Christmas Pie Read online

  When she stood up, however, her festive mood collapsed at the sight of Lady Midnight clinging to James Drayton’s arm. The over-jeweled, under-dressed floozy was slithering—Polly couldn’t think of another word for it—her bosom against him. Polly just barely managed to stifle her offended gasp.

  Turning impetuously, she beat a quick retreat into the room where her excited singers were being regaled with punch and Christmas cake. She joined them, deciding any one of them was worth a dozen James Draytons and positively hundreds of that awful Lady Midnight, whoever she was.

  As soon as the orphans spotted her, they ran up and dragged her over to the cake table. Mother Francis Mary handed her a piece of cake and she picked up a glass of punch.

  “Your choir was certainly a rousing success, my dear,” the Mother Superior said.

  “Yes, I should say so. They did a wonderful job.”

  “Mr. Drayton and his lady friend seemed impressed.”

  A quick, suspicious glance at Mother Francis Mary found the nun ladling out another glass of punch, an expression of consummate innocence on her wrinkled old face. Anger bubbled in Polly’s breast and she was about to disabuse Mother Francis Mary of her assumption when Raymond Sing appeared at her side.

  “Mr. Sing, what a pleasure to see you.”

  “Good evening, Miss MacNamara. I must say you did an admirable job with the children. You must be very proud of them.”

  “Indeed, I am.”

  Mother Francis Mary joined Polly and Raymond, and Polly was able to concentrate on the conversation with a fair degree of aplomb. The ballroom was visible from the door of the choir room. Out of the corner of her eye, the specter of James and That Woman haunted her, but she tried her best to ignore it.

  # # #

  James wanted to deck Cynthia Ingram. Of all the inconvenient women he’d ever met in his life, she led the list. Right now, she was hanging onto him like a barnacle, poking him with her breasts until he wanted to yell at her. He knew Polly was angry with him, and he didn’t blame her.

  Taking a step away from Cynthia, he shook off her clinging arms. When she attempted to sneak them back up his chest, he took both of her hands in his.

  “Will you please keep your hands to yourself, Cynthia? I don’t enjoy being pawed in a ballroom.”

  Cynthia’s laugh tinkled tinnily and James winced. He could almost see the brittle noise snaking into the choir room, circling Polly’s head, shattering, and sprinkling her with tiny poisoned spikes.

  “You didn’t used to mind, James, darling.” Cynthia’s coo had gone a little pouty.

  “I know, Cynthia. But I mind now.” Irritably, James added, “Didn’t you come to this thing with Wilding? Where the hell is he?”

  Cynthia’s pretty mouth pursed into a moue of wounded vanity. “He’s undoubtedly at the punch bowl. You’re ever so much more amusing than he is, James. I don’t know why you’re being so silly tonight.”

  “Dammit, Cynthia, I thought we had all this out the other day. I’ve come to this function with Miss MacNamara, and I don’t care to have you smothering me. Why, just imagine how she must feel.”

  “You didn’t used to care about things like that, either, James,” Cynthia announced in a much less purry voice. She sounded, in fact, downright catty when she glanced at Polly’s back and observed, “That prim little thing? She doesn’t seem quite in your style, James.”

  For several seconds James didn’t answer Cynthia. When he did, he chose his words carefully. “She wasn’t in the style of the man I was. I believe I’ve changed, Cynthia, and she is now. I intend to deserve her.”

  Cynthia scoffed, “You can’t mean to tell me you’ve begun taking up with virgins, James. I can’t quite believe it of you.”

  “Will you keep your voice down, Cynthia?” James cleared his throat and said aloud for the first time, without even testing it in private first, “I love her, Cynthia.”

  “My God.” Cynthia stared at him for several seconds.

  “Will you please go back to Wilding now?”

  After another appraising look at Polly, who seemed to be in a deep discussion with Raymond Sing and Mother Francis Mary, Cynthia said, “My God,” again. Then she said, “Oh, James, I had no idea. Well, I presume I am to wish you happy. I certainly hope I didn’t spoil anything.” Then, with another glance at Polly and one more, “My God,” Cynthia Ingram turned and slunk away.

  Breathing a deep sigh of relief, James joined Polly’s group. His relief was short-lived. Polly gave him the coldest look he’d ever received from her and did not even pause in her discourse. She was in the midst of explaining the fine art of child-taming to Raymond Sing.

