The Art of Deception

noticed by those in the parlor. As was Melanie’s subtle disdain for him. Both were the expected. Fairchild’s wolfish grins and Harriet’s jolting laughter covered the rest.
    Everyone seemed relaxed, except Adam. The longer it went on, the more he wished he’d insisted that Kirby postpone the dinner party. She looked frail. The more energy she poured out, the more fragile she seemed to him. And touchingly valiant. Her devotion to Harriet hadn’t been lip service. Adam could see it, hear it. When she loved, as Fairchild had said, she loved completely. Even the thought of the Rembrandt would be tearing her in two. Tomorrow. By the next day, it would be over.

    “Adam.” Harriet took his arm as Kirby poured after-dinner drinks. “I’d love to see Kirby’s portrait.”
    “As soon as it’s finished you’ll have a private viewing.” And until the repairs in the tower were complete, he thought, he was keeping all outsiders away.
    “I’ll have to be content with that, I suppose.” She pouted a moment, then forgave him. “Sit beside me,” Harriet commanded and spread the flowing vermilion of her skirt on the sofa. “Kirby said I could flirt with you.”
    Adam noticed that Melanie turned a delicate pink at her mother’s flamboyance. Unable to resist, he lifted Harriet’s hand to his lips. “Do I need permission to flirt with you?”
    “Guard your heart, Harriet,” Kirby warned as she set out drinks.
    “Mind your own business,” Harriet tossed back. “By the way, Adam, I’d like you to have my necklace of crocodile teeth as a token of my appreciation.”
    “Good heavens, Mother.” Melanie sipped at her blackberry brandy. “Why would Adam want that hideous thing?”
    “Sentiment,” she returned without blinking an eye. “Adam’s agreed to let me exhibit Kirby’s portrait, and I want to repay him.”
    The old girl’s quick, Adam decided as she sent him a guileless smile, and Melanie’s been kept completely in the dark about the hobby her mother shares with Fairchild. Studying Melanie’s cool beauty, Adam decided her mother knew best. She’d never react as Kirby did. Melanie could have their love and affection, but secrets were kept within the triangle. No, he realized, oddly pleased. It was now a rectangle.
    “He doesn’t have to wear it,” Harriet went on, breaking into his thoughts.

    “I should hope not,” Melanie put in, rolling her eyes at Kirby.
    “It’s for good luck.” Harriet sent Kirby a glance, then squeezed Adam’s arm. “But perhaps you have all the luck you need.”
    “Perhaps my luck’s just beginning.”
    “How quaintly they speak in riddles.” Kirby sat on the arm of Melanie’s chair. “Why don’t we ignore them?”
    “Your hawk’s coming along nicely, Mr. Fairchild,” Rich hazarded.
    “Aha!” It was all Fairchild needed. Bursting with good feelings, he treated Rick to an in-depth lecture on the use of calipers.
    “Rick’s done it now,” Kirby whispered to Melanie. “Papa has no mercy on a captive audience.”
    “I didn’t know Uncle Philip was sculpting.”
    “Don’t mention it,” Kirby said quickly. “You’ll never escape.” Pursing her lips, she looked down at Melanie’s elegant dark rose dress. The lines flowed fluidly with the flash of a studded buckle at the waist. “Melly, I wonder if you’d have time to design a dress for me.”
    Surprised, Melanie glanced up. “Oh course, I’d love to. But I’ve been trying to talk you into it for years and you’ve always refused to go through the fittings.”
    Kirby shrugged. A wedding dress was a different matter, she mused. Still, she didn’t mention her plans with Adam. Her father would know first. “I usually buy on impulse, whatever appeals at the time.”
    “From Goodwill to Rive Gauche,” Melanie murmured. “So this must be special.”
    “I’m taking a page from your book,” Kirby evaded. “You know I’ve always admired your talent, I just knew I wouldn’t have the patience for all the preliminaries.” She laughed. “Do you think you can design a dress that’d make me look demure?”
    “Demure?” Harriet cut in, pouncing on the word. “Poor Melanie would have to be a sorceress to pull that off. Even as a child in that sweet little muslin you looked capable of battling a tribe of Comanches. Philip, you must let me borrow that painting of Kirby for the gallery.”
    “We’ll see.” His eyes twinkled. “You’ll have to soften me up a bit first. I’ve always had a