Dollhouse fic: Valentine's Day Part Three
Mar. 6th, 2010 10:53 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
meridian_roseThis is a multi-chaptered fic. The Index Post which includes summary, ratings, and warnings, is here
THREE
(earlier)
At seven twenty-eight Dominic was at the dining table. Cara, in a large fluffy bathrobe, looked up and smiled.
"Morning Laurence. There's coffee in the pot, and Dylan's burning breakfast."
"Morning," he greeted, even as Dylan yelled from the kitchen.
"Hey, I heard that. You don't have to eat it." Dylan waltzed in, balancing three plates; one full of bacon, one laden with sausages, one piled high with toast. "I need to finish up the eggs. Careful, I warmed the plates."
Cara leant over to kiss his cheek as he put the last plate down. "Thank you, darling."
Whistling in delight, Dylan went back to the kitchen. Dominic poured himself coffee from the pot on the silver tray sitting on the table.
Adelle joined them, wearing another loose sweater, and what looked like pyjama leggings. After the usual greetings, she poured coffee and looked askance at the breakfast.
"Dear Lord, how many people does Dylan think he's cooking for?"
"I have a hearty appetite," Dylan retorted, entering with a plate of eggs, some fried, some scrambled. "Anyway, we need to be well fed before we can face the onslaught. Dig in while it's warm, people."
As everyone began to eat, Dylan said, around a mouthful of scrambled egg, "I didn't make tea. Cara says I still need more practice at it. I mean, it’s pour hot water on a bag of tea leaves, how can I get it wrong?"
Cara shook her head. "Yet you do."
Dylan waved his fork at Dominic. "Nice suit," he said. Dominic was dressed in his best black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie.
"You do have a suit?" Dominic asked archly. Dylan was wearing the same jeans as yesterday, with a faded blue t-shirt.
"Course, but I wasn't going to wear it to breakfast. Might spill something on it," he reasoned.
When they'd finished eating – and Dylan had, indeed, spilt tomato ketchup on his t-shirt – Cara offered to clear away.
"Let me," Adelle said. "No, Laurence, no need to help," she added as he made to speak up. "I wouldn't want you to get anything on that rather fetching and expensive suit."
Dylan put on the television in the lounge and flipped to the news channel. Dominic joined him and they made small talk about the science stories.
Adelle and Cara went to change for the funeral, and Dylan, who'd wandered over to the window and was examining the vases, suddenly gave a moan of despair.
"Do you want a drink, Laurence?"
"A little early," Dominic said, thrown.
"Don't be so American," Dylan said as the doorbell rang. "And don't blame me when you have to suffer Penelope sober."
Bethany and Penelope, Dominic recalled, from the stories and explanations accompanying the looking through photo albums, were sisters.
"You get the door," Dylan said, darting off to the kitchen. "I'll be having a beer in the garden."
Feeling like he was suddenly a footman, Dominic went to the door and opened it.
"Can I help you?" he asked stiffly. Hell, he only had Dylan's word for it that this was Penelope, (the photos of her had only shown her as a rather young girl) and he wasn't going to risk being made a fool of.
The woman straightened up, clearly insulted that this idiot didn't know who she was.
"Where in the world is Adelle?" she demanded.
"Upstairs, getting ready," Dominic told her. "I understand the limousines aren't due until ten."
From her reaction, he might as well have called her an ugly old hag or slapped her across the face. She actually reddened in rage and pointed one blood red fingernail at him.
"Now, look here young man," she began.
He never did get to hear what threat or statement of fact she was about to unleash on him – nor did he ever get to understand why a woman only a year or so his senior would call him "young man" – because at that moment Cara came to his rescue.
"Penny!" she called. "Laurence, it's okay. She's our cousin."
Dominic gave Penelope a bow, which everyone knew was in mockery rather than respect, and she swept past him. If Adelle was, as Cara had said, regal, like a queen, Penelope thought she was Empress of the goddamned Empire.
Cara clutched at Dominic's arm. She was, he noted, wearing a tight sleeveless black vest top with what looked somewhat like black cycle shorts that came just above her knees. She was also barefoot, and without makeup, clearly interrupted mid-dressing by Penelope's arrival. He liked the natural look on her and it reminded him of how wonderful Adelle looked even without cosmetics. She'd been without any makeup after her shower, and had applied only a light foundation and lip gloss, if he was any judge, before they went out to the pub.
