All Night Long (7 page)

Except that this was business, she reminded herself. It wasn't a date, no matter what Matt had called it. And in business, dressing to win approval didn't mean you'd caved in to the pressure to conform. No, indeed. Dressing for business meant you were smart enough to know that the way you looked was important. It was called 'dressing for success.' Men did it all the time. Why else would they put up with starched shirts, three-piece suits and neckties, if not in the name of commerce?

Susannah put a hand to her hair, tucking in an escaped tendril, then turned and got a traditional, double-breasted camel-hair coat—her reward for graduating from college—out of the closet. Even in mid-June, San Francisco nights could dip down into the low fifties. Shrugging into it, she switched off the bedroom light and headed downstairs, determined to be ready and waiting when Matt arrived to pick her up. The less like a date this
business
meeting was, she thought, the happier she would be.

* * *

Matt's mother was aristocratic, elegant and distinguished, with perfectly coiffed blond hair, a regal bearing and simple, classic taste in clothes. Her eyes were blue, like her son's. Her smile was warm and gracious.

"Mom, this is Susannah Bennington, a friend of mine." Matt performed the introductions as he helped Susannah out of her coat. "Susannah, my mother Millicent Ryan."

Susannah smiled and held out her hand, just barely managing to restrain the impulse to curtsy. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Ryan."

Millicent Ryan returned the slight pressure of Susannah's fingers and murmured that the pleasure was all hers. "Matthew, dear," she said, without releasing Susannah's hand, "after you hang up Ms. Bennington's coat, would you go into the kitchen and tell Gertie she can serve the hors de oeuvres whenever she's ready? Ms. Bennington and I will be in the front parlor—" she drew Susannah forward by the hand she still held, giving it a little pat as she did so "—getting acquainted. We'll wait for you to pour the sherry," she added, the words drifting over her Chanel-clad shoulder as she led her son's guest across the wide foyer and into the front parlor as Matt headed toward the kitchen to do her bidding.

"Please, sit down," she said, letting go of Susannah's hand to gesture toward a burgundy brocade Victorian settee. She sank gracefully into one of the matching wing chairs arranged opposite it, crossed her ankles, clasped her hands in her lap in approved boarding-school fashion, and smiled at Susannah. "Have you and Matthew known each other long, Ms. Bennington?"

"No, not long," Susannah said, having already resolved to keep to the truth as much as possible. "Just a couple of weeks."

"Oh?" Her glance sharpened. "Then you must be new down at City Hall."

Susannah frowned. "City Hall?" she began, and then her brow cleared. "Oh, I see what you mean. No, I don't work at City Hall."

"Ah, then you must work at Matthew's campaign office."

"No." Susannah shook her head. "Actually, they probably wouldn't let me in down there. I'm a registered Democrat," she admitted, smiling. "Although I'm planning to vote for Matt, anyway."

"I'm glad to hear that." Millicent returned her smile and came right back to the subject. "So how did you meet, then?"

"Meet?"

"You and Matthew. I don't mean to pry, my dear," she assured her guest. "It's just that Matthew so rarely brings any of his lady friends to visit and, naturally, I'm curious. I hope you don't mind?"

"No. No, of course not," Susannah lied, her glance darting off toward the arched doorway leading to the foyer, wondering what was taking Matt so long in the kitchen. She hadn't thought to ask him what cover story he'd given his mother. "But there's nothing to tell, really. Matt and I aren't... That is, I'm not his 'lady friend.' We're just—" she lifted one shoulder in an offhand shrug "—friends, that's all."

"I see." Millicent leaned forward over the polished marquetry table between them. "And you met how?" she asked, her bright blue eyes full of a mother's questions.

Susannah was abruptly reminded of the way Matt had questioned her in her office; she felt just as compelled to answer now as she had then. It occurred to her that Millicent Ryan might have made a hell of a lawyer if she'd been given the opportunity. "Well, Matt came to my office a couple of weeks ago to, ah..."

