Beautiful Affliction(5)

"Take the silver trays out of the cupboard next to the fridge and start plating the hors d'oeuvres," she instructs me. "When the guests arrive, take their coats and put them in the front closet and then ask them what they'd like to drink. The bar is in the living room, and sometimes Mr. Redmond will man it himself. If he asks you to get a bottle of wine, the wine cellar is in the basement."

Holy hell, there's a whole additional floor to this house that I haven't even seen?

As I locate the ornate trays in the cupboard, an elegantly-dressed woman with dark brown hair pulled into a chignon bursts through the French doors and walks into the kitchen. Her skin is only softly lined for a woman of her age, and I can’t help but wonder if she's had work done. She surveys me with a trained eye as I set the tray on the kitchen island.

"I'm Leigh Redmond," she introduces herself. "I'm sorry I couldn't meet you earlier, but I've been laid up with a headache."

"Cora MacAuliffe," I reply. "I'm glad to see you're feeling better. Would you like anything to drink?"

"Champagne," she says. "I drink Krug Grand Cuvee. You'll find plenty of bottles on the left wall of the wine cellar as you walk in. At some point I might ask you for a vodka tonic, which I like with three ice cubes and one thinly sliced lime wedge."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Is my son home yet?"

"Yes, ma'am," Ms. Mueller replies. "He's upstairs getting changed I believe."

"He finally made it on time for once," she comments. "He works so much that he's frequently late to his own parties," she explains to me. "Everything looks wonderful, Eugenia."

Eugenia? Ah, must be Ms. Mueller's first name. I smile inwardly. Quite a flowery name for such a shrewd woman. As Mrs. Redmond leans over the stove and begins to talk with Ms. Mueller, I find the door to the basement and head into the wine cellar to get the champagne. The basement is finished, and there's a huge great room ahead of me, but I see the wine cellar on my right and head in. Sure enough, there’s over a dozen bottles of the champagne in green bottles with gold labels. I take two just in case other guests may want some, and head back up to the kitchen. Mrs. Redmond is gone when I return and I have just enough time to plate a container of mini crab cakes when I hear the doorbell ring.

I rub my hands dry on my dress as I hurry to the front door. I can hear jazz music playing from the living room, but don't see anyone. I open the door to find a handsome man in his early 30s standing on the threshold. He does a slight double take as he sees me.

"Oh, you must be new! You're very…" he trails off and clears his throat, stepping inside. "Mark Scanlon, friend of Brent's. Also a lawyer, but try not to hold it against me," he says as he hands me his dark wool coat.

"I'll do my absolute best," I murmur in reply. His lips turn up in amusement just as Mrs. Redmond breezes toward us.

"Mark! Where's Kristine?" she asks, kissing him on the cheek.

"Not feeling well, but she's trying to rally."

"I think there's something going around…" I hear Mrs. Redmond reply as I hang up Mark's coat. I'm about to head back into the kitchen when I hear the doorbell ring again.

A flurry of guests begin to arrive and in a short time the living room is filled with about a dozen people. I can't imagine any more will fit at the dining room table, so I hurry back into the kitchen for a tray and find that Ms. Mueller has set out an additional tray of food for me.

"Figs with pancetta and goat cheese," she explains, waving me toward the door.

I nod, my head spinning, as I balance the tray on my palm and head toward the living room. As I enter, I see the people have split into several small clusters, so I head toward the nearest one. They shift slightly as I walk toward them, and I glance up and directly into the pale blue eyes of the man tending bar at the other end of the room.

My stomach flips and I catch my toe on the edge of the rug. "Oh!" I exclaim as I stumble slightly but manage to catch myself on a wing-backed chair before any of the hors d'oeuvres go flying off the tray.

The room quiets for a moment, and I hear Mrs. Redmond say, "I hope she's not going to be as clumsy as Jody."

"Mom," a deep, throaty voice admonishes her and I glance up to see the man staring at me. Brent Redmond. His light eyes feel like they're looking right through me. And I can immediately tell that he's filled out since the painting was done, his broad shoulders testing the width of his black suit and open, white collared shirt. He breaks his gaze away. "Who'd like a drink?" he asks loudly, and to my great relief, the rest of the room turns away from the spectacle that is me.