Nobody."
"People have laughed at you for years, Verger," said Tiffany. "Years."
"We will not pursue this," Dr. Bittern said firmly. "What we will pursue is calm. Life is a journey. For those who are depressed, who are unenlightened, it is a downward journey. But for those whose eyes are on the stars..."
"Bullshit. My eye's on what's going on right in front of my nose." His gaze rested on his ex-wife. "You still going through with this?"
"You'll see who my friends are, Verger. You'll see. Everyone's coming this week. Simply everyone. You can't bully me anymore, Verger."
"Right. I wouldn't count on it, if I were you." Verger tossed his cigar in the sink. "Evan, Corrigan. We're going."
Evan shrugged, smiled at Quill, and joined his brother and father. Verger went to the French door, opened it, and turned back to confront them. His eyes reflected red in the light of the lamps. "I stopped by to tell you, Tiffany, that this shit's gotta stop, and Evan thought he could goddamn reason with you and look what happened. So listen up. I see one more newspaper article about your goddamn therapy club, I'm taking this condo, the Palm Beach house, the Westchester house, and I'm gonna goddamn burn them down. You got that?"
"You wouldn't dare. You wouldn't dare."
His teeth flashed white. "Try me, sweetie. Just try me." He swiveled heavily on his feet. "And as for you two. Quilliam, isn't it? I've checked out that cute little place you've got in New York. There's a nice fat mortgage on it - what was the balance, Evan?"
"Dad, I really don't think..."
Verger snapped his fingers. "Three-hundred-fifty-three thousand," said Corrigan.