"What?" Dominic mouthed at Cara, who was shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
Cara shook her head, eyes damp with the effort of self control.
"Dear Lord, it smells like some sort of greasy spoon in here," came Penelope's outraged tone.
Dominic frowned and Cara let a giggle slip out.
"Um, we're not having the do here," she called. "You know that. Bethany booked the conference room at the golf club." To Dominic she whispered, "It's a sort of cheap and cheerful restaurant, a greasy spoon."
Then she fled upstairs, leaving him to deal with Penelope. When he went into the lounge, she was rubbing her finger across the dining room table like a hotel inspector.
"Disgraceful," she sniffed. "And who are you?"
"Laurence Dominic. I'm a friend of Adelle's," he said.
She looked down her nose at him; he'd always thought of that as an expression rather than what someone actually did. "American," she said, more a derogatory statement than a question. "Though those are rather Italian names, are they not?"
"I'm sure you'd know better than I would," Dominic sniped.
Adelle came into he room and put herself between Penelope and Dominic. That she was in a skirt and heels with just a lacy black bra didn't seem to faze her in the least. It made Dominic feel that he was in some really weird porn flick; "Four Orgasms and A Funeral" or something equally inane, where all of the women kept wandering around in various states of undress.
"Penelope, dear, where's Derek?" Adelle asked brightly.
"Overseeing arrangements at the funeral home. You know how people will make mistakes if you don't watch them like hawks." Penelope sniffed delicately. "I just came to see if you needed any help."
"We're fine," Adelle smiled. She took a step back and took Dominic's hand, squeezing it once. "Although, Laurence, would you come and help me upstairs? I can't get my window shut."
---
Adelle had been trying on her two different pairs of shoes with the three different skirts she'd packed, trying to decide which look she preferred, when Cara – also only half-dressed - had come running into Adelle's room at full pelt.
"Oh, Addie, Penny's here!" she'd squealed. "And your Laurence opened the door and he said…" Here, Cara had lapsed into laughter. When she caught her breath, she'd said, "He said,-" and she tried to imitate Dominic's cool demeanour, "'I understand the limousines aren't due until ten. ' Can you imagine that?.."
Adelle had turned on her heel, stunned. "He said that? To Penelope?"
Cara had just nodded.
"Was there bloodshed?" Adelle had asked, half hopefully.
"No," Cara had replied, shaking her head. "I told him to let her in. But you ought to go and rescue him, Addie. He doesn’t deserve her wrath – especially if you're not even sleeping with him." She'd grinned mischievously at that and purred, "You're not, are you?"
"No," Adelle had said sharply. "Fine. I'll go and rescue him. 'I understand the limousines aren't due until ten'. Oh, my word."
That, she thought, would be a family joke for years to come. She just wished she'd seen the resulting expression on Penelope's face. It had been years since anyone had talked back to her about anything.
When she'd retrieved Dominic, she closed her bedroom door and leant against it.
"You had a lucky escape," she told him. "Penelope is what you might call a harridan, if you didn't find it a sexist term since there isn't a similar phrase for a man of the same disposition. And when you meet George, the lack of suitable insults for a DeWitt male will be quite obvious."
"I was armed," Dominic said, undaunted "I'm not sure I understand what I did wrong. Well, the bowing was probably a bit much. What was so wrong about telling her what time the cars were due?"
"You wouldn't understand," Adelle said, "suffice to say, that Penelope is used to being known, respected, in short, worshipped. You dared to put yourself, however temporarily, in her way. And you're American. She probably thinks I want to marry you, and with Imogen vowing to be single – she might be a lesbian, I'm sure I don't know her enough to comment any more on that – and Cara marrying an Australian…well, she thinks we're letting the side down. Of course, George, being male, isn't pressured by these social conventions. He can be the playboy as long as he likes."
"Misogyny runs in the family. Check," Dominic said. "I'm surprised they let you get so educated."
"Ah, but education is mark of good breeding so they had little choice," Adele reminded him. She glanced down. "Please excuse me. I needed to come and rescue you. I feared you and Penelope were about to launch the anticipated family crisis."
"No problem," Dominic said.
