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“Look for the biggest crowd of men,” Maggie said wryly, “and Sybil’s in the middle of it.”
At that moment, Sybil Bennett caught sight of her oldest, tallest daughter, and her wonderfully husky voice, still with an enchanting trace of British accent, cut across the hubbub. “Maggie, darling!” she cried, and the hordes of young and not-so-young men parted like the Red Sea, leaving a narrow path between Maggie and her mother.
A wry smile lit her face as she surveyed her mother for the first time in almost six months. Sybil Bennett looked as glorious as ever, decades younger than her fifty-four years. Her perfect heart-shaped face was unlined, her raven hair was cleverly unmarred by nasty gray hairs, and her petite, lush figure was perfectly maintained. The famous aquamarine eyes looked up at her daughter’s matching ones, and a beatific smile made the angelic face even more beautiful. “Maggie, darling,” she said again, holding out her silk clad arms, “come to me!”
Ever the actress, Maggie thought, dutifully obeying her mother and crossing the crowded room. Everyone’s eyes were on her. Sybil knew how to set a scene to her best advantage, and Maggie’d learned long ago not to mind. Kate was a different matter. She stood on the sidelines, watching with a troubled expression on her face, then joined Sybil and Maggie.
“Sweetheart.” Sybil enfolded her into her scented arms. With a wave of her hand she dismissed her admirers, and they faded away reluctantly, leaving the three Bennett women alone in the crowd. Sybil drew back and surveyed her eldest daughter with a critical eye. “You’re too tired, Maggie. And that dress is an abomination.”
“Thanks,” Kate muttered.
“Is it yours, darling?” Sybil was instantly all charming contrition. “It probably looks wonderful on you. But Maggie needs something more … dramatic, more je ne sais quoi to go with her spectacular looks. I would have given anything to be a foot taller,” she added sadly, and Kate groaned.
“I think five feet one of Sybil Bennett is about all the world can take,” she said, and Sybil flashed her a brilliant smile.
“Do you think so, darling? You’re probably right. I can be a bit overwhelming. Speaking of overwhelming, Maggie dear, who is that magnificent man lurking behind you?”
Maggie couldn’t squash the laughter that bubbled forth at the thought of Randall lurking. She should have known he wouldn’t take his dismissal lightly. “Randall Carter, Sybil Bennett,” she said.
Sybil’s face lit up. “So you’re Randall Carter.”
“What the hell do you mean by that, Mother?” Maggie demanded, her tolerant good humor vanishing.
“By what?” Sybil said, taking Randall’s hand and gazing up at him soulfully. At least Randall didn’t appear to be taken in by her. He was smiling down at her. The cynical expression in his eyes showed that he saw straight through Sybil’s well-executed artifice.
“How did you hear about Randall?” she pursued, and Randall turned his attention back from her mother, his smile broadening.
“Oh, one hears things,” Sybil said innocently. Maggie wasn’t fooled for a moment, but now wasn’t the time to try to pin her butterfly of a mother down. “Can we leave this depressing party? I’ve always found cocktail parties loathsome.”
“Then why do you go to so many?” Kate demanded.
“They’re a necessary evil, darling. Let’s go pick up Chrissie and go back to my hotel. Queenie can’t wait to see her—she’s waited so long to be a grandmother.”
“Sybil, you’re the grandmother, not Queenie,” Maggie corrected her, before Kate could explode.
Sybil shrugged her pretty shoulders. “Do I look like a grandmother?” she questioned soulfully. “We all know Queenie’s been a better mother to you girls than I ever was. I’m sure she’ll be a better grandmother, too.” She battered her luxuriant eyelashes up at Randall. “I’m hopelessly impractical,” she cooed, and Maggie saw Kate’s hands clench into fists. “Why don’t you come with us, Randall? We’re going to have a late supper in my suite. Alicia and that charming young giant have promised to join us, and you’d be an admirable addition.”
“Charming young giant?” Kate echoed in dismay.
“The one with the wonderful Scots name. Caleb McAllister, wasn’t it?” She smiled her bewitching smile, and Kate met it stonily. “We’ll have iced champagne and cold salads, and we’ll figure a way out of this mess.” She leaned closer to her unappreciative younger daughter and said in a loud stage whisper that carried to Maggie’s waiting ears, “You can take a shower at my place, Kate dearest. I imagine you haven’t wanted to use your own recently.”
“Mother!” Kate moaned, sounding adolescent. “Please! Can’t you be discreet?” She cast a nervous look at Randall.
“I was whispering,” Sybil said, much aggrieved. “Anyway, discretion was never one of my strong points. You’ll join us, Randall?”
“Randall’s got a lot of things going on,” Maggie said hurriedly.
“None of which would interfere with me joining you for supper,” he continued smoothly. “What time would you like us?”
“Us?” Sybil raised an eyebrow.
“Maggie and I have a little business to take care of first.”
“I don’t think—” His hand clamped around Maggie’s elbow, with just enough pressure to warn her. “I don’t think it’ll take too long,” she continued smoothly. “We’ll meet you back at the Mandrake.”
Sybil’s eyebrow rose higher still. “Of course, darling. Kate and I have a lot to catch up on. Come along, Kate.” Her imperious wave was greeted with a stony look from her second daughter.
“Don’t take long,” Kate muttered as Sybil drifted away, and she followed in her mother’s footsteps.
