I was hoping Hector wouldn't answer, and he didn't. But when Theo said, "Hello?" her voice had the tone of sackcloth and ashes.
"Archy," I said. "Good lord, you sound low. Anything wrong?"
"A slight disagreement with daddy," she said, "and I'm still seething. But I'll recover. I always do. Archy, I'm so happy you called. I was beginning to think you had forgotten all about me."
"Fat chance," I said. "Theo, how are you, other than suffering from the megrims."
"What are megrims?"
"Low spirits."
"I'm suffering," she admitted. "Cheer me up."
"How about this: I drop by around noonish and we drive down the coast. It's a super day and it would be a shame to waste it. We'll have lunch outside at the Ocean Grand and talk of many things."
"Of shoes-and ships-and sealing wax-" she said.
"Of cabbages-and kings-" I said.
"And why the sea is boiling hot-" she said.
"And whether pigs have wings," I finished, and she laughed delightedly.
"The only poetry I know," she said. "Thank you, Archy; I feel better already. Yes, I accept your kind invitation."
"Splendid. See you at twelve."
I went back upstairs to take off jeans and T-shirt, shower, and don something more suitable for luncheon at the Ocean Grand with a smashing young miss. I settled on a jacket of plummy silk with trousers of taupe gabardine, and a shirt of faded blue chambray. Casual elegance was the goal, of course, and I believe I achieved it.
Then I set out for my luncheon date with Madam X. A duplicitous plot was beginning to take form in that wok I call my brain, and if all went well I intended to start the stir-fry that scintillant afternoon.
I had imagined Theo would wear something bright and summery, but that woman had a talent for surprise. She wore a pantsuit of black linen. No blouse. Her hair was drawn back and tied with a bow of rosy velvet. Very fetching, and I told her so.
"No bra," she said.
"I happened to notice," I said.
She laughed. "Chauncey never would. And if he did, he'd be shocked."
"Surely he's not that much of a prig."
"You have no idea."
Her obvious scorn of her fiance discomfitted me. She could think those things, but wasn't it rather crass to speak of them to others? As I soon learned, she was in a sharp, almost shrewish mood that day.
For instance, as we drove southward along the corniche I remarked, "I had the pleasure of meeting your father's business associate, Reuben Hagler, the other day."
"Rube?" she said offhandedly. "He's a boozer."
It wasn't her judgment that startled me so much as her use of the sobriquet "boozer." She might have said, "He drinks a little too much," but she chose the coarse epithet. It was not the first time I had noticed her fondness for vulgarisms. I hoped, for her sake, that her speech was more ladylike in the presence of Mrs. Gertrude Smythe-Hersforth. That very proper matron, I suspected, would be tempted to put trousers on the legs of a grand piano.
And not only did Theo seem in a perverse humor that afternoon but she made no effort to conceal her lack of restraint.
"You were right," she said. "It's a super day. Why don't we just keep driving."
"Where to?"
"Oh, I don't know. Miami. The Keys. Check into some fleabag hotel for the weekend."
"Theo, I don't think that would be wise. Do you?"
"I guess not," she said. "Just dreaming."
But I knew that if I kept driving and found a hotel that accepted guests without luggage, she would have happily acquiesced. Her unruliness was daunting.
We arrived at the Ocean Grand and she was suitably impressed by the elegant marbled interior.
"This is what it's all about, isn't it?" she commented.
"You've lost me," I said. "All about what?"
"You know, Archy. Money. Comfort. People to serve you. No problems. The lush life."
There was such fierce desire in her voice that I didn't even attempt a reply. She had a vision and it would have been brutal to explain that what she sought was a chimera. She wouldn't have believed me anyway.
We dined on the terrace of the bistro, overlooking the swimming pool. And beyond was a larger pooclass="underline" the Atlantic Ocean. I suppose that setting and that luncheon came close to matching Theo's ideal. The omelettes were succulent, the salad subtly tartish, the glasses of chilled chenin blanc just right. And while we lived "the lush life," I initiated my intrigue.
"Theo," I said earnestly, "I have a problem I hope you'll be able to help me with."
"Oh?" she said. "What is it?"
"First of all I want you to know that I have no desire whatsoever to intrude on your personal affairs. Whatever you do or whatever you plan is no business of mine, and I don't want you to think I'm a meddler. But willy-nilly I've been handed a decision to make that concerns you."
That caught her. She paused in the process of dredging a slice of smoked salmon from her omelette.
"Archy," she said, "what is it?"
"Well, Chauncey and I are really not close friends. Not buddy-buddy, you know, but more like casual acquaintances. However, on occasion he asks my advice on legal matters. I have tried to convince him that I am an ersatz lawyer-no license to practice:-and he'd do better to consult my father, who not only has the education and experience but is the attorney of record for the Smythe-Hersforth family. But I think Chauncey is somewhat frightened of my father."
"Chauncey is frightened of many things," she said coldly.
"That may be, but I must admit Prescott McNally can be overwhelming at times. He is a stringent man of high principles. Unbending, one might say. Chauncey prefers to discuss his problems with me."
"And am I one of Chauncey's problems?"
I waved that away. "Of course not. Not you personally. Chauncey declares he is deeply in love with you and I believe him. He wants very much to marry you. What he is concerned about is the prenuptial agreement you have requested."
"Oh," she said. "That."
"Theo, I definitely approve of what you're doing to ensure your future, although I do think five million is a wee bit high."
"He can afford it," she said stonily.
"Perhaps not now," I said. "I don't think his present net worth could accommodate it. But he'd certainly be capable of a five-million settlement after he inherits."
"Yes," she said, "that's what I figured."
A cool one, our Madam X!
"But that's Chauncey's quandary, don't you see," I said. "I must tell you that Mrs. Smythe-Hersforth is not wildly enthusiastic about her son marrying. Not just to you but to any woman. You know what dominant mothers are like."
"Do I ever!"
"So if Chauncey tells her about the prenup, she may change her will and pull the plug on his inheritance."
"Can she do that, Archy? He's her only child, you know."
"True, and though I'm not too familiar with Florida inheritance law, I reckon Chauncey would be legally entitled to a certain percentage of her estate. I mean I doubt she could totally disinherit him. And if she tried, he could certainly contest the will. But what if she becomes so angered she decides to diminish her estate while she's still alive? Spend all her millions on a program for spaying cats, for instance. I'm jesting, of course, but it's her money and if she wants to give it all away, or most of it, to worthwhile charities while she's living, she's completely within her legal rights."
Theo took a gulp from her wine glass. "Jesus!" she said. "We hadn't thought of that."
Did you catch that "We"? I did.
She gave me what I believe she thought was a brave smile, but it looked rather tremulous to me.