"Hmm," Adelle said noncommittally. She went to the wardrobe and pulled out a black top. Sleeveless, it had a polo neck, and decorative black buttons ran from one side of the collar to the shoulder, while black floral embroidery decorated the front, curving around the left breast and ending at the hip.
Adelle held it against herself and looked in the full length mirror on the door critically.
"God, I wish I could wear red," she said. "I hate the pretence. I hate pretending I'm mourning. I hate the hypocrisy of it all. And I hate this obsession with wearing black to funerals because of some outdated social dictate. I like wearing black, and I don't see why it should have been co-opted for such a sombre occasion. I want to wear red and to hell with it all."
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."
"I'd ramble too if I were related to Penelope," Dominic said, boldly.
Adelle laughed at that, and he smiled.
"I should have gone with Dylan and hid out in the garden," he said ruefully.
"Ah, you're never one to hide," Adelle said, slipping the top over her head. "You'll always throw yourself into danger, especially to protect me."
"That's what you pay me for," he said gamely.
"That I do," Adelle said. "Right, I'll do my make up and Cara wants me to help her with her hair, then it'll be tea, and probably something stronger, and by that time," and she let a laugh bubble past her lips, "it will be ten am and the limousines will be due."
---
The funeral was as predictable as Dominic had expected. He stood by Adelle's left side, with Cara to her right. Dylan, who had scrubbed up rather nicely, was next to Cara, holding her hand tightly. George, who seemed to have a permanent sneer on his face, and who had arrived only just before the funeral began, stood next to Dylan, glowering occasionally at his soon-to-be brother-in-law.
Cara cried, though whether this was genuine grief, or simply due to the overall atmosphere and heart wrenching words from the minister, Dominic couldn't guess. Adelle stared straight ahead the whole time, sitting and standing as the minister requested, but not participating in any of the hymns or prayers.
Finally it was over, and they made their way to the graveside, Dylan with his arm around Cara. She'd added a long black skirt to the outfit, and a black blazer, but she was shivering, though it wasn't really that cold.
A few further utterances from the minister, Adelle, Cara, George, and some of the other relatives and attendees threw flowers onto to the coffin, and it was done.
---
The conference room was busy, with people talking animatedly. Dominic was certain that most of the people here were business associates of the late Mr DeWitt, and were using it as a networking opportunity. He'd been introduced to a few more of the relatives and realised Adelle had been right. If the women were mostly uptight, self-absorbed creatures, the men were mostly arrogant, self-important types. So far, no-one, not even Bethany, had tried to engage him in conversation and his cover-story had gone unused.
Adelle seemed to know everyone, but he knew that if necessary she would have researched the guest list in order to be prepared. More showmanship. It really did run in the DeWitt line.
Except Cara, he noted. Possibly because she was a DeWitt in name only. He'd heard Penelope make some disparaging remarks about Cara and filed them away for future reference. "Childish", "foolish" and "a disappointment" were some of the choicer statements. The only good thing was that she was finally getting married, "unlike some" (no doubt meaning Adelle and the possibly-gay Imogen) even if it was to an Australian.
"I suppose could be worse," Penelope had confided to the man she was talking to, who looked as if he might well die of boredom from the sheer terrible lacklustre of life itself. "At least he's part of the Commonwealth." And she looked daggers at Dominic, who smiled broadly at her. Clearly she hadn't thought him listening, but she wasn't about to be intimated, least of all by an American, so she simply hoisted her chin higher and changed the subject.
What the hell did Penelope know, Dominic mused. What did marriage have to do with maturity? Why should Cara's obvious sense of humour and willingness to mock herself and the family be so hated? Aside from Adelle, whose quiet dignity he'd always admired, the rest of the actual DeWitts were so uptight they could be mounted on shooting sticks and placed in a gallery without anyone noticing they were flesh and not stone.
A petite black woman approached Adelle, who bent graciously to kiss her on one cheek.
"Miriam," Adelle said. "Thank you for coming."
"I wanted to make sure the bastard was dead," Miriam told her. "Are the vultures circling?"
"George has put on too much weight to circle the block," Adelle opined. "I intend to fly back to Los Angeles early tomorrow and not look back so I should avoid the worst of the backbiting."
"You're leaving Cara alone?" Miriam asked, surprised.
"She's not as fragile as anyone, including herself, thinks she is. Besides, she has Dylan now. If he can't stand up to George than he won't survive long in the DeWitt family." Adelle drained her glass of wine.
