Page 62 of Live a Little!

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CYNTHIA SWEPTINTO the chic restaurant on the arm of Neville Percivald. Fingers crossed, she glanced around and was relieved to see that Agnes hadn’t let her down. There she was, in a cozy corner with Mr. Percivaldsenior.

A glance under her lashes showed Neville’s face reddening as he took an instinctive step back toward the door. But not quickly enough for the tuxedoed maître d’, who bustled forward with an ingratiating smile. “Ah, Mr. Percivald, such a pleasure.” His heavy French accent made music of the three syllables of Neville’s last name, and brought his stepfather’s headup.

“My boy!” the older man boomed. “What a surprise. Come and joinus.”

Neville’s face darkened even more as every head in the intimate restaurant turned his way. “Bloody man should have been the town crier. Sorry aboutthis.”

“It’s all right, really,” Cynthia murmured. He had no idea how all right it was. He’d shown up in a limo, telling her he didn’t want to drink and drive, but in reality she got the feeling he didn’t want his hands or eyes otherwise occupied when he had her in a small, privatespace.

With overt courtesy, he’d fixed her shawl around her shoulders, copping a discreet feel as he did so. Then he grabbed her seat belt before she got to it and practically made full body contact while snapping it home. If this wasn’t a top -secret FBI mission, she would have belted him with herpurse.

But since this was a night for snooping, she’d giggled and batted his hands away as coyly as she knewhow.

With barely hidden annoyance, Neville agreed that he’d be delighted to join his stepdad on a double date. As Cynthia followed the maître d’ to the table, she heard Neville muttering behind her, and snatches came through loud and clear: “Belongs in a Brighton carny…old fart…ruined everything…sodoff…”

She bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from smirking, then smiled with real pleasure as Neville’s stepfather rose and kissed her cheek, insisting she sit beside him, which put her across the table from her date, who was now stuck besideAgnes.

Neville was so busy being put out that he hadn’t even noticed Agnes’s new look. His stepdad certainly had, though. He kept staring at her with an expression of confusion and disappointment on his face, as though she’d let him downsomehow.

What was that all about? The woman knocked herself out to look terrific, and he wasdisappointed?

If Cynthia had ever in her life thought she understood men, she now knew she’d been completely wrong. Even though she was a woman who’d spent her life totally baffled by the opposite sex, she still found his behaviorodd.

And the pitiful look Agnes sent her way just about broke her heart. Cynthia had tried to help and it appeared she’d only made thingsworse.

An awkward silence fell over the table, broken by the waiter taking predinner cocktail orders. Both Agnes and her date were already sipping martinis. Neville asked for the same, and even though she wasn’t much of a drinker and had never tried a martini, Cyn asked for one, as well. She was too busy trying to work out what was going on between George Percivald and Agnes to worry about drinkorders.

She’d talked it over with Jake, and he was certain George Percivald had run a clean, honest business. The drug rumors had started after his stepson took the helm. It would be so nice for Agnes to get her heart’s desire, and there might come a day very soon when George would want her support. It couldn’t be much fun to discover your stepson was acriminal.

When Cynthia’s cocktail arrived, it looked awfully sophisticated, chilly and clear as a diamond, with a bright green olive on a fancy silver stick. Then she sipped the sophisticated drink and wondered if Neville had found out about her and slipped poison into it. The martini burned in her throat and brought tears to her eyes. Grabbing her water glass, she took a huge gulp and tried to get her breathback.

“They’re a little dry,” Mr. Percivaldsaid.

Dry? The thing was pure liquid alcohol.Blech.“I should have had it shaken, not stirred,” she jokedweakly.

Agnes didn’t seem to be having any trouble; she was deeply into her second martini, drawing sad little patterns in the glass with her olive. George was keepingpace.

Neville downed his in a swallow and motioned for another round. Cynthia felt as if she were sharing a table with three escapees from the Betty FordClinic.

But it gave her an idea. Tough investigators drank their investigatees under the table all the time in the movies. If she could figure out a way to pretend to keep pace, while ditching her disgusting drinks, she could pry all kinds of information out ofNeville.

Plus, she had to remember Plan B, which was to bolster Agnes’s image in front of her “oldfriend.”

Since her companions were a long way from blotto, she decided to proceed with Plan B. “I hear a lot of movie stars come to this place when they’re in town,” she began brightly. “Which reminds me, Agnes. Did I tell you that Michael told me you look like Cameron Diaz inThe Holiday?I think maybe he has a crush onyou.”

“Michael from today?” She wasn’t surprised Agnes wanted clarification. Michael was happily cohabitating with a malestripper.

“He sure likes your new look.” That part at least wastrue.

“Hmm,” said Mr. P., and took a gulp ofmartini.

“Hmm-mmm,” added Agnes, and took a sip of herown.

Cynthia couldn’t stand it. How could the man not notice? And Agnes was in love with him. This was her best chance at making him really see her. “Don’t you think Agnes looks beautiful, Mr.Percivald?”

“I think she looked fine before,” he said grimly, then forced a smile. “And you must call me George, my dear.” He put a hand to Cynthia’s knee and gave it asqueeze.

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