"Susannah runs a private social-services agency, Mom," Matt said, coming back into the room with a round silver tray of hors d'oeuvres in one hand. "We met when I stopped by her office to check up on a parolee she'd found a job for." He presented the tray to Susannah with a flourish. "Hors d'oeuvre?"

"Yes, thank you." Susannah picked one at random and popped it into her mouth with unladylike haste. She couldn't be expected to talk and chew at the same time.

"Mom?" Matt said, offering the tray to her.

Millicent shook her head. "No, thank you, dear."

"Sherry?" he asked, putting the tray down on the marquetry table.

"Yes, please. There's a brand-new bottle of sherry on the sideboard, waiting to be opened. Pour Ms. Bennington a glass, too," she instructed, watching as he turned to do her bidding. "Here," she said quietly, extending a cocktail napkin toward Susannah. "You can dispose of it in this. There's a brass wastebasket next to the sideboard," she said, looking politely away as Susannah discreetly lifted the small monogrammed paper napkin to her mouth. "I can't stand the ones made with anchovy paste, either," she confided as Susannah crumbled the napkin in her hand. "But I haven't got the heart to tell Gertie to stop making them. She thinks because I'm descended from Swedes I'll eat anything made with fish." Her smile was impish, the expression in her eyes just a bit wistful. "Actually, my husband was the only one who ate the vile things. He loved them."

"Your sherry, Mom."

Millicent lifted her hand for the glass. "Thank you, dear."

"And Susannah," he said, handing it to her as he sat down on the brocade settee beside her.

Susannah took the glass with a murmur of thanks and lifted it to her lips. She almost sighed with pleasure as the bone-dry, straw-colored liquid washed the lingering taste of anchovies off her tongue.

"Excellent sherry, isn't it?" said Millicent, with a twinkling smile.

Susannah smiled back. "Excellent," she agreed and took another small sip before setting the small, footed glass down on the marquetry table. It was time to get down to business. "Matt tells me you're a sponsor of the Junior Symphony," she said pleasantly. "Are they performing tonight at Davies Hall?"

Millicent shook her elegantly coiffed head. "Tonight is a performance in the Summer Pops series," she said, referring to the symphony's summer program of lighter, popular music as opposed to the heavier classics offered during the regular symphony season. "The original Temptations are singing with the symphony tonight. I'm quite looking forward to it."

Susannah smiled. "You're a fan of the Temptations?"

"Oh, yes. I like all kinds of music."

Susannah lifted a teasing auburn eyebrow. "Heavy metal? Rap?"

"Some of it," Matt's mother said serenely. "I think that young black woman—Queen Latifah, I believe her name is—is quite good. She sends a very positive message to young women."

Matt's lifted eyebrow was disbelieving rather than teasing, as Susannah's had been. "Where in the world did you hear Queen Latifah?" he asked, surprised by his mother's revelation.

"Right here in this house," Millicent said. "Gertie's granddaughter listens to her music. She listens to someone called Doggy-something-or-other, too." Matt's mother made a small, well-bred moue of distaste. "I don't like
him
at all."

"You let her listen to that stuff here?" Matt asked, his expression faintly shocked.

Millicent gave him a mild look. "I doubt it's any worse than what you listened to in this house when you were her age." She smiled confidingly at Susannah. "Jimi Hendrix. The Rolling Stones. The Who. Pink something-or-other."

Susannah cut a quick, teasing glance at Matt. "You were a Pink Floyd fan?"

Matt shrugged. "Everybody knows teenagers have no taste," he said in his own defense.

"Well,
I
quite liked most of it," Millicent said. "Although—" she laughed softly "—his father was always shouting at him to turn his stereo down before someone's eardrums were broken. I'm afraid Francis wasn't a fan of rock music."

"And did he turn it down?" Susannah asked, with another teasing glance at her pretend date.

"Yes, he did. Matthew has always been a good boy and a wonderful son." Millicent smiled across the coffee table at Matt. "I don't know what I would have done without him these last two years."