Miriam and Adelle exchanged a few pleasantries about their respective work, and then Miriam moved on to talk to someone else. Adelle turned and caught Dominic's eye. She wandered over to him.
"Are you terribly bored? Have you been subtly insulted?"
"Not so subtly too," he replied. "I'm not bored, though. Too many people here for me to feel comfortable."
"They don't all want to kill me," she said, then froze. She reached out and clutched at his sleeve. "Dear God. Howard."
Dominic followed her gaze. A tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a beige suit had just entered the room.
"Who's Howard?"
"He worked with my father for several years," she said. "He was part of the family; was even involved with my aunt Abigail for a while. Then he defected; sold us out. Made a fortune by helping my father's competitor reach market-readiness first. Bastard." Adelle's grip tightened on Dominic's arm in her rage. "Get rid of him. Now."
Dominic went immediately, tugging his jacket free of her grasp. He went over to the newcomer.
"Excuse me, Howard, is it?" Dominic said.
The man glanced down at him, taking advantage of his superior height and his assumed superior class.
"Yes."
"I'm afraid you have to leave, sir," Dominic said.
Howard twisted his thin lips into a sneer. "I am here to pay my respects to my late colleague," he said.
"I don't care," Dominic said, evenly. "Get out or I'll take you outside."
"Is that a threat?" Howard said, in disbelief.
Dominic was getting sick of these people and their supposed high ground. Just because they were wealthy, they thought they could treat everyone like crap.
"Does it need to be?" he asked softly, arms akimbo, but ready to duck, punch, or even draw his concealed weapon if needed.
"Is there a problem?"
It was Dylan. He'd shucked his jacket as soon as they'd entered the conference room, and his shirt sleeves were rolled back to his elbows. It was the first time since his removing his jacket that Dominic had seen him without a glass in his hand. The smile was wide and friendly but it didn't reach his eyes.
While he didn't need the help, Dominic appreciated the gesture of support.
"I'm sorry, gentleman," Howard said, "but I do not know either of you. I would like to talk to Adelle DeWitt."
"She doesn't want to talk to you," Dominic said. "This is your last warning. Go."
"Hiding behind your lapdog?" Howard bellowed.
Dylan, angry on Dominic's behalf, took a menacing step forward. "Watch your mouth," he said. "This is a funeral."
People were looking, obviously, and Adelle now stalked over to join them.
"You betrayed us, Howard," she said through clenched teeth. "You are not welcome here. After what you did, you're lucky you're not rotting in a ditch somewhere."
Howard glanced at Dominic and than at Dylan, weighing up his options.
"I only came to pay my respects."
"You came to gloat and possibly even try to weasel your back into our good books. Or maybe you came to talk to my father's friends, try and convince them to get into bed with you so you can fuck them over too?" Adelle made a noise of contempt. "Get out, Howard. And watch your back."
Dylan put his hands on his hips, mirroring Dominic's stance, and glared at Howard. They looked like mismatched bouncers at a rather odd nightclub. Finally Howard snorted and turned on his heel, walking away as quickly as dignity would allow.
"Asshole," Dylan commented. Cara came to join them, pale and shivering again.
"Oh, darling," Adelle said. "It's okay." She quickly lowered her voice. "It's unlikely but possible Abigail may have let slip to Howard about Cara's father."
"He won't come back in a hurry," Dylan said. "Let me get you a brandy, Cara. That'll warm you up."
She nodded and he went on this new errand. Adelle pulled her half-sister close, wrapping her arm around her. "Sssh, it's almost over," she said.
"Can we go back to the cottage?" Cara whispered.
"Very soon," Adelle promised.
"I can't stand these people," Cara said.
"None of us can," Adelle reassured her.
Dominic reached over and took one of Cara's hands. It was freezing. He chafed it between his own hands, trying to get the blood flowing again. Dylan returned with the brandy and took over holding Cara while she gulped at the alcohol.
"Five more minutes," Adelle said, checking her watch and weighing up her social obligations. "I'll say some goodbyes. Look, go and wait in the car, Dylan."
"Sure." He took his fiancée outside, to their obvious relief.
Dominic trailed obediently after Adelle while she made her excuses. If Howard was the worst thing he had to deal with on this trip, he considered it had been an easy ride.
