"Theo, I don't think that would be wise. Do you?"
"I guess not," she said. "Just dreaming."
But I knew that if I kept driving and found a hotel that accepted guests without luggage, she would have happily acquiesced. Her unruliness was daunting.
We arrived at the Ocean Grand and she was suitably impressed by the elegant marbled interior.
"This is what it's all about, isn't it?" she commented.
"You've lost me," I said. "All about what?"
"You know, Archy. Money. Comfort. People to serve you. No problems. The lush life."
There was such fierce desire in her voice that I didn't even attempt a reply. She had a vision and it would have been brutal to explain that what she sought was a chimera. She wouldn't have believed me anyway.
We dined on the terrace of the bistro, overlooking the swimming pool. And beyond was a larger pooclass="underline" the Atlantic Ocean. I suppose that setting and that luncheon came close to matching Theo's ideal. The omelettes were succulent, the salad subtly tartish, the glasses of chilled chenin blanc just right. And while we lived "the lush life," I initiated my intrigue.
"Theo," I said earnestly, "I have a problem I hope you'll be able to help me with."
"Oh?" she said. "What is it?"
"First of all I want you to know that I have no desire whatsoever to intrude on your personal affairs. Whatever you do or whatever you plan is no business of mine, and I don't want you to think I'm a meddler. But willy-nilly I've been handed a decision to make that concerns you."
That caught her. She paused in the process of dredging a slice of smoked salmon from her omelette.
"Archy," she said, "what is it?"
"Well, Chauncey and I are really not close friends. Not buddy-buddy, you know, but more like casual acquaintances. However, on occasion he asks my advice on legal matters. I have tried to convince him that I am an ersatz lawyer-no license to practice:-and he'd do better to consult my father, who not only has the education and experience but is the attorney of record for the Smythe-Hersforth family. But I think Chauncey is somewhat frightened of my father."
"Chauncey is frightened of many things," she said coldly.
"That may be, but I must admit Prescott McNally can be overwhelming at times. He is a stringent man of high principles. Unbending, one might say. Chauncey prefers to discuss his problems with me."
"And am I one of Chauncey's problems?"
I waved that away. "Of course not. Not you personally. Chauncey declares he is deeply in love with you and I believe him. He wants very much to marry you. What he is concerned about is the prenuptial agreement you have requested."
"Oh," she said. "That."
"Theo, I definitely approve of what you're doing to ensure your future, although I do think five million is a wee bit high."
"He can afford it," she said stonily.
"Perhaps not now," I said. "I don't think his present net worth could accommodate it. But he'd certainly be capable of a five-million settlement after he inherits."
"Yes," she said, "that's what I figured."
A cool one, our Madam X!
"But that's Chauncey's quandary, don't you see," I said. "I must tell you that Mrs. Smythe-Hersforth is not wildly enthusiastic about her son marrying. Not just to you but to any woman. You know what dominant mothers are like."
"Do I ever!"
"So if Chauncey tells her about the prenup, she may change her will and pull the plug on his inheritance."
"Can she do that, Archy? He's her only child, you know."
"True, and though I'm not too familiar with Florida inheritance law, I reckon Chauncey would be legally entitled to a certain percentage of her estate. I mean I doubt she could totally disinherit him. And if she tried, he could certainly contest the will. But what if she becomes so angered she decides to diminish her estate while she's still alive? Spend all her millions on a program for spaying cats, for instance. I'm jesting, of course, but it's her money and if she wants to give it all away, or most of it, to worthwhile charities while she's living, she's completely within her legal rights."
Theo took a gulp from her wine glass. "Jesus!" she said. "We hadn't thought of that."
Did you catch that "We"? I did.
She gave me what I believe she thought was a brave smile, but it looked rather tremulous to me.
"You don't think his mother will approve of a prenup agreement, Archy?"
"I don't. Do you?"
"I guess not," she said. "The old bitch doesn't even approve of me. I knew that from the start. What did you tell Chauncey to do?"
"I stalled him. Until I had a chance to talk to you about it and see how you felt."
She reached across the table to pat my cheek. "Good boy," she said.
We were silent while our emptied plates were removed. We both declined coffee, but I ordered bowls of fresh raspberries.
"You're a clever lad, Archy," Madam X said. "I'll just bet you've got an answer up your sleeve."
"There is one possibility," I admitted, giving her a straight-in-the-eye stare. "Have your own attorney draw up the prenuptial agreement for five million. My father doesn't have to know about it and Chauncey's mother doesn't have to know about it."
The simplicity of my solution stunned her and she took a moment to grasp it. "And you'll tell Chauncey to sign it?" she asked, almost breathlessly.
I switched into my enigmatic mode and didn't give her a direct reply. "Think about it," I urged her. "Talk it over with your father. Frankly, Theo, I think it's your only hope. But it's your decision. Now let's eat our raspberries. Don't they look delicious!"
"Archy," she said, "daddy is over at Louise Hawkins place."
"Is he?" I said. "And when is he returning home?"
"Probably tomorrow morning," she said, and we smiled at each other.
I shall not attempt to apologize for my conduct during the remainder of that afternoon. I agree that "reprehensible" is as good an adjective as any to describe my behavior. But I do have an excuse: The devil made me do it.
We drove back to Theo's condo. Once again she led me to that appalling cretonne-covered couch, and once again I saw the blue butterfly flutter and take wing.
She was mystery incarnate. Ignoring her physical beauty-which I certainly did not-I sensed there was a fury in her convulsions. I do not believe I was the cause of her anger; it was her malignant destiny that enraged her, and she rebelled with puissance and a bravado that asserted her strength and independence.
I returned home exhausted and saddened, although if what I suspected was accurate, there was little reason for my sorrow. Still, I find it depressing when people with admirable attributes put their talents to wicked use.
I conducted myself with stately decorum during the evening routine of family cocktail hour and dinner. I do not believe either of my dear progenitors had any inkling of the deception I had practiced that afternoon.
After dinner I retired upstairs to work on my journal. I had hardly started scribbling when Sgt. Al Rogoff phoned.
"How many chukkers of polo did you play today?" he demanded.
"None," I replied.
"How many sets of tennis?"
"None."
"How many holes of golf?"
"None."
"Heavens to Betsy," he said, "what's happening to the primo playboy of Palm Beach? Then what have you been up to?"
"Investigating," I said. "I do work occasionally, you know."
"You could have fooled me," he said. "Hey, I told Lauderdale about Reuben Hagler and that Pinky Schatz. They can't locate him, but they've planted an undercover policewoman in the Leopard Club."
"Yikes!" I said. "Surely not as a nude dancer."
"Nope," Al said, laughing. "I guess she's not qualified. They put her in as a waitress. Her job is to buddy up to the Schatz woman and try to get her to spill."
"It might work," I said, "but I doubt it."
"Me, too," Rogoff admitted. "But one never knows, do one?"