Where the Heart Chooses (43 page)

“No, it went to his voice mail.”

“Where is he?”

“Really, Gregor, I don’t have him on a
leash.”

“What are we going to do about this?” I
asked before Gregor could think up a snarky response.

Tony bared his teeth in a harsh grin. “We’ll
wait here. If the good senator puts in an appearance, he’s going to
get a surprise.”

“And not a pleasant one.” Bryan’s grin was a
copy of Tony’s.

“In the meantime, Gregor, why don’t you see
about ordering dinner for you all?” The hospital had a good chef on
staff for patients who were well enough to eat real food, and
family could be accommodated as well, with trays sent to the
rooms.

“I’ll get right on it, Portia.” And
fortunately, that distracted him enough that he forgot about
Mark.

* * * *

My brothers stayed until after dinner, but
when Wexler still hadn’t put in an appearance, I told them to go
back to the Madison Arms. “You’re making the nurses nervous,
standing around, looking as if you’d like to shoot someone. Quinton
will make sure nothing happens.”

“Call us if you need to be spelled,
Quinn.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary, but
thanks, Uncle Tony.”

“Portia…?”

“I’ll be fine, Gregor. Now go!”

About ten minutes later, Mark strolled into
the room, and I laughed, thinking of Tony’s accusation that Mark
was avoiding them.

“Hi, babe.”

“What are you doing here, Mark?”

“You couldn’t come to me, so I came to you.”
He kissed my son, and I was pleased he felt comfortable enough in
my presence to do that. “Hi, Mrs. Mann.”

“Hello, Mark.”

“So what’s going on?”

Quinton raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell
me you’re unaware?”

The corner of Mark’s mouth curled in a grin.
“Of course not, but I knew you’d want to feel useful.”

“Ass,” Quinton murmured, bumping his
shoulder against Mark’s. He went on to explain the situation.

“So Wexler might be here any second?
Fantastic!” He shot his cuffs and rolled his shoulders. “Bring it,
Senator!”

“Mark, I don’t want you doing anything!”

“Quinn…”

“I’m serious. And don’t give me that ‘Don’t
I always listen to you, baby!’ Just
don’t do anything
!”

“Fine.” He took a deck of cards from his
pocket. “What do you want to play?”

* * * *

Interestingly enough, Wexler never showed
up, leaving me to wonder who had warned him that I wasn’t
alone.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Mann,” Mark said as he
helped me roll a skein of yarn into a ball. “I’ll look into
it.”

“Mark…” Quinton’s tone held a warning.

“Hey, I just said I’d look into it. I wasn’t
going to
do
anything.”

“Of course you weren’t.”

“You don’t believe me? I’m
hurt
!”

“Of course you are.” They exchanged smiles,
and in spite of how irritated I was by this situation, I couldn’t
help being happy at the pleasure they’d found in each other.

* * * *

The holiday season was quickly coming upon
us.

Before the accident, Mark had invited me to
his condo for Thanksgiving dinner.

After the accident, he suggested I stay the
weekend, since I’d be alone in the house at Great Falls.

The last thing I wanted was to be a fifth
wheel, so I called Allison.

“Darling, I’m so pleased you’re home!” She’d
been to the hospital to see me just about every other day. “How are
you feeling?”

“My physical therapist is a slave driver,
and my orthopedist says I’ll need to use this cane for another few
months, but other than that, I’m actually feeling human. I have a
favor to ask of you.”

“For you, anything.”

“I’m going to be on my own this weekend.”
She’d know Gregor would be up in New York, spending the weekend
with his sister, who was doing better, and his cousins. “Jefferson
and Ludovic are out of the country, and the last time I spoke to
Tony, he mentioned a problem with his wife’s ex-husband.”

“Do you think there really is a problem, or
is he reluctant to introduce his child bride to the family?” Of
course Allison would be sensitive about the age of Tony’s wife.

“I’ve already met her. She’s nice, but…” I
really didn’t know what Tony had been thinking. And the best thing
to do would be to change the subject. “If you’re free, would you be
willing to spend the weekend with me? We could go out for lunch on
Friday and perhaps visit the Renwick Gallery. And Gregor has left
enough meals in the freezer to tide us over.” She knew what a
wretched cook I was.