Part Four
Part Two / Index
THREE
(earlier)
At seven twenty-eight Dominic was at the dining table. Cara, in a large fluffy bathrobe, looked up and smiled.
"Morning Laurence. There's coffee in the pot, and Dylan's burning breakfast."
"Morning," he greeted, even as Dylan yelled from the kitchen.
"Hey, I heard that. You don't have to eat it." Dylan waltzed in, balancing three plates; one full of bacon, one laden with sausages, one piled high with toast. "I need to finish up the eggs. Careful, I warmed the plates."
Cara leant over to kiss his cheek as he put the last plate down. "Thank you, darling."
Whistling in delight, Dylan went back to the kitchen. Dominic poured himself coffee from the pot on the silver tray sitting on the table.
Adelle joined them, wearing another loose sweater, and what looked like pyjama leggings. After the usual greetings, she poured coffee and looked askance at the breakfast.
"Dear Lord, how many people does Dylan think he's cooking for?"
"I have a hearty appetite," Dylan retorted, entering with a plate of eggs, some fried, some scrambled. "Anyway, we need to be well fed before we can face the onslaught. Dig in while it's warm, people."
As everyone began to eat, Dylan said, around a mouthful of scrambled egg, "I didn't make tea. Cara says I still need more practice at it. I mean, it’s pour hot water on a bag of tea leaves, how can I get it wrong?"
Cara shook her head. "Yet you do."
Dylan waved his fork at Dominic. "Nice suit," he said. Dominic was dressed in his best black suit, with a white shirt and a black tie.
"You do have a suit?" Dominic asked archly. Dylan was wearing the same jeans as yesterday, with a faded blue t-shirt.
"Course, but I wasn't going to wear it to breakfast. Might spill something on it," he reasoned.
When they'd finished eating – and Dylan had, indeed, spilt tomato ketchup on his t-shirt – Cara offered to clear away.
"Let me," Adelle said. "No, Laurence, no need to help," she added as he made to speak up. "I wouldn't want you to get anything on that rather fetching and expensive suit."
Dylan put on the television in the lounge and flipped to the news channel. Dominic joined him and they made small talk about the science stories.
Adelle and Cara went to change for the funeral, and Dylan, who'd wandered over to the window and was examining the vases, suddenly gave a moan of despair.
"Do you want a drink, Laurence?"
"A little early," Dominic said, thrown.
"Don't be so American," Dylan said as the doorbell rang. "And don't blame me when you have to suffer Penelope sober."
Bethany and Penelope, Dominic recalled, from the stories and explanations accompanying the looking through photo albums, were sisters.
"You get the door," Dylan said, darting off to the kitchen. "I'll be having a beer in the garden."
Feeling like he was suddenly a footman, Dominic went to the door and opened it.
"Can I help you?" he asked stiffly. Hell, he only had Dylan's word for it that this was Penelope, (the photos of her had only shown her as a rather young girl) and he wasn't going to risk being made a fool of.
The woman straightened up, clearly insulted that this idiot didn't know who she was.
"Where in the world is Adelle?" she demanded.
"Upstairs, getting ready," Dominic told her. "I understand the limousines aren't due until ten."
From her reaction, he might as well have called her an ugly old hag or slapped her across the face. She actually reddened in rage and pointed one blood red fingernail at him.
"Now, look here young man," she began.
He never did get to hear what threat or statement of fact she was about to unleash on him – nor did he ever get to understand why a woman only a year or so his senior would call him "young man" – because at that moment Cara came to his rescue.
"Penny!" she called. "Laurence, it's okay. She's our cousin."
Dominic gave Penelope a bow, which everyone knew was in mockery rather than respect, and she swept past him. If Adelle was, as Cara had said, regal, like a queen, Penelope thought she was Empress of the goddamned Empire.
Cara clutched at Dominic's arm. She was, he noted, wearing a tight sleeveless black vest top with what looked somewhat like black cycle shorts that came just above her knees. She was also barefoot, and without makeup, clearly interrupted mid-dressing by Penelope's arrival. He liked the natural look on her and it reminded him of how wonderful Adelle looked even without cosmetics. She'd been without any makeup after her shower, and had applied only a light foundation and lip gloss, if he was any judge, before they went out to the pub.