"It must have been very hard for you," Susannah murmured, delicately probing for insight and information about Millicent Larson Ryan. Since Millicent had already mentioned her husband, Susannah felt it would be okay to continue along that track. "Losing your husband after thirty-seven years."

"Oh, my, yes." Millicent sighed pensively. "I was something of a basket case for a good long while after it happened."

"I'm sorry," Susannah said, instantly regretting having pursued the subject. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"Oh, no, dear, it's quite all right," Millicent assured her. "It took me some time but I've finally come to terms with my—" she smiled lovingly at her son again
"—our
loss," she corrected herself. "It was a tragedy and I'll miss Francis until the day I die, but life does go on. I think we owe it to our loved ones to make the very best of it we can."

* * *

The doorbell rang a few minutes later, announcing the arrival of the rest of Millicent Ryan's guests. Susannah found herself slipping effortlessly back into an old mold, making polite conversation with some of the cream of San Francisco society, while unobtrusively observing Millicent's interaction with her guests in order to learn more about her and trying to be inconspicuous at the same time. But finally, inevitably, one distinguished old dowager recognized her.

"Why, Susannah Bennington, as I live and breathe. Goodness, I haven't seen you since... well, it must be since Meryl's wedding. How have you been?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Filbert." Susannah smiled graciously and wondered how soon she could escape. "How are you? And how's Meryl doing these days?"

"She had her second baby three months ago. Another boy. I'm sure she must have sent you an announcement."

"Yes, she did." The birth announcement had been beautifully hand-lettered by a professional calligrapher on thick, handmade paper with a matching envelope. Susannah remembered thinking that the birth announcements had probably cost more than the birth itself. Meryl had always been a show-off, even in elementary school.

"Meryl's so good about those things. So conscientious."

So
pretentious.

"Oh, I know she'll be just thrilled to see you." Mrs. Filbert gushed on, reaching out to give Susannah's hands a little squeeze. "She couldn't come to Millicent's little cocktail party tonight—she's one of those dedicated modern mothers who likes to put the children to bed herself." She flapped a heavily beringed hand at Susannah. "I tell her it's a wonder that overpriced British nanny she hired doesn't just die of boredom, she has so little to do."

Susannah's smile became less gracious and more fixed as she remembered that pretentiousness was a Filbert family trait. "You'll have to tell her I said hello, then," she murmured.

"Oh, you can tell her yourself. She and her husband are meeting us later at Davies Hall. And I'm sure she'll want to hear all about whatever it is you're doing now. Are you still with those social-services people?"

"No, not for a while now. I run a—"

"Meryl always said it was so noble of you to work with all those criminals and juvenile delinquents, who I'm sure have no idea how fortunate they are to have you working so tirelessly on their behalf. Why," she huffed theatrically, apparently unaware that Susannah's smile had faded completely, "Meryl told me how ungrateful some of them are. She worked herself nearly ragged, arranging a concert at one of those homeless shelters, just to bring a little culture into their lives, you understand, and hardly any of them even bothered to thank her for her efforts. Can you believe that?"

"Excuse me, Barbara," Millicent Ryan cut in smoothly before Susannah could answer, "but I'm going to have to drag Susannah away. You don't mind, do you? She and Matthew have to leave in a few minutes and I need to have a private word with her before they go."

"Oh, you're not coming to the concert with the rest of us? Meryl will be so disappointed."

"Be sure to tell her hello for me," Susannah managed, baring her clenched teeth in a patently false smile. Mrs. Filbert didn't seem to notice the difference. "It was nice seeing you again," she added mendaciously, good manners having been drummed into her at an early age.

"I'm sorry about that," Millicent said as she looped her arm through Susannah's and steered her toward the foyer. "That woman is a hopeless snob and she hasn't got a clue about what goes on in the real world. But she's one of the largest contributors to the symphony fund, not to mention Matthew's political campaign, so..." She shrugged eloquently and let it go at that.

"Thanks for rescuing me," Susannah whispered. "I guess you could tell I was about to blow."