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Christmas Pie Page 33


  “They can certainly use the money. What with Polly’s brother being lost with the China Seas, the money he used to send home hasn’t been coming. If they determine the crew is dead, I suppose they’ll get some sort of settlement, but until then—well, their lives haven’t been easy.”

  An odd look crossed his father’s face, one James had not encountered before. It looked almost as though the man were contemplating a private joke, although James knew that couldn’t be the case. If there was one individual on the face of the earth devoid a sense of humor, it was J. P. Drayton.

  J. P. waved a hand as though he didn’t care to discuss the situation further. “Here comes your young woman, James,” he said gruffly. “Appears fit this evening, doesn’t she? Hasn’t wasted any time spending her new money, it looks like.”

  James bit back the retort teetering on the tip of his tongue. He wouldn’t give the old bastard the satisfaction of showing him a reaction. Besides, he’d be damned if he’d let Polly witness him fighting with his father.

  When he turned toward her, all thought of chastising J. P. Drayton fled. Struck again by how perfect Polly was, he could only stand and grin like a love-sick fool as she neared. He saw a flicker of trepidation cross her face when she beheld J. P., but she didn’t break her stride. Good for her. James knew it wasn’t his place to be proud of her, but he was anyway.

  “Good evening, Mr. Drayton.” Polly smiled and offered James’s father her hand. J. P. had risen, too, and now frowned at her.

  “Going to reproach me some more this evening, Miss?”

  “Of course not, Mr. Drayton. I’m glad to see you here and chatting with James.”

  Her glorious smile traveled from J. P. to James, and James wasn’t sure he could survive many more of them without sweeping her away and ravishing her.

  “I didn’t know you’d be joining us this evening, Mr. Drayton,” Polly said.

  “Had to. That dratted Mother Superior needled me until I had to come or have her praying over my immortal soul and telling me about it every time she had to kneel.” He sounded dreadfully vexed.

  Polly laughed. “Indeed, Mother Francis Mary is a formidable personage. I expect anybody she prayed over would go straight to heaven.”

  J. P. gave another harrumph.

  “Why did Mother Francis Mary invite you?”

  Polly turned to gape at him and James knew she was startled by his blunt question. She just didn’t know his father or she wouldn’t look so surprised. J. P. never had any truck with charity. And as far as his immortal soul went, James was pretty sure J. P. didn’t have one.

  “I’m practically supporting those damned orphans, young man, if you want to know.”

  “You are?”

  The voices of James and Polly blended in a duet or shock. J. P. smirked at them.

  “Surprised, are you, you silly whippersnappers? You’re not the only one in the family who does a good deed from time to time, boy.”

  James ignored the ignominious “boy” his father insisted on calling him. “I used to be.”

  J. P. offered one more harrumph.

  People had begun to fill up the ballroom by this time. James decided he wasn’t about to waste a perfectly good evening of Polly’s company in that of J. P. Drayton. “I suppose it’s time to begin mingling, Father. I’m sure we’ll see each other again during the evening.”

  J. P. snorted, and Polly said, “Oh, you. You like people to think you’re a grouchy old bear, don’t you? You’re just a softie underneath all that grump. You must be, or you’d never have sent Mother and me that check or support the wonderful work the good Sisters of Benevolence do.”

  Although he looked astonished, J. P. didn’t have time to disabuse Polly of her absurd notion because James swept her off on his arm. J. P. noticed the ironic gleam in his son’s eye and resented it.

  “Couple of impudent babies. That’s what they are.” Annoyed, he turned away to seek the punchbowl.

  “I had no idea your father was a philanthropist, James,” Polly said. “I got the impression he eschewed things of this nature.”

  The orchestra struck up the first notes of a Strauss waltz, and James took Polly’s hand. As they began to dance, James acknowledged, “As far as I know, he’s never done anything like this before in his entire life. Maybe you’re right. Maybe he’s changing his ways.” He knew he sounded doubtful. He was doubtful.

  “I’m sure that’s the case,” Polly said serenely, as though J. P. Drayton giving money to charitable institutions and poor widows and orphans were not as astonishing an event as a snowstorm in August.

  James decided not to argue. Holding Polly was too delicious a pastime to spoil with an argument. She danced very well. It took them no time at all to fall into perfect rhythm. He was not surprised.

  Polly decided this was bliss: to be dancing the waltz in the arms of the man she loved on Christmas Eve. James didn’t seem at all standoffish tonight; she couldn’t understand why he’d been so aloof during the past three weeks.

  Whatever the reason, she didn’t intend to dwell on his strange behavior. He was attentive tonight, and tonight was all that mattered.

