Loss of Innocence by Richard North Patterson

Author:Richard North Patterson
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9781623650933
Publisher: Quercus
Published: 2013-07-25T12:00:00+00:00

Four

On a warm, humid evening in early August, the Danes and Barkleys attended a charity dinner to support the purchase of land for nature preserves. It took place on the lawn of a rambling summer home overlooking Quitsa Pond, evoking for Whitney her last sail with Ben. The men wore blazers—often navy-blue like Charles’s and Peter’s—the women bright summer dresses. Whitney’s dress was pink, cut slightly above the knee, while Clarice’s yellow miniskirt revealed the tan, slender legs that were her pride. Waiters in black bow ties and white cloth jackets dipped in and out among the guests, serving canapés and drinks on silver trays. To Whitney it seemed much like other such evenings—pleasant enough but ultimately boring, a gathering of lemmings whose chatter was as bland as the hors d’oeuvres. Deciding that a glass of wine might improve her perspective, she drifted away from Peter and her parents, and realized the waiter approaching with a drink tray was Benjamin Blaine.

Despite his lack of expression, she sensed an awkwardness that matched her own. Recalling that Ben and his brother had catered parties in high school, she wondered how this felt to him after his years at Yale and the murder of his candidate-hero. As he held out the tray, she mustered her warmest smile. “Hi, Ben. It’s nice to see you.”

“And you, Lady Dane.”

Whitney took a glass of white wine. “Lady Dane? Didn’t the Rolling Stones record that?”

Ben had the grace to laugh. “I preferred ‘Under My Thumb.’ Enjoy the party, Whitney.”

As he started to leave, she said swiftly, “So when are we sailing again? It was a nice day, I thought. At least mostly.”

He stopped briefly, glancing at her sideways. “I don’t have my appointment book with me. But you know where I live.” Then he was off again, circulating among the guests.

Gazing after him, Whitney sensed someone at her shoulder. “Isn’t that your friend?” Peter said. “The outfit looks good on him.”

To Whitney, this attempt at bluff humor carried a trace of belligerence. Before coming, Peter had enjoyed a cocktail or two with her father, who insisted on at least one glass of single malt scotch before Vineyard charity events—the spirits would be paltry, he groused, the wine second tier. But while a tumbler of Macallan reliably elevated Charles’s disposition, it seemed to have left Peter a little fuzzy of tongue.

“Friend is overstating it,” she told him. “We’re friendly, that’s all.”

Still looking toward Ben, Peter said nothing. Whitney sensed that his brain had slowed a little, calibrating his reactions with less facility than was usual for the easy, openhearted young man everyone liked so much. “Why don’t we find our table,” she suggested. “These new pumps are hurting my feet.”

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