The Body in the Boudoir Read Online Free PDF Page A

choosing between a spirited-looking white horse drawing a black carriage and the reverse. Tom helped her into the first and after firmly rejecting the blanket that had covered God knows how many knees, Faith settled back against the admittedly comfortable arm of her escort and decided to relax and enjoy the ride.
    The park was beautiful. Even more so as the carriage wended its slow way across town, past the lights of Tavern on the Green. The clip-clop of the horse’s hooves was the only sound Faith could hear. She found herself resting her head on Tom’s shoulder. The driver was blessedly silent, and miraculously, she could even see stars above despite the city’s notorious light pollution.
    â€œThank you,” Tom murmured, his lips lightly touching the top of her head. “I’m sure you must do this all the time, but it’s something I’ve always associated with New York City and had to experience.”
    Faith sat up. She’d heard of a lot of things associated with the city: Broadway shows, skyscrapers, crime, egg creams, but never the horse and carriage. Well, why not? And why had she never succumbed before? The vehicle, with its echoes of a bygone, much slower city, was the perfect way to see the park.
    The ride was over too soon and they stood facing the Plaza Hotel. Even Eloise had to have been in bed by now, Faith thought.
    â€œTired?” Tom asked. He had never taken his arm away.
    â€œWe could still go to Michael’s. It’s not far. Down on Fifty-fifth.”
    They arrived just before the last set. Woody wasn’t there, but Tom declared himself very happy with the place, noting the “Ye Olde” décor as a nice contrast to the Gothic flavor of the wedding locale. Drinks arrived, and Faith led up to the question that had been nagging at her for the last few hours.
    â€œI’ve heard all about the rafts, tree houses, and mischief you and your little buddies made in Norwell, which sounds more like it should have been a town on the Mississippi than the—what was it—North River? And you have an older sister and two younger brothers. The groom was your roommate at Brown and he met his bride your freshman year in a poli sci class. They’re going into the Peace Corps and want to enter the Foreign Service. You played basketball in high school and came to the city with the Model UN club. In return, you’ve quizzed me about virtually everything except my grandmother’s maiden name, and I’m sure that will come, but I still don’t know what you do! How, Mr. Fairchild, do you earn your keep up there in Massachusetts?”
    Tom looked surprised.
    â€œI thought you knew. I was the co-officiant today, or rather, yesterday.”
    â€œCo-officiant? You mean . . . ?”
    â€œYup. Parson, cleric, sky pilot, possibly devil dodger. It hasn’t been Mr. Fairchild for a while, it’s Reverend.”
    Faith had ordered Irish coffee. She took a big swig.
    â€œSo, up there in New England, you have . . . ?”
    â€œA church? Yes. As of last fall, First Parish, Aleford, Massachusetts.”
    Faith was familiar with the historic place. All that 1775 famous-time-and-year stuff. Before Tom continued she had already pictured the scene from countless calendars.
    â€œThe church is one of the oldest in the state. Your basic white clapboard, steeple, and very hard pews facing the green.”
    She was clutching the mug, trying hard to process what he was saying. How could this incredibly attractive, incredibly charming man be everything she had sworn to avoid?
    She gave it one more try.
    â€œBut you’re not wearing a collar.”
    He reached over and took her hand. “I was—robe, too—but I’m allowed to get out of my work clothes for parties, and other things, so I changed.”
    As the music started up with Ellington’s “Take the A Train,” in a spur-of-the-moment decision that she hoped she