  The ballroom had been decorated in swags of green foliage and holly berries. Red ribbons graced the candelabra, a huge Christmas tree stood against the front wall, there was gold and glitter everywhere, and a generally festive air prevailed. A hundred or more charitable San Franciscans were expected to attend this annual extravaganza. Light refreshments were provided in a room apart from the ballroom. Polly had never attended such a grand affair.

  Her choir was scheduled to sing at eight, after speeches by prominent politicians and businessmen who supported the Sisters of Benevolence. Polly, who had worried about having somebody to talk to, found herself all but hovered over by James. He introduced her to everybody who fell within their orbit, and she discovered that chatting with rich people was not very different from chatting with poor ones. It was as Rose had instructed her: if she acted as though she belonged, people would treat her as though she did.

  She found the whole experience amazing. There was one woman, however, who puzzled her. Was it her imagination, or was James trying to avoid her? The woman was a golden-haired beauty who hung on the arm of a gentleman to whom James had introduced her earlier. She certainly didn’t seem to want to avoid James. In fact, she seemed to be staring at them, an expression of wry amusement on her face.

  Oh, my, she was lovely. Polly felt a twist of jealousy and then told herself to stop being silly.

  It might very well be true that the woman and James were friends. Why, the woman obviously had scads of money. Just look at the way she glittered. Perhaps she glittered a bit too much for refinement, Polly decided uncharitably. There was no denying, however, that she certainly caught one’s eye.

  The awful notion that perhaps the gilt beauty and James more than merely knew each other struck Polly and dimmed her enjoyment for a moment or two. Then she told herself severely that it was no concern of hers one way or the other. After all, she supposed James had every right to see whomever he wished.

  Since the thought of James with that brilliant female made her want to cry, Polly stopped thinking about it at once. James had just introduced her to another couple of gentlemen, one a banker, the other an attorney, and she gave them her own version of a dazzling smile. The banker, a gentleman named Brundage, was dazzled enough to ask her to dance.

  “We can’t allow James to monopolize you all evening, Miss MacNamara,” he told her with a very warm smile. “Such a treat as you are must be shared. Right, James?”

  Although James laughed at his friend’s jest, Polly took satisfaction in noticing a quiver of what might be aggravation cross his handsome features. She smiled back at Mr. Brundage as she took his proffered hand.

  “Just bring her back in one piece, Brundage. Be careful, Polly. Brundage has feet the size of watermelons, and everybody knows he can’t dance.”

  “Don’t be silly, James,” Mr. Brunda
ge advised with a mock scowl. “Don’t pay any attention to him, Miss MacNamara. He’s merely jealous.”

  An unworthy, Oh, I do hope so, charged through Polly’s head.

  At first she managed to pay attention to the dance and even engage in pleasant conversation with her partner. Mr. Brundage danced nowhere near as well as James.

  “So, Miss MacNamara, how did you manage to meet our devil-may-care James? Do you have an interest in these charities? Is that why he’s here? Those of us who support these nuns’ soup kitchens were quite surprised to find him at this shindig.”

  Polly could feel her cheeks get warm and was glad Mr. Brundage had given her an excuse not to tell him she was a lowly type-writer for James’s firm. She also decided James’s secret was safe with her, even if her heart wasn’t.

  “Oh, my, yes,” she said, striving for an air of nonchalance. “Why, I’ve been devoting time to the orphanage for two years now. I’m in charge of the choir tonight.” She was so proud of her choir, but thought she might appear unsophisticated if she were to demonstrate her pride.

  “My goodness, what a talented young lady. And what other skills do you possess?”

  Type-writing, Polly thought grimly. As they executed another turn, however, she glanced towards James and saw that the spectacular blonde had approached him. Or appropriated him. Brundage’s polite question fled from her mind.

  James and the painted lady chatted easily, the woman laughing and touching him as though they were acquaintances—at the very least—of very long standing. Polly caught herself frowning when she saw the female rub James’s arm and James laugh as though she’d said something witty.

  Although she stopped frowning as soon as she realized she’d succumbed to the unladylike expression, Polly still wondered what the woman had said to amuse James so. She tried to decide whether she herself was witty and came to the glum conclusion that she wasn’t. Not at all. The most witty thing she’d done in years was to give James’s stupid mongrel dog a pedigree.

  “A Philippine Tapir Hound, indeed,” she muttered.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss MacNamara? Who’s a hound?”

  Annoyed with herself for succumbing to her unpleasant thoughts, Polly adopted a bright smile and said, “I beg your pardon, Mr. Brundage. I was just thinking about a dog I’m acquainted with.”

  “I’m not altogether certain I deem that a compliment, Miss MacNamara.”

  Polly blushed, embarrassed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Brundage. Indeed, I didn’t mean anything.”

