Chocolates for Breakfast by Pamela Moore

Author:Pamela Moore
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2012-06-30T21:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Mr. Anthony Neville was fortunately to be found at home that evening, at his suite in the Pierre. When he opened the door, Courtney understood immediately why Janet had said with a smile, “I really couldn’t describe him to you.” He stood at the door, a pale young man in his early twenties, with delicate features, an abundance of black hair, and challenging, brooding dark eyes. He was wearing a white terry-cloth robe, and in his left hand he held absently a single long-stemmed rose. He bowed deeply and theatrically to the two girls.

“Anthony darling,” Janet said. “Isn’t this a new pose?” She smiled. “And didn’t Oscar Wilde use a sunflower?”

Anthony ignored her, his expression unchanged.

“This, of course, is Courtney. How marvelous of Janet to bring you to me. Courtney’s enchanting,” he said to Janet, who had walked past him and was taking off her coat.

Courtney, who was accustomed to the staccato Ivy League speech of Janet’s friends, was surprised by the quiet languor of the young man’s voice. His speech seemed, like the red rose, cultivated to defy categorization. He took her coat.

“Anthony,” Janet said abruptly, “we can’t stay long. Our dates are meeting us downstairs to take us on to a deb party.”

Janet’s matter-of-fact voice temporarily dispelled the aura of eccentricity which the young man had cast upon the room.

“Here,” he said, walking to the oversized bed, “lie down.”

He cleared a silver tray with two wine glasses from the bed and sat on the window sill.

“Wretched heat,” he commented, opening the window. “I’ve been lying here pretending I was on the Island, and feeling terribly Byronesque.” He set the rose upon the tray. He didn’t bother to explain the second wine glass. “Do you know,” he said suddenly, “Byron watched from a carriage while they burned Shelley on the Beach at Via Reggio. Royal Road. I like that. And watching from a carriage until stench and grief overwhelmed him, and he left. That appeals to me. Such a death makes burials seem terribly prosaic.”

“Anthony,” said Janet, “my tongue is hanging out for a drink.” She straightened her evening dress beneath her on the bed. “I’m hung over as hell.”

Anthony sighed and walked over to the telephone.

“Two Chivas Regals on the rocks,” he ordered. He looked over at Courtney. “Scotch?” he asked. She nodded. “Make that four. And a half bottle of Pommard. André knows what I want. Mr. Neville.” He hung up and sat on the bed beside Janet.

“Jan,” he said, “you’re heaven. We really should see each other more often. Why do you insist upon going to that deadly deb party?”

He rested his hand on Janet’s hip. Courtney looked uncomfortably at a print on the opposite wall.

“I asked you to a party last week,” he continued, “but you never showed up.” He stared nostalgically at the tray of wine glasses. “It was a marvelous party,” he said wistfully. “Hordes of girls naked above the waist, and mass fornication.”

Courtney looked sharply at him. He pretended not to notice.

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