Anne Perry - A Breach of Promise

It was nearly midnight, amid a whirl of music, chatter, high-pitched laughter and the clink of glasses when he scraped into conversation with a middle-aged lady in blue who knew Delphine Lambert well and was happy to gossip about her.

"Charming," she said, looking straight at Monk.

Monk had no shame at all.

"How very generous of you," he said, smiling back at her. "If even in your company she seemed so, then she must indeed be exceptional."

The orchestra was playing and the music danced in his head. He restrained himself with an effort.

"You flatter me, Mr. Monk," she responded, clearly pleased.

"Not at all," he denied, as he had to. "I see you in front of me, while Mrs. Lambert is merely a name. She has no grace, no humor, no spark of wit or warmth of character for me to comment on." He looked so directly at her she must take his implication to be that she did.

This was the most gracious attention she had received in a long time. She was not about to let it go. She was quite aware of her friends a few yards away watching her with amazement and envy. She would talk about Delphine for as long as this delightful and rather intriguing man wished her to.

A pretty girl in pale pink swirled by, laughing up at her partner, flirting outrageously for the brief moment she was out of her mother's reach.

A gendeman with ginger hair bumped into a waiter.

"It is not really wit or humor she has," she elaborated, prepared to go into any degree of detail. "Not that she is without it, of course," she amended. "But her charm lies rather in her extraordinary delicacy and beauty. It is not…" She thought for a moment "It is not the beauty of amazing coloring or exquisite hair, although she does have a beautiful brow. Her figure is comely enough, but she is not very tall." She herself was only three or four inches less than Monk's own height. "It is the beauty of perfection," she continued. "Of even the tiniest detail being flawless. She never makes a mistake. Oh…" She gave a little laugh. "I daresay it is the sort of thing only another woman would notice. A man might only know there was something less attractive but not be able to put his finger upon what it might be. But Delphine… Mrs. Lambert… always rises above the little things that trip the rest of us."

The waltz was ended and replaced by a very slow pavane, or something of the sort. The temptation to dance was removed temporarily.

"How interesting," he said, watching her intently as if there were no one else in the room. "You are extraordinarily observant, Mrs. Waterson. You have a keen eye."

"Thank you, Mr. Monk." She blushed faintly.

"And a gift with words," he added for good measure.

She needed no further encouragement. She launched into varied stories not only of Delphine but, with a little guidance, of Zillah as well. She described their social round with some flair. Under Monk's flattery she did indeed exhibit an acute observation of manners and foibles and the intricacies which give clue to character.

A waiter offered them glasses of champagne and Monk seized one for Mrs. Waterson and one for himself. He was more than ready for it. All around them was laughter and color and swirl of movement.

"Only a careful eye could tell," Mrs. Waterson continued, leaning a little closer and lowering her voice confidentially, "but the whole bodice had been taken apart and restitched with the fabric going crosswise. Much more flattering." She nodded. "And her use of colors. It is more than just a flair, you know, in her it is a positive art. Nothing is too much trouble if it will produce beauty."

She was watching him intently, completely oblivious of a couple so close the woman's skirts touched her own, and who seemed to be having a fierce but almost silent quarrel. "You know I have heard it said," she told him earnestly, "that the skill in always appearing beautiful is not so much a matter of the features you are born with, or even of disguising those which are less than the best, but in drawing the onlooker's eye to those which are exceptional. And the others are barely noticed." There was triumph in her face. "Never apologize or appear to be ashamed or attempting to conceal." She raised her chin. "Walk with pride, smile, dare the world to accept you on your own terms. Believe yourself beautiful, and then others will also. That takes a great deal of courage, Mr. Monk, and a formidable strength of will."

"Indeed it does," he agreed, wishing she would proceed to something which might conceivably be relevant to Rathbone's case. "Invaluable advice for a mother to pass on to her daughter."

"Oh, I am sure she did," Mrs. Waterson said with a little lift of her shoulder. "Miss Lambert is quite lovely, and was never permitted to be anything less. The minutest details were given the utmost attention. Of course, nature assisted her beautifully!"

They were playing a waltz again. Could they dance and then return to the subject? No, of course not. It would be forgotten, become forced. He might even lose her altogether. Damn Rathbone!

It was time for a little more judicious flattery. One could not expect a woman to spend above an hour praising another woman.

"Fine features are very well," he said casually, as if it were merely a passing thought. "But without intelligence they very soon become tedious. I could listen all evening to a woman with the gifts of intelligence and expression. I could not look at one woman all evening, no matter how lovely her face."

"You have remarkable perception and sensitivity, Mr. Monk," she responded, her cheeks pink with pleasure. "I am afraid there are very few men with such finely developed values."

He raised his eyebrows. "Do you think so, Mrs. Waterson? How kind of you to say so. I don't think anyone has ever told me such a thing before." He looked suitably satisfied. He refused to think what Hester would have said of him for such playacting. The only thing that mattered was learning something that would help Rathbone's case. And so far he had singly failed in that.

He began again. "It must be tempting to use the power of such beauty, nonetheless, in a young girl with no experience, no maturity to fall back upon." He must not forget that Mrs. Waterson was certainly the wrong side of thirty-five.

"Of course," she agreed.

He waited expectantly, ignoring the young woman three or four yards away gazing at him with bright eyes full of laughter and invitation, obviously bored with her very correct and rather callow partner.

"Perhaps she did not succumb to the temptation?" he said sententiously.

"Oh, I'm afraid she did," Mrs. Waterson explained instantly, and with satisfaction. "One could not help but be aware that she was brought up to regard beauty as of the utmost importance, and therefore she would have been less than human not to have tested its power. And quite naturally it was greater than she expected-or was able to deal with gracefully." She waited to see Monk's reaction. Would he think unkindly of her if she seemed critical?

"How very understanding of you, Mrs. Waterson," he said, biting his tongue. "You speak with the sympathy of one who knows it at firsthand." He said it with a perfectly straight face. Without an ability to act one could not be a successful detective, and he had every intention of being successful.

"Well…" She debated whether to be modest or not, and threw caution to the winds. The orchestra was playing with rhythm and gaiety. She had drunk several glasses of champagne, and all she usually indulged in was lemonade. There was laughter and color and movement all around her. Light from chandeliers glittered on jewels and hair and bare necks and arms. Mr. Waterson was very agreeable, but he had far too little imagination. He took things for granted. "In my younger days, before I was married, of course, I did have one or two adventures," she conceded. "Perhaps I was not always wise."