Only he wasn’t.
“Jeremy’s my new partner,” Holly burbled.
“Silent partner,” Slade added. His voice was low, a little gravelly.
“Right,” Holly said. “He’s an art lover of the first magnitude . . . well, you tell them, Jeremy.”
Jeremy Slade shrugged. “I have a double major in art history and economics from Columbia and an MBA from Wharton.”
Holly grinned. “Pretty impressive, huh?”
“I’d say so,” Drayton said.
“You said silent partner,” Theodosia said.
“Jeremy is one of the brainy cofounders of Arcadia Software. But as a sideline, he’s also decided to invest in the Imago Gallery, which has suddenly given us a healthy infusion of cash.”
“Sounds like you plan to expand the gallery,” Theodosia said.
“More like attract a higher caliber of artist,” Slade said.
“And allow us to do more advertising and art openings,” Holly added.
“Very enterprising,” Drayton said.
“Anyway, to announce what we’re internally calling Imago 2.0, I was wondering if you’d cater a tea for us,” Holly said.
“We’d love to,” Theodosia said, warming to the idea immediately. “Were you thinking of having it at the Imago Gallery or . . . ?”
“Not the gallery. Since the weather’s so nice, I was thinking more of an outdoor event,” Holly said.
“Maybe a park or hotel courtyard,” Slade said.
Holly nodded. “Someplace where we can set up good-sized easels to showcase the work of our new artists. You know how in Paris there are all those wonderful artists who display their work down by the Seine?”
“Yes, I’ve seen that,” Theodosia said.
“That’s the vibe I’m looking for. Very Parisian.”
Theodosia thought for a few moments. “Have either of you heard of Petigru Park?”
Holly and Slade both shook their heads.
“It’s a fairly new park,” Theodosia said. “Not far from the yacht club. The land was recently donated to the City of Charleston, and the Park Board has initiated a community beekeeping project there, along with a lovely chunk of parkland set aside for native grasses.” She paused. “It’s a gorgeous property and might just be the perfect venue for your event—if we can get a permit, that is.”
“Petigru Park sounds fantastic,” Holly said. She turned to Slade, her enthusiasm contagious. “Don’t you think?”
“I think it’s a fine idea,” Slade said. “Unexpected, what you’d call out of the box.”
“And the bees,” Holly said. “I love that angle. We could actually do a beekeeping theme.”
“I was thinking more like a honey theme, since it’s going to be a tea party,” Theodosia said. “We could serve honey cream scones, honeyed ice tea, that sort of thing.”
“My dear, you are totally brilliant!” Holly cried.
“What’s your timing on this?” Drayton asked. He’d already opened his notebook and had a pen in hand.
“I’m thinking maybe a month, month and a half from now?” Holly said.
Drayton jotted a note. “I do believe we can fit you in.”
* * *
* * *
“Drayton!” Theodosia ripped off her apron and hastily slipped into a white knit jacket. “Come on. The Lemon Squeeze Couture show starts in, like, twenty minutes.” She’d been running around like a crazy woman, arranging tables just so, sweeping the floor. She liked to be ready for the next morning, which always seemed to arrive a little too early.
“Do we really have to go?” Drayton asked.
“Yes, we have to go. We promised Delaine. Besides, Bettina will be there. If anything, we have to show the flag for her.”
Drayton’s lips moved, producing a low grumble.
“Lately, whenever I mention Delaine’s name, you say ‘Do I have to?’ ” Theodosia said.
“Do you have to what?” Haley asked as she came bopping out, dressed in jeans and a black leather jacket.
“Go to Delaine’s show,” Drayton said. He eyed Haley and said, “I think I’d rather go where she’s going.”
“On the back of a motorcycle?” Theodosia said. “With Haley’s new boyfriend?”
“Oh. No,” Drayton said, as a sudden throaty roar sounded out on the street.
“There’s Ben now,” Haley said as she scrambled out the front door. “Hey guys, have fun at the fashion show.”
“Tell you what,” Theodosia said to Drayton. “We’ll get there late.” She glanced at her watch. “Well, we’re going to be ridiculously late as it is. And we’ll try to leave early. How would that be? I mean, a fashion show can only last . . . what? Ten, fifteen minutes at best?”
“Please,” Drayton said. “This is Delaine we’re talking about.”
* * *
* * *
They were fashionably late. Then again, so were all the other guests. As well as the show. The big event was scheduled to kick off promptly at four, but the lighting over the elevated white runway still wasn’t perfect, the DJ had taken his own sweet time to show up, and there were electrical issues that had to do with too many power cords and overloaded circuits. Which meant Delaine’s boutique was bursting at the seams with anxious fashionistas, press, photographers, invited dignitaries, special customers who expected (and demanded!) front-row seats, and a few fashion groupies who’d managed to sneak in without benefit of invitations.
Worse yet, they’d all been drinking. Delaine had twisted the arm of a wine merchant down the street and talked him into delivering thirty cases of white wine at cost. So now everyone was on their third glass, which ratcheted up the excitement, anticipation, and noise level even more.
“This is awful,” Drayton said as he and Theodosia squeezed their way up to the bar.
“It’s a fashion show,” Theodosia said. “It’s bound to be a little crazy and pretentious.”
“Going to be tough to talk to anybody.”
“Yes, it is.”
Theodosia gazed over toward the runway where a stringy-haired blond guy was screaming loudly about his overhead lights. About how they weren’t twirling or dimming or twinkling properly. Harv and Marv were trying to calm him down, though Harvey Bateman didn’t look a bit calm himself. His face was beet red and he was pointing at Mark Devlin, the designer, who was also shaking his head.