"What?" Dominic mouthed at Cara, who was shaking with barely suppressed laughter.
Cara shook her head, eyes damp with the effort of self control.
"Dear Lord, it smells like some sort of greasy spoon in here," came Penelope's outraged tone.
Dominic frowned and Cara let a giggle slip out.
"Um, we're not having the do here," she called. "You know that. Bethany booked the conference room at the golf club." To Dominic she whispered, "It's a sort of cheap and cheerful restaurant, a greasy spoon."
Then she fled upstairs, leaving him to deal with Penelope. When he went into the lounge, she was rubbing her finger across the dining room table like a hotel inspector.
"Disgraceful," she sniffed. "And who are you?"
"Laurence Dominic. I'm a friend of Adelle's," he said.
She looked down her nose at him; he'd always thought of that as an expression rather than what someone actually did. "American," she said, more a derogatory statement than a question. "Though those are rather Italian names, are they not?"
"I'm sure you'd know better than I would," Dominic sniped.
Adelle came into he room and put herself between Penelope and Dominic. That she was in a skirt and heels with just a lacy black bra didn't seem to faze her in the least. It made Dominic feel that he was in some really weird porn flick; "Four Orgasms and A Funeral" or something equally inane, where all of the women kept wandering around in various states of undress.
"Penelope, dear, where's Derek?" Adelle asked brightly.
"Overseeing arrangements at the funeral home. You know how people will make mistakes if you don't watch them like hawks." Penelope sniffed delicately. "I just came to see if you needed any help."
"We're fine," Adelle smiled. She took a step back and took Dominic's hand, squeezing it once. "Although, Laurence, would you come and help me upstairs? I can't get my window shut."
Adelle had been trying on her two different pairs of shoes with the three different skirts she'd packed, trying to decide which look she preferred, when Cara – also only half-dressed - had come running into Adelle's room at full pelt.
"Oh, Addie, Penny's here!" she'd squealed. "And your Laurence opened the door and he said…" Here, Cara had lapsed into laughter. When she caught her breath, she'd said, "He said,-" and she tried to imitate Dominic's cool demeanour, "'I understand the limousines aren't due until ten. ' Can you imagine that?.."
Adelle had turned on her heel, stunned. "He said that? To Penelope?"
Cara had just nodded.
"Was there bloodshed?" Adelle had asked, half hopefully.
"No," Cara had replied, shaking her head. "I told him to let her in. But you ought to go and rescue him, Addie. He doesn’t deserve her wrath – especially if you're not even sleeping with him." She'd grinned mischievously at that and purred, "You're not, are you?"
"No," Adelle had said sharply. "Fine. I'll go and rescue him. 'I understand the limousines aren't due until ten'. Oh, my word."
That, she thought, would be a family joke for years to come. She just wished she'd seen the resulting expression on Penelope's face. It had been years since anyone had talked back to her about anything.
When she'd retrieved Dominic, she closed her bedroom door and leant against it.
"You had a lucky escape," she told him. "Penelope is what you might call a harridan, if you didn't find it a sexist term since there isn't a similar phrase for a man of the same disposition. And when you meet George, the lack of suitable insults for a DeWitt male will be quite obvious."
"I was armed," Dominic said, undaunted "I'm not sure I understand what I did wrong. Well, the bowing was probably a bit much. What was so wrong about telling her what time the cars were due?"
"You wouldn't understand," Adelle said, "suffice to say, that Penelope is used to being known, respected, in short, worshipped. You dared to put yourself, however temporarily, in her way. And you're American. She probably thinks I want to marry you, and with Imogen vowing to be single – she might be a lesbian, I'm sure I don't know her enough to comment any more on that – and Cara marrying an Australian…well, she thinks we're letting the side down. Of course, George, being male, isn't pressured by these social conventions. He can be the playboy as long as he likes."
"Misogyny runs in the family. Check," Dominic said. "I'm surprised they let you get so educated."
"Ah, but education is mark of good breeding so they had little choice," Adele reminded him. She glanced down. "Please excuse me. I needed to come and rescue you. I feared you and Penelope were about to launch the anticipated family crisis."
"No problem," Dominic said.
"Hmm," Adelle said noncommittally. She went to the wardrobe and pulled out a black top. Sleeveless, it had a polo neck, and decorative black buttons ran from one side of the collar to the shoulder, while black floral embroidery decorated the front, curving around the left breast and ending at the hip.
