Southern Comforts. JoAnn Ross

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      Chapter Four

      New York

      Although Chelsea’s suit was comparatively restrained, the emerald color proved a stunning foil for her brilliant hair. As she dashed into the Plaza’s Palm Court, heads swiveled, watching her make a beeline for a table across the way.

      “I’m sorry I’m late.” She bent down and kissed her mother’s cheek. “I didn’t think I’d ever get out of that interview with Bruce Willis.”

      Deidre Lowell managed a brittle smile. “You could have simply informed the man that you had a luncheon date with your mother.”

      Chelsea grinned, still riding the high of her successful morning. “I suppose I could have tried that,” she agreed. “But then I would have missed the neatest story about the day he and Demi took the kids to the zoo, and—”

      “I’m sure it’s a delightful tale,” Deidre cut her off. “However, I have an appointment for a facial at two, and since I don’t dare keep Rodica waiting, I suggest you sit down and order.”

      The cool, perfectly rounded tones were all it took to puncture the little bubble of happiness Chelsea had been riding due to her successful morning. She’d discovered at an early age that unless she tried very hard to avoid it, conversations with her mother usually resulted in her apologizing. A bit resentful at feeling like a chastised six-year-old, she did as instructed.

      They managed to exchange a bit of small talk about her mother’s book club group and numerous charitable activities while they waited for their orders to be delivered. By the time their salads and cups of Earl Grey tea were delivered, Chelsea had actually begun to relax. Which was, of course, always a mistake.

      Deidre’s gaze swept over her. “You know, dear,” she said, “you really need to get your hair trimmed. You’re starting to look like the Longworths’ sheepdog, what was his name? Mercedes?”

      “Bentley. And I’ve been busy.” Hating herself for falling into old patterns, Chelsea brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

      “So Nelson has been telling me. He says your career has been taking up a great deal of time recently.”

      Chelsea would have had to have been deaf not to hear the scorn her mother had heaped on the word career. She told herself that one of these days she was going to get used to the unwavering disapproval.

      After all, her mother had made her feelings known from the beginning. In fact, frustrated by a teenage Chelsea’s total lack of interest in proper pastimes such as dancing school at the Colony Club, tennis at the Meadow Club, and regattas at Newport, Deidre Lowell had shipped her off to Switzerland to be schooled in womanly graces.

      Those four years in exile, were, thus far, the worst experience of her life. Even worse than her mother’s bitter divorce from Chelsea’s father when she was six. Or the death of Dylan Cassidy when she was ten.

      Rather than deter her daughter from her chosen goal, all Deidre Lowell (she’d long since dropped the Cassidy acquired upon her ill-fated marriage to Chelsea’s father) managed to do was make the flame burn hotter. Brighter. It was during those years when she’d been banished abroad that writing became the only fixed star in Chelsea’s firmament.

      “It’s been hectic,” Chelsea allowed. “But I’d rather be too busy, than have no work at all.”

      Her mother didn’t answer. But the way her lips drew into a tight disapproving line spoke volumes.

      “Nelson said you’re going to write a book about Roxanne Scarbrough.”

      “I’m considering it.”

      “Who on earth would buy such a book?”

      “Perhaps all those millions of people who buy her lifestyle books,” Chelsea said mildly. She refused to be drawn into a position of defending a woman she didn’t even like.

      “She’s nouveau riche.”

      “I don’t know about the nouveau. But you’ve got the rich part right.”

      “Honestly, Chelsea.” Deidre frowned and took a sip of tea from the gilt-rimmed cup. “Must you joke about everything?”

      “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m not sure people care about things like that anymore, Mother.”

      “I believe you’re right.”

      “You do?” Chelsea took a sip of her own tea and contemplated ordering champagne instead. After all, any occasion when she and her mother actually found something to agree about should be celebrated.

      “Of course. And that,” Deidre said stiffly, “is precisely what’s wrong with this country. People have lost all sense of values.”

      “I don’t believe gilding a few pomegranates will lead to the downfall of western civilization,” Chelsea argued lightly.

      “Laugh if you want to, but the woman is a menace. Would you believe that I found Tillie in the kitchen, watching her television program and practicing folding napkins into the shapes of swans?”

      “That is hard to believe.” Chelsea decided that if the longtime Lowell housekeeper, a woman infamous for having things her own way, had actually become a fan, it was no wonder Roxanne topped the NYT bestseller list week after week.

      “I nearly had a heart attack,” Deidre, who’d never been known for overstatement, said grimly. “I really don’t believe you should encourage such things, Chelsea.”

      “I haven’t made up my mind whether I’m going to take the offer, Mother.”

      “An interview with some self-appointed style maven is not exactly on a par with achieving world peace,” Deidre stated in the superior tone Chelsea knew well.

      “True enough. But it could be important to me. It could mean a lot of national publicity.”

      “That’s precisely what disturbs me,” Deidre complained. “All this striving to get your name in the magazines. And newspapers. Good grief, Chelsea, you sound just like your father.”

      Despite her frustration, that icy remark drew a quick grin. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

      “You would.” Deidre shook her blond head. “I don’t understand you.”

      “I know.” And never had, Chelsea tacked on silently. “And as much as I’d love to try to explain it to you again, you have a facial to get to. And I have to try to track down John Kennedy Jr. I heard the most amazing story this morning—”

      “You СКАЧАТЬ