Despite warning bells ringing in his head, Jake drove to the Tomlinson home and parked his convertible well up on the driveway, behind the screening azalea bushes.
To his relief, the butler opened the front door.
“You are expected, Dr. Ross,” he murmured, then turned and led Jake down the hall to the library.
Amy was standing in the far corner of the book-lined room, by the wheeled cart that held a small forest of bottles, wearing a soft blue sweater over a white pleated skirt. Cheerleader’s outfit, Jake thought. She clutched a stemmed martini glass in one hand. As soon as the butler closed the door she rushed across the carpeting to Jake.
“Jake, I’m in trouble.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
She made a tight little smile. “I had dinner with the wrong man.”
Jake felt his face pull itself into a puzzled frown.
Almost automatically, Amy asked, “What are you drinking? Scotch?”
“Club soda,” said Jake, thinking, Keep your head clear.
Amy went back to the improvised bar. “I know Frank keeps club soda here someplace.”
Stepping up beside her, Jake said, “Never mind. What’s the problem?”
She turned to face him, her usually sparkling blue eyes downcast, her golden hair tumbling to her shoulders.
She raised her eyes squarely to meet Jake’s. “Last week, when Frank went to Helena, I invited a friend over here to dinner.”
Oh, Christ, Jake moaned inwardly. “A friend?”
“An acquaintance. I’d met him a couple of months ago at one of Lady Cecilia’s parties.”
“Who is he?”
“Herb Manstein. He’s a public relations guy for some major corporation. Nice guy, I thought.”
“I don’t know him,” said Jake.
“Well, anyway, we had dinner here—”
“Butler’s night off?”
Amy winced visibly. “Yes, Ian had the night off. Like when I asked you over for dinner.”
Jake said nothing.
“I was lonesome,” Amy said, almost whimpering. “I invited Herb over, we had a quiet dinner together, and then he went home.”
“That’s all that happened?”
“That’s all.” Amy stood before Jake like a witness trying to face down an accusing district attorney. Then her bravado seemed to crumble. “He phoned me this evening and said he was going to tell Lady Cecilia about it.”
Jake felt the breath gush out of him. “Cecilia? So she can splash it all over her Power Talk blog?”
“Nothing happened!” Amy insisted. “We had a nice dinner and he went home. Period. End of story.”
Jake walked across the library and sank down onto the big sofa beneath the portrait in oils of a Tomlinson ancestor.
“It’s not the end of the story, Amy. You know that.”
“But nothing happened!” she repeated, still standing by the bar. “Nothing!”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Jake. “Cecilia puts the story on her blog and in a flash it’ll look like you’re screwing this guy while Frank’s off in Montana. Great.”
Crossing to the sofa and sitting beside Jake, Amy pleaded, “Can you stop him? Get a lawyer to put an injunction on him or something?”
Jake shook his head. “All he has to do is tell what actually happened. You invited him into your home while your husband was out of town. People will draw their own inferences.”
“But I didn’t do anything!” Amy insisted, sounding desperate.
Jake grabbed her wrists. “Listen to me. It doesn’t matter. People love scandals, and they don’t have to strain their imaginations to turn your dinner into a sexual liaison.”
“Oh, god!” Amy broke into tears.
“This could ruin Frank’s chances, destroy him completely.”
Amy leaned her head on his shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. Jake slid his arm around her.
“How could I have been so stupid?” she choked out.
“You weren’t stupid,” Jake said gently. “You were innocent. Naïve. You thought this Manstein, whoever he is, was a decent guy.”
“What are we going to do?”
Jake flinched inwardly at the “we,” but he lifted Amy’s tear-streaked face with a hand under her chin and said, “I presume Frank doesn’t know anything about this.”
“Nothing. He’s in New Mexico today, giving speeches and all.”
Jake thought, Tami’s out there with him. To Amy he said, “Let me talk to Cecilia. She can be pretty decent when she wants to be.”
“You think so?” Amy asked, in a little-girl voice.
Nodding, Jake answered, “I’ll try.”