Adelle held it against herself and looked in the full length mirror on the door critically.
"God, I wish I could wear red," she said. "I hate the pretence. I hate pretending I'm mourning. I hate the hypocrisy of it all. And I hate this obsession with wearing black to funerals because of some outdated social dictate. I like wearing black, and I don't see why it should have been co-opted for such a sombre occasion. I want to wear red and to hell with it all."
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm rambling."
"I'd ramble too if I were related to Penelope," Dominic said, boldly.
Adelle laughed at that, and he smiled.
"I should have gone with Dylan and hid out in the garden," he said ruefully.
"Ah, you're never one to hide," Adelle said, slipping the top over her head. "You'll always throw yourself into danger, especially to protect me."
"That's what you pay me for," he said gamely.
"That I do," Adelle said. "Right, I'll do my make up and Cara wants me to help her with her hair, then it'll be tea, and probably something stronger, and by that time," and she let a laugh bubble past her lips, "it will be ten am and the limousines will be due."
The funeral was as predictable as Dominic had expected. He stood by Adelle's left side, with Cara to her right. Dylan, who had scrubbed up rather nicely, was next to Cara, holding her hand tightly. George, who seemed to have a permanent sneer on his face, and who had arrived only just before the funeral began, stood next to Dylan, glowering occasionally at his soon-to-be brother-in-law.
Cara cried, though whether this was genuine grief, or simply due to the overall atmosphere and heart wrenching words from the minister, Dominic couldn't guess. Adelle stared straight ahead the whole time, sitting and standing as the minister requested, but not participating in any of the hymns or prayers.
Finally it was over, and they made their way to the graveside, Dylan with his arm around Cara. She'd added a long black skirt to the outfit, and a black blazer, but she was shivering, though it wasn't really that cold.
A few further utterances from the minister, Adelle, Cara, George, and some of the other relatives and attendees threw flowers onto to the coffin, and it was done.
The conference room was busy, with people talking animatedly. Dominic was certain that most of the people here were business associates of the late Mr DeWitt, and were using it as a networking opportunity. He'd been introduced to a few more of the relatives and realised Adelle had been right. If the women were mostly uptight, self-absorbed creatures, the men were mostly arrogant, self-important types. So far, no-one, not even Bethany, had tried to engage him in conversation and his cover-story had gone unused.
Adelle seemed to know everyone, but he knew that if necessary she would have researched the guest list in order to be prepared. More showmanship. It really did run in the DeWitt line.
Except Cara, he noted. Possibly because she was a DeWitt in name only. He'd heard Penelope make some disparaging remarks about Cara and filed them away for future reference. "Childish", "foolish" and "a disappointment" were some of the choicer statements. The only good thing was that she was finally getting married, "unlike some" (no doubt meaning Adelle and the possibly-gay Imogen) even if it was to an Australian.
"I suppose could be worse," Penelope had confided to the man she was talking to, who looked as if he might well die of boredom from the sheer terrible lacklustre of life itself. "At least he's part of the Commonwealth." And she looked daggers at Dominic, who smiled broadly at her. Clearly she hadn't thought him listening, but she wasn't about to be intimated, least of all by an American, so she simply hoisted her chin higher and changed the subject.
What the hell did Penelope know, Dominic mused. What did marriage have to do with maturity? Why should Cara's obvious sense of humour and willingness to mock herself and the family be so hated? Aside from Adelle, whose quiet dignity he'd always admired, the rest of the actual DeWitts were so uptight they could be mounted on shooting sticks and placed in a gallery without anyone noticing they were flesh and not stone.
A petite black woman approached Adelle, who bent graciously to kiss her on one cheek.
"Miriam," Adelle said. "Thank you for coming."
"I wanted to make sure the bastard was dead," Miriam told her. "Are the vultures circling?"
"George has put on too much weight to circle the block," Adelle opined. "I intend to fly back to Los Angeles early tomorrow and not look back so I should avoid the worst of the backbiting."
"You're leaving Cara alone?" Miriam asked, surprised.
"She's not as fragile as anyone, including herself, thinks she is. Besides, she has Dylan now. If he can't stand up to George than he won't survive long in the DeWitt family." Adelle drained her glass of wine.