  “It’s really not difficult. You merely have to remember that, while they are children, they are still human beings. I don’t think most children respond as well to harshness as to kindness. There are, possibly, exceptions.” She cast a speaking glance at James.

  With an inward groan, James put on his best society smile and said lightly, “May I please remove the heroine of the evening from your company for a moment or two, Mother Francis Mary and Raymond? I’m sure Polly must be ready for some refreshment.”

  “We’ve just had refreshments,” Polly told him icily.

  Uh-oh. “Why, you’ve only had cake and punch. Why don’t we see if we can’t get you some oysters and a glass of champagne?”

  “I’m fine,” Polly snapped, obviously ready for battle.

  Only James heard her because the Mother Superior said, in a louder voice than Polly’s and at the same time, “Why, what a wonderful suggestion, Mr. Drayton. Our Polly deserves to be refreshed after all she’s done today.”

  James could have kissed the wise old lady. He could tell Polly was seething, but she managed a tolerably gracious, “Well, all right then.” Then she hesitated to put her hand on his offered arm, a circumstance James took as a bad sign.

  He nodded to Raymond and the little nun. Mother Francis Mary’s eyes had taken to twinkling like a couple of Christmas candles and he felt a sudden lick of irritation. That old lady seemed determined to laugh at him. He wasn’t sure he appreciated it.

  “Have a good time, you two.” James heard her rusty chuckle and bit back a frown.

  As soon as they entered the refreshment area, Polly snatched her hand from James’s coat sleeve. The delicious warm spot she’d made on his arm immediately chilled and he felt ridiculously bereft.

  He said, “You were wonderful with those children, Polly.”

  She said, “Thank you.”

  He said, “I haven’t heard many children’s choirs, but yours was definitely the best of the small lot.

  She said, “Thank you.”

  He said, “Would you like a plate of oysters, Polly?”

  She said, “No, thank you.”

  James sighed, frustrated. Although he knew Polly didn’t want him to, he took her by the arm and began to walk toward a small balcony. She balked and he ended up nearly dragging her out the door. As a precaution, he drew the drapes so they wouldn’t be spied on by the rest of the celebrants.

  “Listen, Polly, we need to talk. I have to explain what happened in there.”

  She arched her brows haughtily. James hadn’t ever seen her look haughty before. He hadn’t known she had it in her, in fact, and was unhappy with the demonstration.

  “You mean the spectacle you and that Lady Midnight character made of each other while the choir sang? Is that what you want to explain, James?”

  She said “James” as though it were a curse word.

  “Please, Polly. It’s not the way it looked.”

  “No?” She turned her back on him and stared over the balcony.

  Use of the ballroom had been donated by a wealthy San Francisco family, and Polly found herself staring at a vast lawn. She was pretty sure that if it had been daylight, she would have been treated to a view of tasteful gardens surrounding the grassy area. Since, however, it was full night, she could see nothing beyond a small swath of green. The
effect was eerie, and she tried to concentrate on the possibility of ghosts as a pleasant alternative to this conversation. She was mad as fire now.

  “No. Please let me explain. Mrs. Ingram and I have—well, we’ve known each other for a long time.”

  “Have you?” Polly could hardly believe the acidic tone came from her mouth. She was proud of herself for a second time this evening.

  “Yes. We—we’re old friends.”

  She whirled around. “Old friends? Old friends, my eye, James Drayton!”

  “Polly—”

  Furious, she glowered at James. “Don’t you ‘Polly’ me! How dare you invite me to come to this function and then spend the evening with that—that creature plastered to you. Why, I saw you!”

  “Polly, please—”

  “Please what? Please don’t be angry? Please don’t be offended? Please don’t take exception?”

  “Polly—”

  “No! Just because I’m a mere type-writer doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings, James Drayton! I can’t believe even you would treat a lady this way!” Polly recalled the kisses they’d shared and wondered if she should be calling herself a lady. Well, it didn’t matter.

  “You have no right to humiliate me in front of all those people. You have no right!”

  “Oh, God, Polly, please. I didn’t mean to humiliate you.”

  “Ha!” Afraid she was going to cry in anger, Polly turned her back on him again. She wanted to say more, but her throat ached, and she didn’t.

  “Please, Polly. Listen to me. I tried to brush Cynthia off, but she wouldn’t be brushed. I finally told her to let me go, to stop doing what she was doing. It was embarrassing to me, too.” James paused.

