2 2HE STRODE BRISKLY ALONG THE CLIFF WALK, HIS HAIR blown by the stiff ocean breeze that had sprung up during the late afternoon. The sun had been wonderfully warm at the height of the day, but now its slanting rays were ineffectual against the cool wind. It seemed to him that the shift in the air reflected the changing quality of his own mood.
Till now he had been successful in his plan of action, but with Nuala’s dinner party only two hours away, a premonition was coming over him. Nuala had become suspicious and would confide in her stepdaughter. Everything could start to unravel.
The tourists had not yet abandoned Newport. In fact there was an abundance of them, postseason day-trippers, anxious to stalk the mansions managed by the Preservation Society, to gape at the relics of a bygone age before most of them were closed until next spring.
Deep in thought he paused as he came to The Breakers, that most marvelously ostentatious jewel, that American palace, that breathtaking example of what money, and imagination, and driving ambition could achieve. Built in the early 1890s for Cornelius Vanderbilt II and his wife, Alice, it was enjoyed only briefly by Vanderbilt himself. Paralyzed by a stroke in 1895, he died in 1899.
Lingering for a moment longer in front of The Breakers, he smiled. It was Vanderbilt’s story that had given him the idea.
But now he had to act quickly. Picking up his pace, he passed Salve Regina University, formerly known as Ochre Court, a hundred-room extravagance that stood splendid against the skyline, its limestone walls and mansard roof beautifully preserved. Five minutes later he came upon it, Latham Manor, the magnificent edifice that had been a worthy, more tasteful competitor to the vulgarity of The Breakers. Originally the proud property of the eccentric Latham family, it had fallen into disrepair in the lifetime of the last Latham. Rescued from ruin and restored to reflect much of its earlier grandeur, it was now the residence of wealthy retirees, living out their last years in opulence.
He stopped, feasting his eyes on Latham Manor’s majestic white marble exterior. He reached into the deep pocket of his windbreaker and pulled out a cellular phone. He dialed quickly, then smiled slightly as the voice he had hoped to hear answered. It meant one thing less he had to worry about later.
He said two words, “Not tonight.”
“Then, when?” a calm, noncommittal voice asked after a slight pause.
“I’m not sure yet. I have to take care of something else.” His voice was sharp. He did not permit questions about his decisions.
“Of course. Sorry.”
Breaking the connection without further comment, he turned and began to walk swiftly.
It was time to get ready for Nuala’s dinner party.