Miriam and Adelle exchanged a few pleasantries about their respective work, and then Miriam moved on to talk to someone else. Adelle turned and caught Dominic's eye. She wandered over to him.
"Are you terribly bored? Have you been subtly insulted?"
"Not so subtly too," he replied. "I'm not bored, though. Too many people here for me to feel comfortable."
"They don't all want to kill me," she said, then froze. She reached out and clutched at his sleeve. "Dear God. Howard."
Dominic followed her gaze. A tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing a beige suit had just entered the room.
"Who's Howard?"
"He worked with my father for several years," she said. "He was part of the family; was even involved with my aunt Abigail for a while. Then he defected; sold us out. Made a fortune by helping my father's competitor reach market-readiness first. Bastard." Adelle's grip tightened on Dominic's arm in her rage. "Get rid of him. Now."
Dominic went immediately, tugging his jacket free of her grasp. He went over to the newcomer.
"Excuse me, Howard, is it?" Dominic said.
The man glanced down at him, taking advantage of his superior height and his assumed superior class.
"Yes."
"I'm afraid you have to leave, sir," Dominic said.
Howard twisted his thin lips into a sneer. "I am here to pay my respects to my late colleague," he said.
"I don't care," Dominic said, evenly. "Get out or I'll take you outside."
"Is that a threat?" Howard said, in disbelief.
Dominic was getting sick of these people and their supposed high ground. Just because they were wealthy, they thought they could treat everyone like crap.
"Does it need to be?" he asked softly, arms akimbo, but ready to duck, punch, or even draw his concealed weapon if needed.
"Is there a problem?"
It was Dylan. He'd shucked his jacket as soon as they'd entered the conference room, and his shirt sleeves were rolled back to his elbows. It was the first time since his removing his jacket that Dominic had seen him without a glass in his hand. The smile was wide and friendly but it didn't reach his eyes.
While he didn't need the help, Dominic appreciated the gesture of support.
"I'm sorry, gentleman," Howard said, "but I do not know either of you. I would like to talk to Adelle DeWitt."
"She doesn't want to talk to you," Dominic said. "This is your last warning. Go."
"Hiding behind your lapdog?" Howard bellowed.
Dylan, angry on Dominic's behalf, took a menacing step forward. "Watch your mouth," he said. "This is a funeral."
People were looking, obviously, and Adelle now stalked over to join them.
"You betrayed us, Howard," she said through clenched teeth. "You are not welcome here. After what you did, you're lucky you're not rotting in a ditch somewhere."
Howard glanced at Dominic and than at Dylan, weighing up his options.
"I only came to pay my respects."
"You came to gloat and possibly even try to weasel your back into our good books. Or maybe you came to talk to my father's friends, try and convince them to get into bed with you so you can fuck them over too?" Adelle made a noise of contempt. "Get out, Howard. And watch your back."
Dylan put his hands on his hips, mirroring Dominic's stance, and glared at Howard. They looked like mismatched bouncers at a rather odd nightclub. Finally Howard snorted and turned on his heel, walking away as quickly as dignity would allow.
"Asshole," Dylan commented. Cara came to join them, pale and shivering again.
"Oh, darling," Adelle said. "It's okay." She quickly lowered her voice. "It's unlikely but possible Abigail may have let slip to Howard about Cara's father."
"He won't come back in a hurry," Dylan said. "Let me get you a brandy, Cara. That'll warm you up."
She nodded and he went on this new errand. Adelle pulled her half-sister close, wrapping her arm around her. "Sssh, it's almost over," she said.
"Can we go back to the cottage?" Cara whispered.
"Very soon," Adelle promised.
"I can't stand these people," Cara said.
"None of us can," Adelle reassured her.
Dominic reached over and took one of Cara's hands. It was freezing. He chafed it between his own hands, trying to get the blood flowing again. Dylan returned with the brandy and took over holding Cara while she gulped at the alcohol.
"Five more minutes," Adelle said, checking her watch and weighing up her social obligations. "I'll say some goodbyes. Look, go and wait in the car, Dylan."
"Sure." He took his fiancée outside, to their obvious relief.
Dominic trailed obediently after Adelle while she made her excuses. If Howard was the worst thing he had to deal with on this trip, he considered it had been an easy ride.
Part Four
Part Two / Index
