Sour Grapes

looked around, caught her breath, and grabbed the sleeve of Ryan’s tuxedo.
    “Whoa! Get a load of this place!” she said, “I want a living room that looks exactly like this.”
    Ryan laughed. “I suppose you do.”
    Savannah gazed about, awestruck, taking in the enormous room with its twenty-five-foot-high, open-beamed ceiling, its old oak wainscoting, its mile-long, brightly polished, mahogany bar, and its massive stone fireplace. The carpeting beneath her feet was the deep, ruby shade of a fine Bordeaux, and when she stepped on it, she felt like she was sinking in to her ankles. “ Yeah, right,” she said, giving Ryan a nudge with her elbow. “Easy for you to say. You have a living room like this. Just like this.”
    He grinned down at her. “Not just like this. You can’t stand up in my stone fireplace, and I don’t have twenty dining tables, or forty beautiful girls and their friends and families sitting around them.”
    “You would, if you just crooked your finger. But then, what would you do with forty beautiful girls?”
    “Precisely. And I couldn’t stand to hear that much giggling. That’s one thing I’ve always liked about John; he hardly ever giggles.”
    Savannah sniffed the air, fragrant with the aroma of roasted meat, herbs, and wine sauces. China, silver, and crystal gleamed in the candlelight, spread across snowy, linen-draped tables.
    The “Welcome Dinner” was semiformal, and gentlemen, looking wonderfully elegant in their tuxedos, escorted the beauty contestants, their mothers, sisters, and friends, who were decked out in evening dresses made of luscious fabrics in every pastel and jewel tone imaginable.
    As usual, when hobnobbing with the rich and famous, Savannah felt a bit underdressed. Her “little black dress” was a good one, and the strand of pearls around her neck had been her Granny Reid’s. But her one-and-a-half-inch, practical pumps were $15.99, and she had even waited to buy those until she’d found a 10 percent off coupon from Spend Less.
    Savannah wasn’t fooling anybody... least of all herself. She was hardy, peasant stock without a drop of aristocratic blood in her veins. But, considering Granny Reid was only two generations away, she considered herself fortunate. Royalty or not, she was of noble blood.
    “Mmm... that dinner sure smells good,” she said. “I wonder what it is.” The ruined breakfast that she hadn’t eaten had worn off long ago, leaving her weak with hunger.
    “Whatever it is,” Ryan said, “I’m sure that Mrs. Lippincott made certain it has no calories. She’s scary, that one. Reminds me of a Marine drill sergeant I once knew.”
    Savannah looked around the room until she saw the lady in question. A pale lavender, satin gown hadn’t softened Marion Lippincott’s stern appearance one bit. Although she had exchanged her sensible loafers for two-inch heels, she still had a daunting, deliberate stride as she patrolled the room like a Coast Guard cruiser—everyone snapping to attention in her wake.
    “Eh, she’s not so bad,” Savannah said. “It takes a tough old bird like her to run a gig like this. And it looks like she’s doing a good job. Everything’s going smoothly.”
    “So far, so good,” Ryan agreed. “Time to do the rounds?”
    Savannah nodded. “I’ll mill around the room here,” she said. “Then I’ll check the upstairs hall of the guesthouse.”
    “I’ll go back to the gallery, make sure nobody’s trying to crash the party, and then I’ll walk the lower hall.”
    Ryan disappeared, and Savannah slowly circled the room, acquainting herself with all the new faces. And pretty faces they were, too.
    She had to admit that the big sister in her was coming to fore as she sized up each of the contestants. She couldn’t help comparing them to her own baby sister. She also couldn’t fight the abiding conviction that the kid had them all beat—hands down.
    The vast variety of pulchritude was interesting: freshfaced sweeties, model types with gaunt, chiseled features, and a few girls who appeared to have become women before their time, their eyes reflecting a bit too much worldly knowledge for their young ages.
    Savannah recognized a few guests as socially prominent San Carmelitans, whom she had dealt with on other occasions. Catherine Whitestone-Villa was sitting at the head table next to a handsome, silver-haired gentleman. From the way she was hanging on his arm and gazing at him adoringly, Savannah surmised