She was silent for a moment. “Chance has
gone out of town, and I have no idea when he’ll be back. So as it
turns out, yes, I am free, and I’d like nothing better. Did you
want to come to Tommy’s with me for Thanksgiving? His…uh…boyfriend
is quite a cook.”

So my godson
was
gay. “Are you all
right with that?”

“I am. I haven’t seen him this happy since
he was a boy and we took him to Martha’s Vineyard for his
birthday.”

I couldn’t help laughing over that. She’d
called, desperate to come up with a clever gift for her third
child, and certain I could help, since he and Quinton were the same
age. “Books?” I’d suggested.

“Portia, you’re his godmother! You held him
even before I did. I know you love him as much as I do, but let’s
face it. When God was giving out brains, my son was hiding behind
the door!”

“Well, from what I recall, he was very taken
with
Jaws
.”

“We’re
not
giving him a great white
shark!”

“No, but what about a vacation on Martha’s
Vineyard, where they did most of the filming?”

“Portia, darling, you’re a genius!”

Now I said, “Thank you for the invitation,
but I’ll be spending the day with Quinton and his friend.”

“Are you saying he’s dating someone?”

“Actually, I think it’s gone beyond that
point. I’ll tell you about it when I see you.”

“You’d better! I just hope she’s nicer than
that witch we ran into last winter.”

“I think so. I’ll see you on Friday.”

* * * *

The doorbell rang. Gregor had left a couple
of hours earlier to catch his flight to New York, and so I was
alone in the house. I walked slowly down the hallway. Had it always
been this long?

I peered through the etched glass that
framed the door, and spat out a curse. Why was Wexler here?

“One moment, Senator.” I didn’t want him in
the house when I was alone and my Smith & Wesson was in my
bedroom. I looked down at the cane that bore most of my weight. If
I braced myself on my good leg and lashed out with it, it should
afford me some protection.

I opened the closet door and removed
Gregor’s sweater. As I put it on, my riding crop caught my eye. I
slipped it inside the sweater, then opened the door and stepped out
onto the front step.

“Yes?”

“Surely you’re going to invite me in!”
Wexler gazed up and down the street, looking decidedly
disgruntled.

“Oh, I couldn’t do that, Senator. My mother
taught me never to be alone with a man.”

“But my dear Portia…”

I stood there not saying anything. It began
to drizzle.

“I…I wanted to see how you were.”

I gave a truncated wave to indicate my
surroundings. Anything broader and the crop would have fallen to
the ground. “I’m confined to my house and have no choice but to use
a cane. As you can see, your aide did a good deal of damage.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about! And
if my aide had a vendetta against your son, that had nothing to do
with me! With us!”

“There is no ‘us’.” I regarded him
stonily.

“I…I sent you flowers. And reading
material!”

“You did.” I’d be damned if I thanked him
for them. “And how is your wife?”

“Eh. Elizabeth’s been sedated. Even after
all this time her injuries are quite painful.”

“You’re aware she had my tires slashed?”

“N-How did you know that?”

“I’m a Sebring, Senator. There are a good
many things I know.”

“Er…” He looked uneasy.

“It’s cold, and I’m getting wet. Your visit
has been duly noted. Please don’t make another. Good afternoon.” I
reached behind me, found the doorknob, and opened the door.

As he stood there, his mouth gaping, I
backed into the house, catching myself as I almost lost my footing,
and then shut the door and threw the lock.

I expected him to lean on the bell, as if
that action would force me to open the door. I was prepared to
telephone for help, but to my surprise, he stormed down the walk
and got into the long black car parked at the curb. It drove off,
and I breathed a sigh of relief and replaced my crop in the
closet.

I hobbled to the stair lift, seated myself
on it, and pressed the control that put it in motion. At the top of
the stairs, I eased off the lift and made my way to my bedroom. My
Smith & Wesson was in my handbag. From this moment on I would
carry it on my person.

* * * *

Quinton arrived early on that brisk, sunny
Thursday.

“Sweetheart, would you mind picking some
chrysanthemums?” They grew in profusion along the edge of the
property. “I know Mark said we were to bring nothing but ourselves,
but I think the copper and bronze mums would be suitable. And
perhaps some maple leaves.”

