The Art of Deception

alone. After an enormous meal, Fairchild and Rick settled down with them to continue the ongoing discussion of art and technique. Assisted by two glasses of wine and half a glass of brandy, Rick began to heap praise on Kirby’s work. Adam recognized the warning signals of battle—Fairchild’s pink ears and Kirby’s guileless eyes.
    “Thank you, Rick.” With a smile, Kirby lifted her brandy. “I’m sure you’d like to see Papa’s latest work. It’s an attempt in clay. A bird or something, isn’t it, Papa?”
    “A bird? A bird?” In a quick circle, he danced around the table. “It’s a hawk, you horrid girl. A bird of prey, a creature of cunning.”
    A veteran, Rick tried to soothe. “I’d love to see it, Mr. Fairchild.”
    “And so you will.” In one dramatic gulp, Fairchild finished off his drink. “I intend to donate it to the Metropolitan.”
    Whether Kirby’s snort was involuntary or contrived, it produced results.
    “Do you mock your father?” Fairchild demanded. “Have you no faith in these hands?” He held them out, fingers spread. “The same hands that held you fresh from your mother’s womb?”
    “Your hands are the eighth wonder of the world,” Kirby told him. “However…” She set down her glass, sat back and crossed her legs. Meticulously she brought her fingers together and looked over them. “From my observations, you have difficulty with your structure. Perhaps with a few years of practice, you’ll develop the knack of construction.”
    “Structure?” he sputtered. “Construction?” His eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. “Cards!” Kirby sent him an easy smile and picked up her glass again. “Cards!”
    “Yes, Mr. Fairchild.”
    “Cards,” Fairchild repeated, glaring at the dignified butler, who stood waiting in the doorway.
    “Yes, Mr. Fairchild.”
    “Cards!” He bellowed and pranced.
    “I believe Papa wants a deck of cards—Cards,” Kirby explained. “Playing cards.”

    “Yes, miss.” With a slight bow, Cards went to get some.
    “What’s the matter with that man?” Fairchild muttered. In hurried motions, he began to clear off a small table. Exquisite Wedgwood and delicate Venetian glass were dumped unceremoniously on the floor. “You’d think I didn’t make myself clear.”
    “It’s so hard to get good help these days,” Adam said into his glass.
    “Your cards, Mr. Fairchild.” The butler placed two sealed decks on the table before gliding from the room.
    “Now I’ll show you about construction.” Fairchild pulled up a chair and wrapped his skinny legs around its legs. Breaking the seal on the first deck, he poured the cards on the table. With meticulous care, he leaned one card against another and formed an arch. “A steady hand and a discerning eye,” Fairchild mumbled as he began slowly, and with total intensity, to build a house of cards.
    “That should keep him out of trouble for a while,” Kirby declared. Sending Adam a wink, she turned to Rick and drew him into a discussion on mutual friends.
    An hour drifted by over brandy and quiet conversation. Occasionally there was a mutter or a grumble from the architect in the corner. The fire crackled. When Montique entered and jumped into Adam’s lap, Rick paled and sprang up.
    “You shouldn’t do that. She’ll be here any second.” He set down his glass with a clatter. “Kirby, I think I’ll go up. I want to start work early.”
    “Of course.” She watched his retreat before turning to Adam. “He’s terrified of Isabelle. Montique got into his room when he was sleeping and curled on his pillow. Isabelle woke Rick with some rather rude comments while she stood on his chest. I’d better go up and make sure everything’s in order.” She rose, then bent over and kissed him lightly.
    “That’s not enough.”
    “No?” The slow smile curved her lips. “Perhaps we’ll fix that later. Come on, Montique, let’s go find your wretched keeper.”
    “Kirby…” Adam waited until both she and the puppy were at the doorway. “Just how much rent does Isabelle pay?”
    “Ten mice a month,” she told him soberly. “But I’m going to raise it to fifteen in November. Maybe she’ll be out by Christmas.” Pleased with the thought, she led Montique away.
    “A fascinating creature, my Kirby,” Fairchild commented.
    Adam crossed the room and stared down at the huge, erratic card structure Fairchild continued to construct. “Fascinating.”
    “She’s a woman with much