“I’ll think about it.”
By two hours later, she’d snagged a look-alike gown at her favorite bargain shop, then deposited the rest of her gift money into her account.
Wonder how much interest that amount has earned by now?
She smiled.
If Derek—or any of my other boyfriends—ever knew how frugal I am, they’d stop trying to buy me things. I wouldn’t want that!
She’d certainly met and dated her share of interesting businessmen in L.A. But it never took long for her to get bored. That—and an inkling it was time to put down roots somewhere—had fueled her decision to move to Santa Barbara, where she’d likely meet a fresh crop of interesting males. At first she’d singled out the senior Mr. Calvin as the most likely target. Rich. Widowed. Attractive. High-powered CEO. But then Zackery had spotted her first. Since that would’ve spoiled it with the father, she’d decided to allow the son’s advances. She hadn’t yet admitted to herself that it was the last time she’d felt completely in control with Zackery.
Cynthia stripped off the Halston she’d wear later, draping it across the foot of her bed. Pulling on a short, fitted cottonhousedress, she padded on bare feet to the small desk in her kitchen and turned her attention to the party she was planning.
I’ve got to make sure that I’ve invited everybody… make sure I haven’t overlooked anyone
. Cynthia had a gift for entertaining. It was in her nature to leave nothing to chance, and to trust no one else’s ability to get things right.
I’d better call the printer
. She’d gone over the details with him endlessly, but one could never be too careful.
“Hello?” Mr. Dinzle had been a master printer for forty-five years and, she imagined, saw everything there was to see in black and white.
“Oh, yes, hello, this is Cynthia Radcliffe—with an
e.”
She’d read somewhere years ago that little idiosyncrasies made one more memorable and had decided that adding the
e
to her name—and reminding people of the unusual spelling—would become one of her trademarks.
“Oh, yes, hello, Miss Radcliffe. Are you calling about your invitations?”
“Yes. How do they look? Did the gold borders come out just perfectly?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Radcliffe, they did, and so did the little gold—” Mr. Dinzle paused. “Uh …
hearts
you wanted on the outside of the envelopes.”
His tone had seemed a bit questioning. “You don’t think they look too… well, too….”
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Miss Radcliffe.”
“Oh, well, after all, this is rather a too-too occasion, isn’t it? And besides, nothing is too good for Zackery.”
I’m going out on a limb for you, Zackery
. A knot of discomfort tied itself in her gut.
Why am I nervous?
For onething, Zackery seemed to have a strange ambivalence about parties, especially big ones. That didn’t worry her too much, because he did
go
to them all the time. In fact, that’s how they’d first met. But this would be different—a party in his honor.
“Well, you would know best, I’m sure,” Mr. Dinzle continued. “Would you like me to read the invitation back to you?”
“Oh, yes, you’d better do that.”
He cleared his throat, then read: “‘You are cordially invited to join Mr. Zackery Calvin and Miss Cynthia Radcliffe’—with an
e
—‘at a benefit for the Arts Museum to celebrate Mr. Calvin’s birthday, Thursday, December twelfth, Seven O’Clock pm, Calma (the Calvin Estate), 10500 Sycamore Canyon Road, Santa Barbara, California’.”
Cynthia listened carefully, imagining the lovely script on the small cream-colored gilt-edged card.
Doing the party as a benefit was really a stroke of genius
. She’d congratulate herself again later, when she calmed down. For now, she could feel the anxiety creep over her again. Everything had to be perfect. “And you got the address right?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Radcliffe, as I just read to you.”
“And it says black tie in the bottom
By two hours later, she’d snagged a look-alike gown at her favorite bargain shop, then deposited the rest of her gift money into her account.
Wonder how much interest that amount has earned by now?
She smiled.
If Derek—or any of my other boyfriends—ever knew how frugal I am, they’d stop trying to buy me things. I wouldn’t want that!
She’d certainly met and dated her share of interesting businessmen in L.A. But it never took long for her to get bored. That—and an inkling it was time to put down roots somewhere—had fueled her decision to move to Santa Barbara, where she’d likely meet a fresh crop of interesting males. At first she’d singled out the senior Mr. Calvin as the most likely target. Rich. Widowed. Attractive. High-powered CEO. But then Zackery had spotted her first. Since that would’ve spoiled it with the father, she’d decided to allow the son’s advances. She hadn’t yet admitted to herself that it was the last time she’d felt completely in control with Zackery.
Cynthia stripped off the Halston she’d wear later, draping it across the foot of her bed. Pulling on a short, fitted cottonhousedress, she padded on bare feet to the small desk in her kitchen and turned her attention to the party she was planning.
I’ve got to make sure that I’ve invited everybody… make sure I haven’t overlooked anyone
. Cynthia had a gift for entertaining. It was in her nature to leave nothing to chance, and to trust no one else’s ability to get things right.
I’d better call the printer
. She’d gone over the details with him endlessly, but one could never be too careful.
“Hello?” Mr. Dinzle had been a master printer for forty-five years and, she imagined, saw everything there was to see in black and white.
“Oh, yes, hello, this is Cynthia Radcliffe—with an
e.”
She’d read somewhere years ago that little idiosyncrasies made one more memorable and had decided that adding the
e
to her name—and reminding people of the unusual spelling—would become one of her trademarks.
“Oh, yes, hello, Miss Radcliffe. Are you calling about your invitations?”
“Yes. How do they look? Did the gold borders come out just perfectly?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Radcliffe, they did, and so did the little gold—” Mr. Dinzle paused. “Uh …
hearts
you wanted on the outside of the envelopes.”
His tone had seemed a bit questioning. “You don’t think they look too… well, too….”
“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Miss Radcliffe.”
“Oh, well, after all, this is rather a too-too occasion, isn’t it? And besides, nothing is too good for Zackery.”
I’m going out on a limb for you, Zackery
. A knot of discomfort tied itself in her gut.
Why am I nervous?
For onething, Zackery seemed to have a strange ambivalence about parties, especially big ones. That didn’t worry her too much, because he did
go
to them all the time. In fact, that’s how they’d first met. But this would be different—a party in his honor.
“Well, you would know best, I’m sure,” Mr. Dinzle continued. “Would you like me to read the invitation back to you?”
“Oh, yes, you’d better do that.”
He cleared his throat, then read: “‘You are cordially invited to join Mr. Zackery Calvin and Miss Cynthia Radcliffe’—with an
e
—‘at a benefit for the Arts Museum to celebrate Mr. Calvin’s birthday, Thursday, December twelfth, Seven O’Clock pm, Calma (the Calvin Estate), 10500 Sycamore Canyon Road, Santa Barbara, California’.”
Cynthia listened carefully, imagining the lovely script on the small cream-colored gilt-edged card.
Doing the party as a benefit was really a stroke of genius
. She’d congratulate herself again later, when she calmed down. For now, she could feel the anxiety creep over her again. Everything had to be perfect. “And you got the address right?”
“Oh, yes, Miss Radcliffe, as I just read to you.”
“And it says black tie in the bottom
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