  Still not mollified but having worked the ache in her throat down to a manageable knot, Polly turned and uttered a contemptuous, “Oh, really?”

  Raking a hand through his curls, James said, “Yes, really.”

  His eyes pleaded for understanding. Polly, not wishing to appear easy, refused to give it to him. “Well, now, isn’t that grand?” She turned around again so as not to be tempted by his kicked-puppy expression and her heart’s inclination. What she wanted to do was fling herself into his arms.

  “Oh, God, Polly, please listen to me.” He sounded pathetic.

  She muttered a sour, “I’m listening.”

  “I—I had already told her I wouldn’t be seeing her any longer, that she and I would no longer be spending time together.”

  “Apparently she didn’t believe you.”

  James’s miserable huff of distress almost made Polly turn around. She forced herself to hold her ground.

  “Aw, Polly, give me a chance. I didn’t want to make a scene tonight.”

  “Ha! You did make a scene, though, didn’t you?”

  “I didn’t mean to.” James sounded disgruntled. “But it won’t ever happen again, Polly. I—I told Cynthia. I told her the truth tonight.”

  Suspiciously, Polly asked, “And just what is the truth, James?”

  Polly heard his scraping breath. She held her shoulders rigid, not daring to hope she knew what James’s truth was. Although she’d eschewed it as ridiculous not fifteen minutes earlier, she reached for her coin and clung to it like a magnet.

  “I told her I love you, Polly.”

  Polly turned around and stared at him. She wasn’t sure she believed him, and searched his face to determine the truth of his declaration.

  “I told her I love you. And now I’m telling you.”

  Polly opened her mouth but nothing came out. James spoke for her.

  “I love you as I never expected to love anybody. Will you marry me, Polly? Please say you’ll marry me.”

  He stood stiffly before her. Polly realized with awe that his stiffness was due to fear. Fear! He was afraid she’d refuse him. Good heavens.

  “Oh, James.” She didn’t recognize her voice.

  James’s brows dipped a fraction. “Is that a yes or a no, Polly? Please say something soon. I’m going crazy, waiting.”

  All at once Polly’s insides lit up as though a Fourth of July skyrocket had somehow managed to fly through the months to explode inside her this Christmas Eve. Slowly, she smiled and watched a similar smile spread across James’s face. His eyes sparkled.

  She said, “Yes, James. Oh, yes.”

  And then she was in his arms.

  # # #

  J. P. Drayton had waited all evening for this. His bark of laughter startled a group of people standing nearby and they looked at him. He crumpled the note in his fist and looked back, considered scowling at them for their impertinence, decided it wasn’t worth the effort, and laughed again.

  “By damn, they did it!”

  With a chortle more nearly jolly than any he’d given in years, he peered about the room.

  Now all he had to do was find that blasted boy and his silly lady love.

  His merry mood lasted through one sweep of the room with his piercing gaze. It diminished during a second sweep until it teetered on the brink of wrath. J. P. scowled. Damned disrespectful puppy. If this wasn’t just like him, to disappear when J. P. wanted him.

  In a towering grump, he stomped around the room, searching for his son. He ripped a curtain back from a balcony, startling a young man and woman who had been on the verge of a Christmas-Eve kiss. The young woman screeched and J. P. yanked the curtain together again after shooting her a scowl.

  “No need for that,” he barked, and strode on.

  By the time he spotted Raymond Sing, J. P. was mad as hell and about to explode with thwarted purpose.

  “You there!”

  Raymond turned, surprised. “Me?” He pointed at his chest.

  J. P. snorted. “Of course, you! Who the hell else do you think I mean?”

  Raymond looked about uncertainly for a moment, then walked over to where J. P. stood, glowering for all he was worth.

  “May I help you, Mr. Drayton?”

  “Do you know where my damned son is?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Why not? You’re one of his damned associates, aren’t you?”

  Raymond gave the old man a wry grin. “Yes, sir, but I’m afraid I wasn’t assigned to watch him this evening.”

  “Harrumph!”

  Unused to being frustrated and not liking it in the least, J. P. stood still and seethed impotently for a moment or two. At last he said, “Well, can you think where he might be?”

  “No, sir. The last I saw of him, he and Miss MacNamara were heading toward the refreshment room.”

  “Well, they ain’t there now,” J. P. told him, as if Raymond were a fool even to suggest it.

  Raymond only shrugged. His grin got bigger.

  “Damn it, I need him, boy!”