"Are you sure you don't mind?"
"Absolutely. We're just going to have a few friends up to the house and do it here early in the evening. I don't know many people out here, but some of Cara's friends are coming up from San Francisco. In fact, I've been on the phone all morning, making arrangements and inviting people. What are your plans after Rome?"
"We're going to do some more of Europe, then ship the Porsche back and go on east around the world. We're doing Greece, India, Bali, Australia, New Zealand, then home."
"Wonderful! Maybe we can meet you on the West Coast on your way home and you can see the vineyard."
"Maggie would love that, she really would."
"It's a date, then."
"Dad, I can't tell you how happy I am for you, the way things have worked out. I think Cara is a marvelous person, and I'm looking forward to getting to know her better."
"She feels the same about you, and we both feel the same about Maggie."
"Well, I'd better go; our dinner reservation is for right now. Have a wonderful wedding."
"And you two have a wonderful honeymoon."
Sandy hung up and turned to Cara. "Did you get that?"
"They're married?"
"This morning, in Rome."
"Perfect."
The phone rang again, and Sandy picked it up.
"Hello?"
"Sandy?"
"Yes."
"It's Harry Keller."
"How are you, Harry?"
"I'm very well, and so are you."
"Pardon?"
"This morning I received a cashier's check for eighty-five thousand dollars from Peter Martindale's lawyer, along with a signed admission." He read Martindale's statement aloud. "It's running as an ad in the Sunday arts section."
"The wording lets him off kind of easy, doesn't it?"
"Sandy, let him save a little face. When you win everything you want, don't make your opponent eat dirt; it's not good practice."
"You're right, Harry."
"I know I am. Shall I send this check to Sam Warren in New York?"
"Yes, please, and Harry, Cara and I are being married the day after tomorrow. We'd love it if you and your wife could join us here around six. We'll finish pretty early, so you can be back in town at a decent hour."
"Sounds delightful; we'd love to. Oh, by the way, you should ship the picture back to Peter Martindale's gallery."
"Not until after the wedding; I want everybody to see it."
"That'll be fine. We'll see you at the party."
Sandy hung up and told Cara the news.
"This is a pretty good day all 'round, isn't it?" she said.
"Could hardly be better."
The phone rang again.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Kinsolving? This is Simon Teach, how are you?"
"Very well, thanks."
"I'd just like to confirm a couple of reports I have from various sources. I've heard that Peter Martindale has settled your suit, is that correct?"
"He's settled it on our terms," Sandy said.
"For eighty-five thousand and a public admission of guilt?"
"That's correct."
"Good. The other report I have is that you and Mrs…the lady are getting married."
"That's correct, too." What the hell, Sandy thought; why not have a little coverage? "And you're invited. The day after tomorrow at six, at what used to be the Larsen vineyard."
"May I bring my photographer?"
"If we can have copies of her shots."
"I'll arrange it. See you then."
Sandy hung up.
"Who was that?" Cara asked.
"Simon Teach."
"You invited him?"
"Why not? Do you mind?"
"Well, he's a little oily, but I suppose it will be all right."
"We'll get some photographs for our album, anyway. Sweetheart, everything finally seems to be going the way it's supposed to. Isn't it great?"
"What about Peter?"
"What about him? We've just rubbed his nose in it pretty badly. Maybe he's learned not to mess with us."
Cara looked out the window at the view over the vineyard. "I hope you're right," she said.
CHAPTER 50
Simon Teach was not without gall, a characteristic which he regarded as essential to his chosen profession, so he felt no compunction whatever about telephoning Peter Martindale.
"Peter, it's Simon, how are you?"
"You have a nerve calling me, you little weasel, after what you've written about me."
"Dear Peter, if you'd simply reread what I've written you'd see that it could have been much, much worse. Believe me, I have been very kind to you in the paper the past couple of weeks." There was a silence at the other end of the line that encouraged Simon to continue. "By the way, I thought your copy for the ad was brilliant; struck just the right tone."
"Did you?"
"Oh, yes; I don't think this nonsense is going to hurt your business in the least."
"Well, Simon, I do hope you're right. Now, I'm off to L.A., and I have to make an eleven o'clock flight this morning, so what can I do for you?"
"I don't suppose you're attending the nuptials this evening, are you?"
"Simon, please don't be arch; it's unbecoming."
"Sorry, Peter, it's just that my editor has demanded that I ask you for comment on the marriage of Sandy Kinsolving to your former wife."
"Of course, be glad to comment. Got your pencil ready?"
"I'm ready."
"Please note this exactly as I speak it."
"I won't misquote you, Peter."
"Very well, here's my quote."
Simon held the receiver away from his ear, but he could still hear the shouting clearly.
"I wish the happy fucking couple every fucking happiness!!!" Then the voice moderated, "Have you got that, Simon?"
"Yes, Peter, I have it."
"Good, run it without the fuckings, will you?"
"Of course, Peter."
"'Bye. I'm off to L.A. for a couple of days."
"What for, may I ask?"
"I'm lecturing at the Arts Alliance."
"Have a nice trip, Peter."
"Oh, I will, believe you me."
Shortly after 3:00 p.m. Elmer "Shorty" Barnum sat in a beatup leather chair in his tin shed office at Santa Monica Airport and worried. Shorty ran a jack-of-all-trades air service-air taxi, basic and advanced instruction, instrument instruction-whatever anybody wanted, and things were not good. His airport rent was due, he owed his maintenance man twelve hundred bucks, and he was a payment behind on his aircraft loan. What Shorty needed to get out from under was three or four charters that week, and the phone had not been ringing. The phone rang.
"Barnum Flying Service, speak to me."
"Mr. Barnum?"
"Call me Shorty."
"Shorty, my name is Prendergast. I understand you have a very nice Beech Baron with long range tanks for rent, is that correct?"
"Depends on what your logbook looks like, and, of course, a check ride." Funny accent, not quite American; Canadian, maybe?
"No, I want you to fly the airplane."
"Then the answer is yes, I have such an airplane, and it's in top shape."
"Are you available at around eight p.m. this evening for a flight to the San Francisco area and back?"
"Yes sir, I am available."
"What is your charge for such a trip?"
"You coming back tonight?"
"Yes."
"Three-fifty an hour for me and the airplane; fifty bucks an hour for any waiting time."
"I'm paying cash."
"In that case, I can manage three twenty-five an hour, but the waiting time's the same." Shorty held his breath.
"That will be satisfactory."
"Fine. What airport are we going into? I'll need to file a flight plan."
"Why?"
"Let me explain. I normally fly under instrument flight rules-that way, if we run into some cloud we can legally fly through it, and the air traffic controllers will give us radar separation from other aircraft. It's easier than flying under visual flight rules, which is what we'd have to do if I don't file a flight plan."
"Shorty, are you telling me that you're refusing to fly without a flight plan tonight?"
"Well, I guess I can if I have to."