Silver Linings

to both of them and moved off through the crowd.
    “Matilda, dear, how are you?” said a new voice at Mattie's elbow. “I just spoke to your sister a few minutes ago. She tells me your parents couldn't be here tonight.”
    “Hello, Mrs. Eberly. Good to see you again. Ariel's right. Mom and Dad are both busy. Mom's teaching in an artists-in-residence program at a private college back East this spring, and Dad went with her. He wants to finish his book on the Modern-Postmodern continuum and thought this would be a good opportunity to do it. Do you know Hugh Abbott?”
    The elderly woman turned to Hugh. “Abbott. No, I don't believe I do.” Her bright eyes widened. “Unless, of course, you're the one from Ariel's—”
    “Don't say it,” Hugh advised with a wry smile. “If I hear about Ariel's Elemental period one more time tonight, I think I'm going to be sick all over a tray of canapés.”
    “Well, it wasn't one of her best periods, was it?” Mrs. Eberly said, patting his hand consolingly. “But that's not to say you should feel personally responsible for it, my boy. After all, some good did come out of it.”
    “Yeah. She broke off the engagement. I've been feeling grateful for months.”
    “That wasn't quite what I meant,” Mrs. Eberly murmured. “What is this rumor I hear about you and Matilda, here, being engaged?”
    “It's a fact,” Hugh said roughly. “Not a rumor.”
    “Where did you hear that, Mrs. Eberly?” Mattie asked.
    “Gossip, my dear. You know how it is. I pride myself on being something of a sponge when it comes to gossip. I soak it up wherever I go. Can't imagine you married to someone who wears boots and jeans, but, then, they always say opposites attract.”
    “Mattie and I actually have quite a bit in common,” Hugh said.
    Mattie smiled brilliantly up at him. “Such as?”
    “You want a list?” he asked with soft menace.
    “That would be fascinating.” Mattie deliberately turned back to Mrs. Eberly, who was watching the scene with a fascinated gleam in her shrewd brown eyes. “By the way, Mrs. Eberly, I've got another one of Lingart's red pieces in the gallery, if you're interested.”
    “Thank you, Matilda. Hold on to it for me, will you? I do believe he's starting to move into his yellow period. There won't be too many more reds, I'm afraid. And I do so want to corner the market.”
    “It's yours,” Mattie promised. “But if you think the Lingart painting is good, just wait until you see what I brought back with me from the islands.”
    “You mean besides this fine specimen of machismo?” Mrs. Eberly gave Hugh a smiling glance.
    “Much more collectible, I assure you,” Mattie said. “The artist's name is Taggert. Silk Taggert. I'm planning an opening for his work a week from Friday.”
    “Count on me, dear. I love everything you've ever sold me.” She swept the art that was hanging around Elizabeth Kenyon's gallery with a single raking glance. “I realize this sort of thing is very avant-garde and quite the in thing. Quite formidable in its own way. But the sad truth is, I really don't want it hanging in my home, if you know what I mean. I don't enjoy looking at it. When I buy something for my own home, I want to just love looking at it every time I walk into the room.”
    “You're in good company, Mrs. Eberly. The Medicis and the Borgias and a few other notable art collectors from the past had the same idea about art collecting.”
    Hugh frowned and started to make a comment, but at that particular moment the crowd parted to reveal Ariel sweeping down on them. Her exotic emerald eyes were on her sister.
    “Mattie, I can't believe this thing about you and Hugh.” Ariel gave her sister a delicate hug of greeting while she narrowed her eyes at Hugh. “What in the world do you think you're doing?”
    “Well, I—”
    “Never mind,” Ariel said briskly, stepping back, “we'll discuss it later. This isn't the time or the place. I understand you've been talking to Flynn. I want to discuss that little matter with you, also. I'll drop by the gallery tomorrow sometime.”
    “Fine,” Mattie said quietly.
    A group of moneyed-looking people moved up to commandeer Ariel's attention. She turned to them at once and moved off toward one of the paintings from her Exploratory period.
    Elizabeth Kenyon materialized beside Mattie again. “Mattie, dear, would you do me an enormous favor?” she whispered.
    “What's that?”
    “Get Blackwell into a cab or