Since she was still upside down, he scowled at her but picked up the call. “Clara Merriam Hale’s phone. How can I help you?”
“Oh, Arthur,” she said, folding down like a stepladder and coming out of her headstand. “Put him on speaker.”
He cursed again but did as she wanted. Marital peace and all. “Quinn! You’re on speaker, my boy. How are things?”
“Hello, dear!” Clara added. “I’m doing yoga. Speak up so I can hear you across the room.”
“Clara, let the man get a word in.” Arthur unfurled from the chair and walked over to his wife. “And stop rolling around on the floor. It’s distracting.”
“It sounds like you two need a break from the routine,” Quinn said finally. “How about an early trip to San Francisco? I need some help.”
Clara and Arthur’s eyes met. Now they were talking.
“With my soulmate,” Quinn added.
Clara clapped her hands and sat on her calves. “Wonderful news! Arthur, dear, you lost this bet.”
Yeah, he’d expected Quinn to hold out longer. “Who’s the lucky girl?” he asked.
“I’ll ignore the news that you two placed a bet on my love life. She’s someone I knew in graduate school and never forgot. I hired her to help with the Merriam restructuring. She’s the best in the business.”
“What’s her name?” Clara asked, rising.
“Francesca Maroun.”
Arthur watched as she rushed over and picked up her tablet, tapping in what he knew must be an internet search. “Clara, we can look her up later.”
“Oh, but she’s so elegant. Look, Arthur.” She jammed the tablet under his nose.
He had to concur, what with all that black hair and those arresting eyes. She was a looker, but beyond her obvious elegance, he could see her intelligence and a core of steel.
“Why is everyone surprised by that?” Quinn sounded flabbergasted. “Never mind. She’s a little gun-shy after all of these years, and she’s brought along her own chaperone to keep me in line while we work.”
Arthur let out a laugh. “A chaperone? I like her already.”
“Me too,” Clara said, taking the phone from Arthur and putting it closer to her mouth. “What do you want help with? Submarining the chaperone?”
“Who says that anymore, Clara? Quinn, we’ll come and do our usual duties and stick around for the wedding.”
“Actually, I was hoping you could pretend I’d asked you to come as additional chaperones. All three of you, Hargreaves included.”
This time Arthur snorted. “Helping the woman feel even more safe from your attentions. I like it. You have my vote.”
Clara settled her hands against her magenta leggings. “I don’t like the subterfuge.”
“Yet you were just talking about submarining the other chaperone. Clara, keep consistent.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, which had him responding in kind.
“From what I know of her chaperone—whom she calls a personal assistant—I’d say she’s the female version of Hargreaves. Albeit decades younger.”
“Indeed, Master Quinn,” Hargreaves said from the doorway in his stuffiest British accent. “I heard my name being used and decided to enter the conversation.”
“Decades younger!” Arthur said, tickled by the thought of a female Hargreaves. “How young are we talking here, Quinn?”
“Twenty-eight. Her name is Alice Bailey, and she’s from the Chicago area. I’ll send you the particulars, but she might be a match for Hargreaves in cooking, languages, and martial arts.”
“No one is a match for Hargreaves,” Clara said, striding over to her faithful butler and patting him on the arm. “But send the information.”
“We’ll see about that,” Arthur said, casting a mocking smile at the butler.
They’d become friends—unspoken, of course. Clara loved them both, and she was the glue between them. If that weren’t enough, Hargreaves did everything he could to help the Merriams. He treated them as if they were his own flesh and blood. Family was everything in Arthur’s mind, so he appreciated Hargreaves’ devotion. It made him a good egg.
“I am eager to meet Miss Bailey as well, Master Quinn,” Hargreaves said, always polite.
“I’d love you out here as early as next week. J.T. is taking over as CEO until Francesca and I finish the restructuring. No later than the end of February. Of course, the faster I win her over, the faster you can go home.”
“Skedaddle, you mean.” His great-niece, Caroline, would miss her husband, but if J.T. needed to help out, they’d manage it. Man, Arthur got tears in his eyes, seeing the younger generation support one another. He could die a happy man knowing they’d all circle the wagons when times got tough.
“We’ll fly out with J.T.,” Clara said, casting a glance at Hargreaves, who nodded.
Arthur had expected no different. When Clara set her mind to something, he and Hargreaves tagged along.
“Wonderful. I’ll figure out accommodations after telling Francesca about you coming out.”
“Lay it on thick, Quinn,” Arthur said with a chortle. “Your woman sounds like a tough cookie.”
“I know who I’m dealing with. Thank you for coming. I… Thank you.”
The uncharacteristic emotion in his voice had tears popping into Clara’s eyes. “We’ll help you win her back. I promise, Quinn.”
“Make sure you get a haircut and a new suit,” Arthur teased to steer the conversation out of emotional territory. He knew Quinn wasn’t comfortable with such talk. The man wasn’t easy hugging his own sisters, for heaven’s sake, or Clara, who tended to coo while hugging the other Merriams. Arthur was okay with forsaking a hug, truthfully, respecting each man’s comfort level. “Women like that kind of thing.”
“Oh, Arthur,” Clara said, wiping her eyes.
He dug out a handkerchief and walked over to her, dabbing at the tears. All her cooing aside, it touched him to see her love for her Merriam nieces and nephews. She may have been estranged from her family for years, but she was making up for lost time.
“My A game is ready. See you next week. Thanks, again.”
The phone call ended, and Clara sniffed. “He lost his soulmate. So many years of separation. Arthur, I know what that feels like.”
“Clara, we weren’t right for each other when we first met. Maybe the time wasn’t right for them either, back then, but it is now. Come on, there’s no need to fall into despair. You won our little bet about Quinn, and I have no doubt he’ll be our seventh Merriam success story.” He didn’t mention he’d had others with his own family. It chapped her hide to have missed them.
“We should take our talent on the road.” She wrapped her arms around his neck while Hargreaves turned his head discreetly away. “No one should live out their days alone and without love.”
He patted her fanny and kissed her cheek. “No, they shouldn’t.”
“Hargreaves, do you think we’re still safe to travel?” Clara asked.
Arthur scowled. Clara and Hargreaves were obsessed with a mysterious pneumonia-like virus in China, currently raging in a city named Wuhan. Thailand had also reported a case, which suggested it was spreading. Arthur didn’t know what reports Hargreaves had access to from his father’s former work with British intelligence, and he wasn’t asking just yet. But Hargreaves and Clara feared it would become a global pandemic even worse than the 1918 Spanish flu. They’d dispatched small packages containing dried healing flowers from the Valley of Stars to every family member on both the Merriam and Hale sides, thirty packages in total for personal use only. The other flowers they’d gathered were being tested for public safety and consumption by Michaela and Boyd’s company.