Jake pulled his phone from his pocket and punched Lady Cecilia’s number. She answered on the third ring.
“Jake.” Her voice sounded amused. “How nice to hear from you.”
Trying not to sound anxious, Jake asked, “Cecilia, how are you?”
“I’m fine. And you?”
“Plenty busy with Frank’s campaign.”
“Yes, I can imagine.”
With a glance at Amy’s tear-streaked face, he asked, “Do you have a few minutes free? There’s something I’d like to talk with you about.”
Archly, Cecilia replied, “Jake, darling, isn’t that ending a sentence with a preposition?”
He forced a laugh. “I suppose it is.”
“Can you come over now? I’m not doing anything special.”
“Now?” Don’t appear too eager, Jake told himself. “Yes, I’m not doing much of anything tonight, either.”
“Good. Come right over.” And she hung up.
As he clicked his phone off, Jake said to Amy, “She sounds as if she was expecting me to call.”
Biting her lip, Amy nodded wordlessly.
Jake got up from the sofa. “I’d better get over to Cecilia’s place.”
Amy remained seated on the sofa. “Jake … please. Do whatever you need to do. But get her to drop the story.”
“I’ll try my best.”
* * *
It started to rain as Jake drove through the night and the wet streets, squinting through his flapping windshield wipers. He wondered what he could say to Cecilia, how he could convince her to ignore what she undoubtedly considered a choice morsel of insider gossip.
He hadn’t come up with any ideas as he drove up the driveway and parked in the back of Cecilia’s house. A rear door opened, revealing a butler—or somebody—standing there, opening a big golf umbrella. Jake waited for him to sprint to his car, then got out and together they hurried into the house.
Cecilia was waiting for Jake in the small room she used as a studio to send out her blog, Power Talk. Short and curveless, she was wearing a hip-length pumpkin-orange tunic over a pair of charcoal slacks. To Jake she looked like a fireplug with legs.
Without preamble, she said, “This is about Amy Tomlinson, isn’t it?”
Jake nodded. “Yes, it is.”
Gesturing to the padded leather chairs in front of her desk, Cecilia glanced at the rain-spattered window and said, “Nasty weather out there. Do you want a drink?”
“Uh, no thanks.”
Cecilia smiled, her thick lips peeling over her teeth. “Well, sit down and tell me her side of the story.”
Jake perched tensely on the chair; Cecilia arranged herself on the identical chair next to it. Still smiling, she said, “Relax, Jake. This isn’t the Spanish Inquisition, you know.”
For lack of any better ideas, Jake came straight to the point. “What did Manstein tell you?”
Her brows rising slightly, Cecilia replied, “He said Amy invited him to her home for a quiet dinner for two. Nobody else there but the cook, who served the food. Her husband was in Montana and she said she was lonesome.”
“And that’s it.”
Cecilia’s smile turned sly. “Is it? Just the two of them in that big old house? Manstein’s a handsome guy, you know. Amy’s … well, she can be flirtatious.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it? She invited you over for dinner, didn’t she?”
She knows about that! Jake tried to hide his surprise, but knew he didn’t succeed.
“We’re … old friends.”
“Yes, I know. From back in Montana. You two had quite a thing going during Tomlinson’s first campaign.”
“For god’s sake, that was six years ago. She married Frank.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Look, Cecilia, nothing happened between Amy and Manstein. Just dinner. That’s all.”
“How do you know that’s all?”
“She told me.”
“And you believe her?”
“She’s never lied to me.”
“Really?”
Jake started to answer, but held himself back. Cecilia was grinning at him, like a fat cat confronting a juicy canary.
Pulling in a deep breath, Jake said, “You know this could hurt Frank terribly. It could ruin his chances—”
“Oh, Jake. He’s running a distant third in the polling. He’s barely ahead of that dentist from Minnesota.”
“It’ll hurt his marriage, too.”
Cecilia’s grin widened. “You mean he doesn’t know she invites men to dinner while he’s away?”
“Cecilia, don’t run it. Please.”
She shook her head. “If I don’t, Herb will simply go to some other outlet. Then where would I be?”
“Who is this guy, anyway?”
“Herb Manstein? He works for Rockledge Industries, in their advertising department. Kind of a dashing figure. Handsome, knows how to spend money.”
Jake asked, “Married?”
“Divorced, I believe. Unattached, at any rate.”
“I’ll have to talk with him.”
“That seems like a good idea,” Cecilia said, still grinning.
“Look … can you sit on the story until I’ve had a chance to talk to Manstein?”
Cecilia’s face went serious. For a long moment she said nothing. Then she reached to her desk and pulled the telephone receiver from its base.
“His number’s on the speed list. Under Manstein.”