had left me waiting at the altar, so to speak, and he was someone else’s now—not mine.
I heard the water being turned on full blast. Carlotta swept back into my room. She was wearing a long, lime green dressing gown. The color was perfect on her. I’d never been able to wear lime green, not with my dark brown hair and dark eyes. It made me look sallow. Yet it was one of my favorite colors.
“Would you prefer to go out for dinner, Jen?”
I shook out another dress and put it on a hanger. “No, not really, Auntie.”
“Hey, let’s cut out that ‘Auntie’ stuff. It’s okay around your mother and my stuffy brother, but here you’ll call me Carlotta, or anything else you like, but definitely not ‘Auntie’.”
Her eyes fell on the dress I unfolded. It was a light beige dinner gown. “That’s nice,” she commented.
Just then the front door buzzer sounded. We looked at each other. Carlotta started toward the window. “I didn’t hear anybody pull up,” she said. She parted the curtains and looked out and down. “Philip,” she announced over her shoulder. “I’ll turn off my tub and go down and let him in. Slip into the beige job and come on down.” She was suddenly all aflutter.
I went to the window and peeked out. It was the same man who’d rung the bell when I was sunbathing on the terrace. I had forgotten to mention to Carlotta that he’d been here. I started to shake just a little. I wasn’t prepared to meet Philip Alenquer, knowing that Carlotta had purposely planned on throwing us at each other. I truly hated that sort of thing. It always made me more uncomfortable than usual.
“Hurry up,” she said as she came back through my room and out into the hall. The buzzer sounded again.
In spite of my nervousness, I quickly slipped into the dinner gown. As I brushed my hair back and checked my makeup I heard them greeting each other. I stood and studied myself in the mirror for a moment. Then, screwing up my courage, I turned and went downstairs.
They were talking almost in a whisper when I came down. Carlotta heard my steps on the stairs. She held up her hand as though cautioning Philip to be quiet.
Philip Alenquer was as good-looking up close as I had thought him to be when I saw him from the window. His hair was dark and curly, but not as unruly or long as Neil’s. Yet the similarity between the two men was remarkable. Philip was younger, there was no doubt about that. Twenty-eight, possibly thirty, I decided, but no more. His complexion was dark, his smile contagious. He came directly toward me, holding out both hands.
“So you’re Jennifer,” he said, taking my hands in his. He looked me up and down with the boldness I found so common in European men. “Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful.” He spoke with the same charming accent as his brother.
I flushed. I wasn’t all that accustomed to compliments. Besides, I knew Europeans were prone to exaggeration.
“This is Philip Alenquer, Jen. How about taking him into the lair and entertaining him until I can get myself together.” She turned to Philip. “You know where the bar is,” she said.
He nodded.
“Fix Jen a martini or something. She’s tired. She could use a pick-me-up; couldn’t you, Jen?”
“That might be a little strong for me,” I said. “I’m afraid I haven’t had much to eat except an omelet from your kitchen.”
“You don’t have to worry too much about Philip’s martinis. They’re pure vermouth. They’re ghastly things, but one gets used to bad martinis over here.”
Philip laughed. “I thought you liked my martinis.”
“Let’s say I tolerate them,” Carlotta answered with a smile. “On second thought, how about fixing Philip a real American martini, Jen. Let’s show him what a really good martini tastes like. And while you’re at it, make a pitcher full. I’m in the mood to celebrate tonight. I got a good commission in Paris today. I’ll tell you all about it later.”
Carlotta hiked up the skirt of her dressing gown and went up the stairs.
“I’ll make one of my martinis for you if you’ll make one of yours for me,” I told Philip as he headed for the built-in bar at one end of Carlotta’s lair.
“Fair enough,” he said, bowing. With a sweep of his hand he added, “You first. But I warn you, I am not used to strong drinks.”
I hesitated. “Then perhaps we better skip the American martini. It’s practically pure gin.”
“No, no. I insist. If you are game to try what we call a martini, I only think it right that I do the same.”
I let Philip produce the glasses and the pitcher. I got a tray of ice from the portable refrigerator.
“Is this your first trip to Europe?” he asked.
I told him it was. I put a few drops of vermouth into the chilled gin. I swirled the liquid around, then filled a glass and handed it to him. He sipped it and grimaced.
“Delicious,” he said. He was a charming liar. I grinned.
Then he made a drink for me. I noticed he used no ice. I knew that I wasn’t going to like it any more than he had liked the martini I made for him. I didn’t. It was warm and tasted like pure dry vermouth, as Carlotta had warned me it would. But I didn’t complain. I smiled and seated myself on one of the French chairs near the cozy fireplace.
“Would you like a fire?” Philip asked, nodding to the cool, black interior of the fireplace.
“Yes, that would be nice, I think. It’s gotten cool. Does it always cool down in the evening?”
“Wait until summer. The nights are as warm as the days. You will find yourself longing for some of this coolness.” He started to arrange the logs. He fumbled with some kindling, then struck a match. The fire caught immediately. He knelt back, staring at it. “A fire makes a room, don’t you agree?”
“Yes. There’s nothing more cheerful.”
Just then Carlotta swept in. She couldn’t have had time to both bathe and dress. She was wearing a dinner dress of flowing orange. She almost dimmed the brilliance of the fire by her presence. She looked lovely. I wondered why she had hurried so, but perhaps she didn’t want to leave me too long in the company of a man I didn’t know.
“How are the drinks coming?” she boomed.
“I thought you’d be a while,” I said, setting my glass on the coffee table and going toward the bar. “I was afraid the ice would melt if I fixed your cocktails ahead of time.”
Philip got up also. “Permit me,” he said as he went to the bar with me and picked up the bottle of vermouth.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Carlotta said. “I want one of Jen’s martinis. I suddenly feel a little homesick.”
I laughed and started to fix the drink.
“And now,” Carlotta started, settling herself in a chair, addressing herself to Philip, “I have a bone to pick with you, young man.”
“A
