“He looks like a very proper old gentleman. He doesn't seem to be worried about a strange man in your room,” John commented with amusement. He really was a funny old dog, and he started snoring loudly again as they stood there. He had his head on her pillow, and a favorite toy next to him.
“He knows he's the master of the house. He has nothing to worry about, and he knows it. This is his kingdom, and I'm his slave.”
“Lucky guy.” John smiled at her and glanced around the room. There were a few silver-framed photographs of Fiona with assorted celebrities and political figures, a few famous actors, two presidents, and one she pointed out to John as a particular favorite, of herself and Jackie Kennedy when she first started at Chic. And in spite of the simple decor, there was something elegant and feminine about her room. There was a subtle but unmistakable style to it, and it was instantly obvious that no man lived there. She had never shared the house with anyone except Sir Winston. “I like your house, Fiona. It's cozy and comfortable and elegant, informal and yet stylish, just like you. I can see you everywhere.”
“I love it,” she said as they left her bedroom, and went back downstairs to the guests. Her tiny office had red lacquer walls and Louis XV chairs upholstered in real zebra skins. And there was a handsome zebra rug on the floor. And a small portrait of her by a famous artist on the wall. There was nothing male about a single corner of the house. As they got back downstairs, Adrian stood watching them, and smiled. He was wearing a white T-shirt and white jeans, and red alligator sandals Manolo Blahnik had made for him in a size fourteen.
“Did she give you a tour?” Adrian asked with interest.
“I introduced him to Sir Winston,” Fiona explained, as Jamal announced dinner with a little Tibetan gong that had a pretty sound and reminded everyone to eat. Everything about Fiona and her surroundings was exotic, from her half-naked Pakistani house man to her friends, and in some ways even her house and dog, although they were slightly more traditional, but not much. There was very little traditional about her, or predictable, and she liked it that way. But so did John. He had come to realize in a matter of days that she was the most exciting woman he had ever met in his life. He thought she had more style than he had ever seen wrapped up in one human being. And Adrian would have agreed with him, most people did.
“What did he think?” Adrian asked seriously, as John listened to their exchange with amusement. He liked her editor friend as well. He looked a little eccentric and creative, but he could tell from speaking to him that Adrian was an exceptionally intelligent and interesting man, despite his slightly flamboyant taste in shoes.
“He thought he was adorable, of course,” Fiona filled in for him, with a smile at John.
“Not John. Of course he thought Sir Winston was adorable. He's not going to tell you he thinks he's a spoiled, smelly old dog, no matter what he really thinks. I meant, what did Sir Winston think? Did he approve?”
“I don't think he was impressed,” John chimed in with a grin. “He slept through the entire interview. Very loudly!”
“That's a good sign,” Adrian said with a smile at both of them, and then moved away toward the food. There were four different kinds of pasta in gigantic terra-cotta bowls, three kinds of salad, and the garlic bread smelled fabulous. There was hardly any of the pungent bread left by the time Fiona and John got to the table Jamal had set up in the garden, and the gardenias Jamal had decorated the table with sent off a heady romantic scent, as John picked up one of them and tucked it into her braid.
“Thank you for inviting me. I love being here.” He felt as though he had entered a magic world that night, and he had. Fiona's world. He saw her as the magic princess at the center of it, weaving her spell on them all. He could feel the essence of her seeping into his pores, at the same time weakening him and giving him strength. His head was nearly spinning at the excitement of her, and in spite of herself, she was beginning to feel the same way about him. She didn't really want to, but she was beginning to feel an irresistible pull toward him. They shared a small iron bench as they ate dinner, and chatted quietly, as Adrian watched with interest from the living room. He knew her well, and could see that Fiona was definitely smitten, but so was John. He looked totally bowled over by her, but who wouldn't be, Adrian commented to a photographer who had noticed it too, and said they made a handsome though unlikely pair. They both knew that Fiona hadn't been involved with anyone in nearly two years, and if this was what she wanted, they were glad for her. She hadn't said anything to Adrian yet, but he knew she would before long, if there was anything to it. He had a feeling they were going to be seeing a lot of John Anderson, and he hoped so for Fiona's sake, if that was what and whom she wanted, for however long. They both knew that forever after wasn't in her plans. But a year or two would suit her fine.
Adrian always thought it was unfortunate that she was alone, although she claimed that she preferred it that way. He never quite believed her, and suspected she was lonely at times, which explained her excessive attachment to her ridiculous old dog. In truth, when she came home at night, Fiona had no one else. Except Jamal. She gave great parties and had interesting friends, some of whom were devoted to her. But she had no one to share her life with, and Adrian always thought it was a waste of a great woman that she had never found a man who was right for her. He found himself hoping, in a melancholy sentimental way, that John would turn out to be the one for her.
John was one of the last guests to leave, but he didn't think it appropriate to be the very last one. It was nearly one in the morning when he thanked her for the evening, and kissed her cheek.
“I had a wonderful time, Fiona. Thank you for inviting me. Please pay my respects to Sir Winston. I'd go upstairs, but I don't want to disturb him. Tell him I send my best and thank him for his hospitality,” he said, as he held her hand lightly on the way out, and she smiled at him. She had a tender spot for him because he understood how important the dog was to her. Most people thought he was a silly old beast, as Adrian did, but he meant the world to her. Sir Winston was all she had in a sentimental sense, and because of that he was even more precious to her.
“I'll be sure to tell him,” Fiona said solemnly, and John kissed her lightly on the cheek again as he left.
He could smell the gardenia that he had put in her hair this time. It had a breathtaking effect mixed with her perfume, but everything about Fiona seemed breathtaking to him, and he hated to leave. It was like leaving Brigadoon, and he wondered if he'd ever see her again once he crossed the bridge back to the real world. The only world that seemed real to him now was hers, and it was the only one he wanted.
“I'll call you tomorrow,” he whispered, so no one else would hear. She nodded and smiled and went back to her other guests, still smiling at the thought of him. But she was still of two minds about him, both attracted to him and afraid at the same time. And in the end, as always, Adrian was the last to leave, and he couldn't resist teasing her about John.
“You're falling hard, Miss Monaghan. Like a ton of bricks, I'd say. But for once, I approve. He's respectable, intelligent, responsible, employed, nice, good-looking, and head over heels in love with you, or he will be soon. He's well on his way.” But Adrian was pleased for her, and he approved wholeheartedly.
“No, he's not. We don't even know each other. We just met last week.” She tried to sound more sensible than she was feeling. But she didn't want Adrian to know how much she liked John. Who knew where it would go? Probably nowhere, she told herself, trying to remain cool about it.