A flurry of activity near the sweeping French doors that served as a grand entry to the salon grabbed their attention. Delilah Dove had arrived.
Delilah was a semi-famous singer who was providing the nightly entertainment on the trip. She was one of those rags-to-riches stories; girl from a poor family makes good. Nora thought she’d even heard something about Delilah’s brother being some sort of criminal. Aunt Julia had been told she was quite expensive. She came complete with a band and backup singers.
Delilah comported herself with all the flair of a Hollywood star. She wore a scarlet gown that trailed behind her on the floor like the tail of a peacock. It had a long, flowing, chiffon scarf on the neck, which she periodically threw over her shoulder. Nora presumed it was to attract even more attention since she’d already done it twice and hadn’t yet been in the room for five minutes.
Heavy bejeweled earrings dripped from her ears and her neck glowed with red gems, the center of which was a ruby cabochon the size of an egg. A ruby-and-diamond bracelet glittered on her wrist every time she flicked the scarf. People flocked around her and she appeared to thrive on the adoration of the crowd.
But even as she basked in the spotlight, Delilah’s eyes searched the room, coming to rest at the back. Nora followed her gaze to Max Lawton, his brown eyes narrowing as he returned Delilah’s look. What was that about?
Nora turned back to the doors where a thin man in a dapper suit had arrived. He pushed through the crowd to stand next to Delilah, slipping his arm around her waist possessively.
Aunt Julia had been watching too. “That’s Clifford Oxley. He manages the dinner show. Giles told me he persuaded Clifford to leave the Gilded Goose in New York City. Quite a coup. Though I think it might not have been too hard to lure him away. Rumor has it Clifford and Delilah are more than just manager and star.”
“Clearly.” Nora watched as Clifford kissed Delilah’s cheek.
The crowd had thickened, so she could barely see them anymore. Johnny Stokes weaved around the edges bumping into people and Nora hoped he didn’t knock anyone over. Her gaze slid back to Max who was watching Delilah, his expression dark. Maybe Clifford wasn’t the only one who had designs on Delilah. Is that why Max had been watching the doorway earlier? Had he been waiting for her to show up?
“She is rather showy.” Aunt Julia studied Delilah. “I hear she’s all about the publicity. Even her stage name was carefully chosen to be memorable. Delilah Dove. Alliteration is always easier to remember, I use it in my books a lot.”
“Well she certainly does know how to make a grand entrance. That’s one for your books,” Nora whispered, even though most everyone else had rushed to the front of the salon so there was no one around to hear her.
“Indeed. However, I find it much more interesting when one makes a subtle exit…”
Nora glanced over to see her aunt’s gaze was now pinned on the opposite end of the room where the hat-adjusting young wife was tugging her husband through the side door.
“Now there’s something mysterious to write about.”
Vera Hinchcliffe breathed a sigh of relief as the door to the front lounge shut behind her and her husband Beauregard.
Beau glanced behind him as if wondering what had just happened. “Really, dear, I think we could have stayed a bit longer. Dinner isn’t for three hours and mother is left in there alone and I—”
Vera shushed him by putting an index finger to his lips. His mother was the exact reason why she’d dragged him out of there. She didn’t need her disapproving mother-in-law discovering her little secret.
Martha Hinchcliffe—or “the buzzard” as Vera thought of her—was always watching her, circling like a bird of prey waiting to swoop in and point out Vera’s flaws to her son. Martha had wanted Beau to marry one of her friends’ high-society daughters. Someone with a matching trust fund. Vera, with her modest secretarial position and questionable family background, didn’t fit the bill, though if Martha knew exactly how questionable Vera’s background really was, the old biddy would probably have a heart attack.
When Vera had first met Martha, she’d had the tiniest hope that they’d someday get along like family. Maybe Martha would become the mother that Vera never had. But no matter how much she’d tried to get Martha to like her, it hadn’t happened. Vera had tried complimenting Martha’s garish outfits, agreeing with her every word and even going out of her way to see all her needs were met like some kind of servant, but the more Vera tried to ingratiate herself, the less Martha seemed to like her.
Martha could never find out the real truth; Vera had worked too hard to secure this marriage to lose it now. She turned to her husband, pouting her lips and making her eyes round and innocent. “Now you want me to look good for dinner, don’t you, pookums?”
“You always look nice.” Beau smiled at her and the love in his eyes softened her cold heart a tad. She’d married him solely for his money, but she had to admit she was becoming a bit fond of him.
Him; not his mother.
Which reminded her, she’d better get to their room before she was seen by the wrong person. She tugged Beau forward, the heels of her patent leather T-straps clanging on the metal stairs as they descended toward the cabin deck where their luxury suite awaited.
“It will be nice to relax in our room, just the two of us.”
“It sure will.” Beau reached back and pinched her butt playfully.
“I’m going to need all that time to pick out my outfit and powder my nose.” She swatted his hand away, cursing her rotten luck. Of all people on board why did one of them have to be Agnes Banks? Who knew she was now calling herself Delilah Dove? What kind of a name was that anyway?
Vera had almost fainted when she saw the giant poster with Agnes’ picture on it hung up in the front lounge. Now she would have to go through all kinds of gyrations to avoid her, which might be tricky considering they were trapped on this boat for the next four days. And Agnes—now Delilah—would be singing at dinner every night. What if their table was close to the stage, or if she roamed around from table to table as many of them did? Vera could not risk it; she’d have to skip dinner, but how to do that without raising suspicion from Beau or the buzzard?
Beau inserted the key in the door and opened it, stepping aside for her to enter first. Vera had seen to it that they had booked one of the largest, and most expensive, luxury staterooms. Beau could well afford it. And, of course, the buzzard had her own stateroom next door. Thank heavens they didn’t have to share a cabin.
The room was like most lavish hotel rooms Vera had stayed in. Maybe a little smaller, but it had a queen bed, floral wallpaper and a separate bathroom. A large window looked out on the river. Vera had left the window cracked open—she loved fresh air. A breeze fluttered the silk curtains and she got an idea.
“Hachoo!”
“God bless.” Beau turned to her, his eyes full of concern. “Pookie, are you feeling unwell?”
Vera sniffled and batted her eyelashes at Beau. “I think I do feel a cold coming on.”
Beau frowned. “Maybe you should rest, let me fluff the pillows for you.”
Vera went into the bathroom and started the bath. She needed time alone to think. She’d worked too hard to lose everything now. Beau and the buzzard could not discover her lies—it would be the end of easy street. Could her mother-in-law force an annulment if they discovered she’d lied about her past? She could not run that risk.