Page 14 of A Certain Appeal
“Oh, very yes,” I say, and Jane makes a request as well.
Andrea snags a server, places the order, then busies herself with pouring us mimosas from the pitcher she’s already largely consumed.
“Jane,” she says, her tone too light to be genuine. “Howeverwas your evening?”
“I had an excellent night, thank you very much.” He takes a dainty sip of his mimosa. I respond with a Ming-inspired cackle, and he smacks at me with his free hand.
Andrea chuckles along, and her smoker’s rattle borders on sinister. Jane glances my way, and I find my unease reflected in his expression.
She puts down her drink, her laughter ebbing. “Jane, my dear, your evening may prove to have beenexcellentfor all of us.” She taps the stem of her glass tunelessly, her painted face growing solemn. “You should know we are in a bit of a situation at Meryton. The landlord’s considering selling the building—”
“What?” Jane gasps. I do my best to feign wide-eyed shock.
Andrea scowls. “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Kitten, I knowyouknow. Michael can’t keep his mouth shut.Anyway,” she continues, “as Kitten is well aware,Iplan to buy in.”
Jane crosses his arms, facing me. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We had other priorities.”
He tips his head, eyes going dreamy. “Yeah...”
Andrea clears her throat, and Jane and I straighten, properly chastened. “The owner had the building appraised and got some numbers on renovations. The back of the house is in desperate need of upgrades, and there’s no question the dining room could use some love. He’s reluctant to put in the money and is considering offloading the property.”
I scowl, suspicion eroding the novelty of a free meal. Why is she tellingusall of this?
“Our current options are to find an investor to back me, relocate the show, or simply be at the mercy of whoever ends up taking on the space.”
“But you have a backer, right?” I say, hoping further evidence of Michael’s loose lips doesn’t get him in trouble.
“Oh, I have a moneyman.” Andrea grins. “You chatted him up quite thoroughly, Kitten, but Jane won the day—or night, I suppose.”
The implication creeps up on me, a slow march toward the obvious. “Charles?” I blurt. “Jane’sCharlesis the one backing you?”
Andrea takes a smug sip of her mimosa, which turns into a downing of her glass. She places the empty champagne flute on the table with a raised pinky. “He’s the one.”
Jane’s jaw goes slack. “Charles wants to help you buy Meryton?”
I fall against my chair, shaking my head. That explains his comment about Andrea’s being persuasive. “Why didn’t you say anything about him coming in?”
She shrugs, refilling her glass. “It’s just as well I didn’t. I assumedthe Charles Bingley in question was thesenior, not the junior. Old money can be so eccentric,” she muses. “Handing off fortunes to their offspring like they’re doling out Monopoly money.”
“Why are you telling us all this?” As I ask, a possible reason comes to mind. “Don’t you say anything about using Jane as a damn honeypot. That’s gross.”
“But everybody wins.” Andrea waves her champagne flute to take in the general area. “We keep the show going; Jane enjoys a sweet, handsome fellow with a fortune; and Charles gets a talented, delightful boyfriend and a fun investment in the Manhattan property game.”
“I’m sorry,” Jane interrupts, his palm raised like he’s a student waiting to be called on. “You’re talking like I’m not right here. Are you saying it’s onmeto keep Meryton intact?”
“No, Jane. I’m simply informing you of the situation.”
“But no pressure.” I prop my chin in my hand and finish my mimosa.Lord.
“Of course not,” says Andrea. “The odds are simply more favorable if the young Bingley has a vested interest in the show’s success.”
Our food arrives. We’re quiet as the plates of biscuits and gravy are distributed, and the waiter departs with Andrea’s request for a refill on the mimosa vat. My irritation with Andrea isn’t mixing well with the bubbles and orange, so I dig in before my hanger hits in earnest.
“There’s a slim possibility the current owner will pass the property on to a nephew,” Andrea says, picking up the thread of conversation as she slices into a biscuit. “Unlikely, though. He’s already had a few failed ventures and wouldn’t have the talent connections—”
I swallow. “Unless we’re willing to stay on with him.”
