“The place was handsome; beveled windowpanes, pecan paneling, a fieldstone fireplace, traditional furniture in damask and mahogany. Everything was rose and dusty pink. The room smelled faintly spicy, like carnations. I couldn’t imagine the two of them sitting here doing anything. Aside from the conventional good taste, there was no indication that they listened to music or read books. No evidence of shared interests. There was a current copy of Architectural Digest on the coffee table, but it lo...oked like a prop. I’ve never known rich people to read Popular Mechanics, Family Circle, or Road & Track. Come to think of it, I have no idea what they do at night. Olive returned in ten minutes with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and a silver cooler with a wine bottle nestled in ice. Her entire manner had changed since Terry walked in the door. She still had an air of elegance, but her manner was tinged now with servitude. She fussed with small linen cocktail napkins, arranging them in a pattern near the serving plate she’d placed at one end of the coffee table.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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