The Balloon Man Read Online Free PDF Page A

cake was duly cut, the bride and groom smiled beautiful smiles at each other, the music started. The tiny girl who had
     seemed such an incongruous bride for big, redheaded Mike Rivkin handed her bouquet to the nearest bridesmaid and came floating
     across the dance floor, her arms outstretched to her husband. Everybody else stoodaside and let them stay in their private wonderland until the first dance was over. Then Mike dutifully steered his grandmother
     onto the dance floor, and Tracy danced with her father-in-law. Ira tried not to keep picking her up off the floor, but it
     was hard when he was so much taller than she. They laughed their way through a swoony waltz. Everybody seemed to be having
     a wonderful time, Max thought. Everybody except him.
    Jesse seemed to be dividing his time with scrupulous fairness between the bridesmaids and the remains of the buffet, but he
     managed to cover quite a distance in his seemingly aimless wanderings. He caught Max's eye, shook his head, and went on wandering.
    Max knew he ought to be out on the dance floor doing his duty by various female relatives and maybe even getting a chance
     to trip the light fantastic with his wife, but he didn't want to go far from the house. He'd been watching the door, thus
     far to no avail.
    Percy Kelling wasn't dancing, either. Max would have avoided him if he could, since Percy was not one of his favorite Kellings,
     but Anne's husband seemed to be in an unusually affable mood. He nodded regally at Max.
    “Quite a little charmer,” he remarked, indicating the radiant bride, who was now waltzing with Brooks Kelling while the latter's
     wife looked on with a smile. “Elfin, one might say. Who is she? Was she, rather.”
    “The name is, or was, Pilcher,” Max said absently.
    “Not one of the Warty Pickles Pilchers?”
    “Yes. Her father is the CEO of the company. Do you know them?” Percy had Max's full attention now.
    “The old man's not one of my clients,” Percy said, his tone suggesting he wasn't sorry. “I know of him, of course. Everyone
     has heard of old Warty Pilcher. Not here, is he? I thought not. Probably off at some ungodly expensive Shangri-la with his
     fifth or sixth or seventh incipient disappointment in the matrimonial line.”
    He dismissed the Pilchers with an aristocratic Kelling sniff. “I must say, Max, you've done a good job here.”
    Max started. “What?”
    “With the property, I mean. I and some of the others were distressed when you tore the old house down, but I must admit it
     was a monstrosity, with a total lack of creature comforts such as stoves that warmed, plumbing that worked, and roofing that
     didn't leak through in fifty different places.”
    “I'm glad you approve,” Max said.
    “Mmm, yes. In fact, the only thing going for the place was the view.”
    “That's still here.” It was, and it was magnificent, miles of ocean beating off the cliff and chasing itself back to Portugal.
     The new house that Sarah and Max had planned between them was as different from the old wreck as was possible, modern and
     convenient and beautifully designed. Some of the Kellings, including Percy, had raised Cain when the old house was demolished,
     even though it was none of their business, but that was the Kellings for you.Max hadn't regretted their decision, and he hoped Sarah hadn't. Not only was the old house inconvenient, it held memories
     he wanted his wife to forget. Memories of her unhappy marriage to her fond, handsome, elderly cousin, memories of the vicious
     old woman who had owned the ruby parure.
    Max groaned. How had the damned rubies got there, and why, and by whom, and what the hell was it all about? How would Sarah
     take the news that they had reappeared? How much longer was this wonderful wedding going to go on?

4
    Max Bittersohn could hardly believe what he was seeing. Jeremy Kelling, beau ideal of Beacon Hill and environs, had shown
     up around noontime, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,