“For a touch of red? Wonderful idea.”

I had some sheets of tissue paper ready. He
wrapped the stems, helped me on with my coat—the Russian sable that
had been Mother’s—and made sure the alarm was set and the front
door locked.

As we drove to Alexandria, I glanced over at
him. “Quinton, I’d like to invite Mark to spend Christmas with
us.”

“Really, Mother?”

“Yes. If you have no objections?” Mark might
not understand what that meant, but Quinton and I would.

“No objections at all.” A faint smile curved
his lips. “In fact, I’d like it very much.”

“Excellent. Oh, will DB be joining us again
this year?”

“Actually, no. He’s in a relationship with a
couple of women—have I shocked you?”

“Startled, perhaps—he’s such a quiet man—but
it would take more than consenting adults participating in a
threesome.”

Quinton burst into laughter. “My exact
thoughts! It’s always the quiet ones.”

“Well, I’m very happy for him, and I hope
one day I’ll get to meet his partners.”

“It might not be for quite a while. They
work for the Company.” He slanted me a glance. “I’m not supposed to
know who they are.”

“But you do?”

“Of course!”

Of course. Quinton was as much a Sebring as
he was a Mann.

* * * *

Mark met us in the lobby of his building.
Although he preferred to use the stairs, on this day he informed me
the stairs were out of order, and we all rode the elevator to the
third floor.

While he was busy in another part of his
condo, I murmured to Quinton, “Sweetheart, I think you should
invite him to Shadow Brook for New Year’s Eve as well.”

* * * *

It was Christmas Day. Gregor was in the
kitchen doing prep work for our dinner, and I was putting the last
of the gifts under the Christmas tree.

The doorbell rang, and I stiffened, which
was foolish. It was only heralding the arrival of my brother and
his partner.

I pressed the button on the intercom. “I’ll
get it,” I told Gregor.

But I made sure my Smith & Wesson was
close at hand.

It was Jefferson and Ludovic, and I opened
the closet door, slid the revolver into my coat pocket, and then
closed it, before unlocking the front door.

“Merry Christmas!”

“Tony is such a…a …” Jefferson snarled. He
gave me a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. “I don’t know why you’re
not irritated!” I didn’t know if his face was red because of the
chill in the weather or because he was furious.

“I take it you’ve spoken to him?”

Ludovic stepped around Jefferson and hugged
me gently. “Happy Christmas, Portia.”

“Happy Christmas, Ludovic.” I kissed his
cheek before turning to my brother. “Tony is who he is. Cara Mia is
his wife, and it’s only natural that all his concern will be geared
toward her and Sunday. Besides, he’s promised to be at Shadow Brook
for the New Year’s Eve party.”

“Well, Bryan could have come.”

“Yes, he could have. I wonder if things out
there are more difficult than either of them is letting on.”

“I’ve made you worry. I’m sorry, little
sister.”

“It’s all right.” I patted his cheek. “Now,
Quinton said he and Mark would meet us at the cemetery.”

“All right. Where’s your coat?”

“Right here.” I handed him the Russian
sable, and he held it so I could slide my arms into the
sleeves.

“Where’s the lynx—ow!” He glared at Ludovic.
“What did you do that for?”

Ludovic glared back at him. “You know that
was ruined in the car wreck!”

“Jesus, Portia, I’m so sorry!”

“It’s all right.” I adjusted the shawl
collar.

“What’s this?” Jefferson touched the flowers
I’d pinned to it.

“Really, Jefferson.” Ludovic gave him an
exasperated glance. “They’re violets.”

“I know that! What I want to know is what
they’re doing there.” Before Ludovic could respond, Jefferson
growled, “There’s only one person who gives Portia violets.”

“
Gave
,” I corrected him. “And she’s
dead. Or had you forgotten?”

“Not likely!

“Not our business, dear one,” Ludovic
reminded his partner.

“Perhaps it isn’t, but Tony would want to
know, and since he’s not here—”

“Let’s go, shall we?” I raised my voice.
“Gregor, we’re going now.”

“Okay. And tell Vincent I’m putting
something special in his food.”

“Gregor still doesn’t like Vincent?”
Jefferson asked as he handed me into his Mercedes.