McNally's Folly Read Online Free PDF Page B

shoulder to lean upon. Could it be that she loved the guy? Indeed, it could very well be.
    Vance was eyeing Fitz in the manner of a dog on a short leash who had just spotted a fire hydrant.
    Arnold Turnbolt was saying, “A gypsy in West Palm read my tea leaves a few months back and told me a beautiful woman would soon end my bachelor days. I said, ‘Honey, if that’s the best you can do you should seriously consider a career change.’ ”
    “Oh, Arnold,” Mrs. Fairhurst chided. “I’m going to ask Mr. Ouspenskaya if my daughter, who’s in the family way again, is going to have a boy or a girl.” Emily Fairhurst had not been a great beauty, but this was more than made up for by a charisma that was as enchanting as it was infectious. Like many great ladies, Emily was equally at home in the back seat of her Rolls or at the wheel of her station wagon.
    “That would give him one chance in two of being right, Mrs. Fairhurst,” I told her. “We have to think of something more difficult for Ouspenskaya and something we can verify immediately, not nine months from now.”
    “Six months, Archy. Sarah is three months along,” Mrs. Fairhurst answered.
    “I would ask her obstetrician,” Vance said, “and I’m sure he’ll charge less than Ouspenskaya. What do you think, Fitz?”
    With a smile that had Vance blinking, Fitz answered, “I’m going to ask him if I should accept an engagement ring from my Ensign suitor, just out of Annapolis, or a dreamboat just out of SMU who’s been drafted by the Dallas Cowboys.”
    “I’ll take your discard,” Arnold called from the bar.
    “Oh, Arnold,” Mrs. Fairhurst scolded.
    When my drink arrived, I managed to corner Fitz. Eyeing me, she said, “You look like a shadow, Archy.”
    “And you look like Fort Knox. So what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?”
    Fitz is a blue-eyed brunette with a creamy complexion. This was affixed to the prototype female form from which the word “nubile” derived its root and, when she looked into your eyes, she made you believe she was actually interested in what you had to say. From Fitz I learned that Mr. Fitzwilliams had passed his flu on to his wife, rendering them both housebound. Fitz was sent to us as a stand-in for her mother.
    “And I’m here as a stand-in for your father. Do you believe in kismet, Fitz?”
    “I believe that Mr. Tremaine is panting after me, Arnie is panting after Mr. Tremaine and Mrs. Tremaine is sorry she got herself into this mess.”
    “Why did she get into this mess? Do you know?”
    “My father—you know he’s on Wall Street—says a European cartel is after the Brightworth chain and Daddy thinks Mrs. Tremaine is trying to contact her father to ask him if she should hold on or let go.”
    “Her father, I take it, has passed over.”
    Fitz nodded. “He’s in hamburger heaven, Archy.”
    You didn’t have to be on Wall Street, or psychic, to know there were big bucks at stake here and I said as much to Fitz.
    “The opening bid is ninety million,” Fitz informed me.
    “Dollars?”
    “We’re not talking enchiladas.”
    Penny was still holding firm to Vance as they chatted with Mrs. Fairhurst and Arnold. Vance kept looking our way and nodding at Fitz each time he caught her eye. This guy did not believe in the inviolable sanctity of the home.
    “This place gives me the creeps,” Fitz complained.
    Looking around the Tremaine drawing room I thought, “One man’s creeps is another man’s crepes.” If Ouspenskaya raised Louis Quatorze, Quinze and Seize, their majesties would think they were back at Versailles waiting for dinner to be announced.
    What was announced was “Mr. Serge Ouspenskaya,” by our Roland with a supercilious air and a stiff upper lip.
    Standing in the doorway was a vision best described as an extra from Passage to India. Shortish, plumpish, white turban, white Nehru jacket, white trousers and white shoes. If his namesake was the character actress Maria