  With a laugh, Brundage said, “That’s all right, Miss MacNamara. I’ve brought worse things to ladies’ minds, I’m sure.”

  Determined not to make a fool of herself, Polly paid attention to the music for the rest of the dance. When it ended, they found themselves at the other end of the ballroom, and Mr. Brundage escorted Polly back to James’s side. As they approached, Polly was perturbed to see James still tete-a-tete with the dazzling blonde.

  Her escort murmured, “I see Lady Midnight’s found him.”

  Polly shot him a swift look. “Lady Midnight?”

  Brundage immediately looked contrite, as though he’d been indiscreet and regretted it. “I mean, I see Mrs. Ingram had begun to monopolize James.” He peered down at Polly. “Don’t understand that man’s taste.”

  Since Brundage seemed to be a friendly sort, Polly longed to query him about the ravishing creature clinging like a leech to James’s arm. Unfortunately, they were nearing their destination and she was unable to do so.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Polly had just reached James’s side when Mother Francis Mary bustled up to her. The old nun looked as out of place as a penguin in the grand ballroom. The Mother Superior, however, seemed not at all troubled by the discrepancy between her austere garb and that of the rest of the resplendent company.

  Before James could begin an introduction between his two female friends, Mother Francis Mary grabbed Polly by the hand. “It’s time, dear. Come along with me.”

  A little disconcerted, Polly murmured, “Of course. Please excuse me,” she added to Brundage, James and the lady.

  Lady? Ha!

  “You look absolutely glorious tonight, my dear. I believe all this folderol agrees with you.”

  Polly couldn’t help but laugh. “Thank you, Mother. I must admit I’ve been enjoying myself.” Until the last few minutes.

  The more Polly thought about James Drayton consorting with that artfully painted creature, the less she liked it. Almost before she’d reached the raised staging area where the children were to perform, she’d decided the two of them were carrying on a torrid affair behind her back.

  As if we were close enough for him to do anything at all behind my back, she thought, hurt giving way to anger. Why, the beast had kissed Polly just a couple weeks ago. And now look at him! Why, that woman was plastered to him. It didn’t bear thinking of.

  If that was the sort of female James Drayton favored, Polly guessed she should be happy she discovered it now. At the moment, her chief regret was that she’d succumbed to the charms of such a blackguard in the first place. She thought about wishing on her charm, then decided not to be stupid.

  Determined to put James Drayton and his doxy out of her mind, Polly turned her attention to her orphans. They were dressed in white robes with big red floppy bows at their throats, and looked adorable. Polly was bursting with pride for them when they marched out in one long, well-behaved line and took their places in three tiers on the stage.

  The chairman of the board of the Sisters of Benevolence Charitable Organizations, a jolly-looking middle-aged man named Farley, stepped up to the stage. Much to everybody’s relief, his speech was brief.

  “And now, ladies and gentlemen, to assure you that your generosity is appreciated by the recipients, children from the Sisters of Benevolence’s Home for Orphaned Children are here to present a program of Christmas carols. The entire program has been put together and will be conducted by Miss Polly MacNamara. Miss MacNamara is a dedicated volunteer at the orphanage.”

  Polite applause greeted Mr. Farley’s announcement. Polly thought she heard Mr. Brundage’s voice call out a hearty, “Hear, hear!” but she wasn’t sure.

  She had been nervous before. Now, as she looked at the happy, shining faces of her darling singers, she decided she had nothing to fear. These children needed her confidence, and by George, they were going to get it. James Drayton could just—just—well, she wasn’t sure what he could do, but she resolved to give her best to her choir.

  They’d only been through the songs with an orchestral accompaniment once, earlier this very evening, but everything went beautifully. They sang “Silent Night” as purely and sweetly as she’d ever heard it sung. When their sophisticated audience joined in during “Jingle Bells,” Polly knew her choir was a success.

  To cries of “Encore,” the little musicale came to an end. Polly wasn’t sure what to do about an encore, so she did nothing. She did smile and curtsy at the end of their performance, as Mother Francis Mary had indicated was the appropriate thing to do. Then, just as she was about to follow her children into the back room and give them all a round of hugs, she discovered her hand being pulled on. Surprised, she turned to find Mr. Farley, a beatific smile on his ruddy face, beckoning to her.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Farley called, “I think we owe this lovely little lady another round of applause for all the work she’s done and the time she’s taken with those delightful children.”

  A cheer went up at Farley’s suggestion.

  Pleased and more than a little embarrassed by the approval of her audience, Polly allowed herself to be led back to the stage. Having practiced for hours in front of her mirror for just such an eventuality, she swept another graceful curtsy.