pulled out a folder from the leather briefcase that sat at her feet. She placed it on the table and flipped it open.
“And you accuse me of having a type-A personality,” Vincent said to his sister, lifting his chin in Jessica’s direction. They all shared a laugh.
Jessica ignored the barb. She told him about the latest inquiry from a Wall Street executive who was seriously in the market for a permanent companion.
As the team was reviewing the client’s background, the phone rang.
Melanie turned around and plucked the phone from the cradle behind her. “The Platinum Society, Melanie Harte speaking.”
“Mel, it’s Alan.”
“Alan!” she said over a blossoming smile. “I’m going to put you on speakerphone.”
“Dad?” Veronica and Vincent chorused.
“Uncle Alan,” Jessica added.
“Hey, everybody,” he called out.
“Where are you?” Melanie asked.
Alan Harte was a career diplomat in the State Department. He traveled the globe at the behest of the U.S. government. At any given time he could be called upon to travel across continents for weeks or months on end.
“Actually, I just landed at JFK. I’m here in New York for the next few months. Or so they tell me,” he added with a chuckle. “Thought I’d come out to the Harbor later today.”
“Of course! We’d love to see you. And you’re staying here,” his younger sister insisted.
“I’ll think about it, sis. I’m in New York but it’s not a vacation. I’m on the clock. Getting back and forth from the city to Sag Harbor may be a bit much. But I can certainly spend a couple of days there. I miss the kids. And you,” he added, his voice warming with affection for his sister. “And…I, uh, have a favor to ask.”
“No problem. What is it?”
“We’ll talk about it when I get there.”
“Can’t you give me a hint?”
“Let’s just say I may have a client for you.”
The Platinum Society was a family-run business that went back two generations. The current Melanie Harte made it three. Since its inception, well before Melanie’s birth, the first Melanie Harte was the consummate matchmaker. Legendary among her circle for pairing up just the right people, the first Melanie Harte realized that she could turn what came naturally to her into a business because she was being asked by everyone from college professors to executives to find them that perfect someone. But it was her daughter, Carolyn, who’d graduated with honors from Columbia University with an MBA in marketing and a BA in psychology, who took the mom-and-pop operation to the next level. She taught her daughter everything she knew, but it was Melanie who took the company platinum.
Melanie and the team put off discussing the new client, who was so eager to find a mate that he was willing to pay an extra twenty-five thousand dollars in addition to the standard fifty-thousand-dollar fee. That, to Melanie, was a red flag. She was glad they were temporarily putting that assignment on hold.
Meanwhile her nieces and nephew were busy trying to figure out who Alan’s client was.
“It’s probably some Secret Service guy,” Jessica said. “You know they don’t have time to find anyone.”
“Do they make enough money to afford us?” Vincent asked.
Melanie shot her nephew a look and bit back a smile. One thing she could say about Vincent, he kept his eye on the bottom line.
“I’m sure Alan told them what we require,” Melanie said. “But as you all know we can make an exception if the situation warrants it.”
“Aunt Mel, the last exception was in 1955 by your grandmother,” Jessica stated skeptically. She was the resident historian of The Platinum Society. She knew everything there was to know about TPS from the very first day to the present. She’d catalogued all of Grandma Harte’s notes and Aunt Carolyn’s floppy disks and created a comprehensive history and profile of the company, complete with successes, failures, marriages and births in a digital archive and Web site that included narratives, photo galleries, videos and podcasts. “But of course the decision is up to you, Aunt Mel,” Jessica added.
The trio looked at her and groaned good-naturedly.
“As soon as I can get all the details on our new client, I’ll get busy on a profile and run him through the database for potential matches,” Veronica said.
“Uncle Alan has some pretty cool friends,” Jessica said. “If he’s true to form, this assignment may be as much fun as it is lucrative.”
Melanie smiled. “I’m sure you’re right.”
It was nearing two o’clock when the black Range Rover pulled onto the winding driveway of the Sag Harbor mansion. Melanie spotted it from her ground-floor office window. She hopped up from her desk and darted out into the hallway.
“He’s here,” she yelled, quickly walking toward the door.
Veronica and Vincent emerged from the kitchen. Jessica bounded up the stairs from the indoor gym, a towel draped around her neck.
The smiling quartet stood in the archway as Alan Harte strode toward the door.
The word that always came to mind when describing her older brother was debonair. There was an air of almost old-world movie star power that radiated from the six-foot-three, two-hundred-and-twenty-pound hunk. An impeccable dresser, handsome, intelligent, well-traveled, funny and financially in the black, with a great job—Alan Harte was a single woman’s dream come true. But he loved his freedom, which had led to the demise of his marriage. As her former sister-in-law used to say, Alan may have said his vows to her, but he married his job.
“Always good to come home,” he said, softly kissing cheeks and hugging his son, who was the spitting image of his father.
Vincent took his father’s overnight bag and brief case, while his sister and cousin hooked their arms possessively through his with Melanie closing ranks.
“How long are you in town?” Veronica asked.
“I’m thinking a month or two, maybe longer. I’ll know in about a week.”
“Are you going to stay here for a few days at least?” Melanie asked, and with her question she realized how much she’d missed her brother.
Their sister Phyllis—Jessica’s mom—died during childbirth and their parents and grandparents had been gone for many years, so it was just the two of them to look after the next generation.
Alan draped his arm around her shoulder. “Actually, I was planning on staying through the weekend.”
Everyone cheered in delight.
“I do have a favor, though.”
“Sure,” Melanie responded.
Alan
