A Compromising Affair

“No. I’d have to hire a live-in housekeeper to maintain the place, and I don’t want that.”

At the restaurant, the maître d’ seated them and beckoned the sommelier. She and Scott decided not to order cocktails.

“We’ll choose the wine after we order our meal,” Scott said to the sommelier. They both ordered the arugula salad, shrimp diablo, saffron rice and spinach. And for dessert, they ordered raspberries with kirsch and ice cream.

“Did you order this because I did?” he asked her.

“No. As a matter of fact, I order this every time I come here. It’s one of my favorite restaurants.”

Scott’s eyebrow arched a bit at her comment, and she wondered what his reaction was to her preference in restaurants. She appreciated that he didn’t probe, and the more she got to know him, the more she liked him.

Scott looked at the woman seated across from him. She had the elegance of a finely tuned Stradivarius, but she was, nonetheless, very approachable. He wondered how much of the latter was real and how much was for effect. They had much more in common than he would have imagined, and he found himself wanting to know her better. But something held him back, and it puzzled him. Always a man to keep his own counsel, he let his instincts guide him.

“Where did you grow up?” he asked her, opting for a safe topic of conversation.

“Waverly, Texas. My father’s folks have been Texans for generations, one of the first families of African-American ranchers in the state.”

“Ranchers? And did you attend one of the exclusive Seven Sisters colleges?”

“What an interesting question,” Denise said, genuinely surprised. “My parents wanted me to go to Bryn Mawr, but when I found out the ratio of female to male students, I balked and went to Princeton.”

He leaned forward and hoped that his anxiety didn’t show. “How’d that work out?”

“That’s where I developed my intolerance for snobs.”

He couldn’t help laughing. “Did you fall in love with or marry any of them?”

“No to both. But while I was getting my degree, I had a great time.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? I can imagine that whatever the ratio of men to women at Princeton, you probably had your pick.”

She lowered her gaze. “You’re too kind.”

Sarcasm or humility? He wasn’t certain which. The waiter brought their food, saving him the need to reply.

“You’re driving, and I know you don’t want to drink,” she said thoughtfully when Scott offered to order a bottle of wine. “I wouldn’t enjoy it if you couldn’t have any. By the way,” Denise said, changing the subject, “I belong to a group that’s putting on a big fundraiser in Philadelphia, and Velma Harrington is catering it. She’s incredible.”

“Yes,” he said, as something played around in the back of his mind. He knew it was important, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

They eventually finished the meal with espresso, and as they left the restaurant, he tried to remember what her mention of Velma Harrington had triggered. He shook his head in frustration.

During the drive back to Frederick, she hummed along with the songs that played on the radio. She didn’t seem compelled to fill the time with idle talk, for which he was grateful. He had very little patience for meaningless chatter. He also liked the fact that, during the entire evening, she hadn’t once tried to flaunt her sex appeal. And he especially appreciated that the neckline of her dress wasn’t an advertisement for the milk industry.

He hated having to spend an evening with his mouth watering over a woman’s cleavage. Usually if he liked her, he was tempted to hurry the evening along so that he could indulge. If he didn’t like her, it invariably annoyed him.

He parked in front of the large brick house that she called home and walked her to the door. “May I have your key?” he asked. She handed it to him and stepped aside while he opened the door.

“Would you like me to see if everything is okay?” he asked her.

Her eyes widened. “Why, yes. Thank you,” she said calmly.

He walked in, closed the door, locked it and handed her the key. “Stay here,” he said.

It was a good-size house. Upstairs, he checked two bedrooms, a large office and three bathrooms, one of which had a big Jacuzzi and what seemed like endless closet space. He walked through the living, dining and breakfast rooms, then the kitchen and pantry, which revealed no surprises. He returned to the foyer and saw that she stood precisely where he had left her.

“Do you have a basement?”

“Yes, but do you think—”

“Denise, I never half do anything.”

After checking the basement, he bounded up the stairs and joined her in the foyer. “Thank you for a really wonderful evening. I’ve enjoyed being with you,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Good night.”

He didn’t laugh at her wide-eyed look of surprise. But controlling the impulse to smirk cost him plenty. However, Denise was poised, and she quickly recovered her aplomb. “This has been a wonderful evening, Scott. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it. Get home safely.”

He got into the car and shook as the laughter he had managed to control earlier spilled out. He drove three blocks and parked so that he could safely let out peals of laughter that had him practically bursting at the seams. He didn’t know what Denise had expected when he took her home. But having been celibate for so long, he’d decided to play it safe. Anything more than a peck on the cheek would have gotten him in deep trouble. He wanted her. He really did. But since he had managed this long, a few more weeks wouldn’t kill him.

After parking in the hotel garage, he decided against taking the elevator to his floor and took the escalator to the lobby instead. As he passed the reception desk, the odor of freshly baked oatmeal-raisin cookies that the manager placed on the desk every evening tantalized his nose. He turned back around, took a couple of cookies and bit into one. The taste made him think of the dessert that Velma brought to Heather’s and Judson’s barbecue. He snapped his fingers. She’d served that same dessert at the going-away party Judson had given for him a couple of years ago. Suddenly, he remembered Denise Miller, and what she had said to him at that reception.

By the time he reached his hotel room, he remembered their encounter clearly. She had self-righteously taken him to task for not making environmental issues a priority as ambassador to Lithuania. “The entire region is a major industrial polluter, and you have a platform to bring about change. I am disappointed that it’s not part of your mission,” she’d said.

At the time, he was sure everyone at the table could see the smoke billowing from his ears. He’d answered without looking in her direction. “Our government is not sending me there to lecture the Lithuanian government about clean air.” He had turned his back to her and not said another word to her until Sunday afternoon at the barbecue.

He also hadn’t forgiven her for it, now that he thought about it, and he meant to let her know. A frown spread across his face. He supposed he hadn’t remembered the incident because he didn’t associate such a strident voice with the Denise Miller he’d just met. This Denise was much softer, more feminine and lovely. He went to the minibar, put two cubes of ice in a glass and filled it with vodka. His immediate inclination was to telephone her right then and there, but a glance at his watch disabused him of the notion. It was a quarter to one in the morning. As furious as he was, his desire to get even didn’t override his sense of decency. He slept fitfully, anxious for the morning to come when he could telephone Denise Miller at last.

When his phone rang at a quarter to nine, he almost gave in to the urge to ignore it, but the ringing persisted. “Galloway speaking.”

“Hi, Scott. This is Heather. How did your date with Denise go?”

“She told you we had a date?”

“Yes. Her feet hardly touched the ground for a week in anticipation. She was so excited that we asked her why she was so eager.”

“Hmm. Well, I’ve got a few words for that woman.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Last night, I liked her. What pissed me off was what happened two years ago at the reception Judson gave for me. It took me a while, but I finally remembered how mad she made me with her self-righteous statements about environmental consciousness.”

“You mean it’s over before it even got started?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I just need to get this off my chest. I would appreciate it, Heather, if you wouldn’t mention it.”

“You like her?”

“What man wouldn’t?”

After putting the receiver back in its cradle, Scott paced the length of his room and walked back to the telephone. He lifted the receiver and stood looking at it. His fingers brushed against his jawline, reminding him that he needed to shave. But he wasn’t thinking about shaving. He wanted to stop procrastinating and call Denise Miller. He dialed Drake Harrington’s number and asked Drake if he could get Denise’s number from Pamela, his wife. Pamela came to the telephone.