Bloodline Sidney Sheldon

Both men rose as she walked into the library, where they were talking business. Her father said casually, “Elizabeth. Just get in?”

“Yes.”

“Ah. So school’s finished.”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine.”

And that was the extent of her welcome home. Rhys was walking toward her, smiling. He seemed genuinely pleased to see her. “You look wonderful, Liz. How was the graduation? Sam wanted to be there but he couldn’t get away.”

He was saying all the things her father should have been saying.

Elizabeth was angry with herself for being hurt. It was not that her father did not love her, she told herself, it was just that he was dedicated to a world in which she had no part. He would have taken a son into his world; a daughter was alien to him. She did not fit into the Corporate Plan.

“I’m interrupting. She moved toward the door.

“Wait a minute,” Rhys said. He turned to Sam. “Liz has come home just in time. She can help with the party Saturday night.”

Sam turned to Elizabeth, studying her objectively, as though newly assessing her. She resembled her mother. She had the same beauty, the same natural elegance. A flicker of interest came into Sam’s eyes. It had not occurred to him before that his daughter might be a potential asset to Roffe and Sons. “Do you have a formal dress?”

Elizabeth looked at him in surprise. “I—”

“It doesn’t matter. Go buy one. Do you know how to give a party?”

Elizabeth swallowed and said, “Certainly.” Wasn’t that one of the advantages of going to a Swiss finishing school? They taught you all the social graces. “Of course I know how to give a party.”

“Good. I’ve invited a group from Saudi Arabia. There’ll be about—” He turned to Rhys.

Rhys smiled at Elizabeth and said, “Forty. Give or take a few.”

“Leave everything to me,” Elizabeth said confidently.

The dinner was a complete fiasco.

Elizabeth had told the chef to prepare crab cocktails for the first course, followed by individual cassoulets, served with vintage wines. Unfortunately the cassoulet had pork in it, and the Arabs touched neither shellfish nor pork. Nor did they drink alcoholic beverages. The guests stared at the food, eating nothing. Elizabeth sat at the head of the long table, across the room from her father, frozen with embarrassment, dying inside.

It was Rhys Williams who saved the evening.

He disappeared into the study for a few moments and spoke into the telephone. Then he came back into the dining room and entertained the guests with amusing stories, while the staff began to clear the table.

In what seemed no time at all, a fleet of catering trucks drove up, and as if by magic a variety of dishes began appearing. Couscous and lamb en brochette and rice and platters of roast chicken and fish, followed by sweetmeats and cheese and fresh fruits. Everyone enjoyed the food except Elizabeth. She was so upset that she could not swallow a bite. Each time she looked up at Rhys, he was watching her, a conspiratorial look in his eyes. Elizabeth could not have said why, but she was mortified that Rhys should not only witness her shame but save her from it. When the evening finally ended, and the last of the guests had reluctantly departed in the early hours of the morning, Elizabeth and Sam and Rhys were in the drawing room. Rhys was pouring a brandy.

Elizabeth took a deep breath and turned to her father, “I’m sorry about the dinner. If it hadn’t been for Rhys—”

“I’m sure you’ll do better next time,” Sam said flatly.

Sam was right. From that time on, when Elizabeth gave a party, whether it was for four people or for four hundred, she researched the guests, found out their likes and dislikes, what they ate and drank, and what type of entertainment they enjoyed. She kept a catalog with file cards on each person. The guests were flattered to find that their favorite brand of wine or whiskey or cigars had been stocked for them, and that Elizabeth was able to discuss their work knowledgeably.

Rhys attended most of the parties, and he was always with the most beautiful girl there. Elizabeth hated them all. She tried to copy them. If Rhys brought a girl who wore her hair pinned up in the back, Elizabeth did her hair the same way. She tried to dress the way Rhys’s girls dressed, to act the way they acted. But none of it seemed to make any impression on Rhys. He did not even seem to notice. Frustrated, Elizabeth decided that she might as well be herself.