Stuart Woods - Imperfect Strangers

Saul Winner grabbed them before they had gone a dozen steps and stepped between them, hooking their arms in his. "You're mine for the duration of this party," he said sweeping them through the house and onto a large rear lawn, which also served as a sculpture garden for the works of their host.

At least two hundred people were standing, drinking, and, as Saul began to work the crowd, Sandy thought he had never before met so many artists, dealers, collectors, and curators in one place. Saul was introducing Cara, to the few people she didn't already know, as "the former Helena Martindale, whose friends call her Cara." Sandy discovered very quickly that he did not like the name Martindale attached to her in any way, and he resolved to do something about it.

He was astonished at the number of people who, upon being introduced, uttered encouraging words about his lawsuit. Apparently, everybody had read the Sunday papers.

A slender young man carrying a notebook and accompanied by a photographer planted himself firmly in their path and shot Saul a look. "Saul, you must introduce me."

"Ah, Simon," Saul said. "Allow me to introduce Sandy Kinsolving and-"

"And Cara," Sandy interrupted.

"Sandy, this is Simon Teach, who, you may remember, wrote the article in this morning's paper."

"Oh, yes, Mr. Teach," Sandy said, shaking the man's soft hand. "I hung on your every word."

"Oh," Teach replied, "I should think Peter Martindale is more likely to hang, don't you?"

Cara spoke up. "From your lips to God's ear."

"Ah, yes, Cara," Teach said, pumping her hand. "I believe you were once something more than friends with the aforementioned, were you not?"

"Will you pillory me for my past errors in judgment, Mr. Teach?"

"Why no, dear lady; just getting the facts straight."

A waiter turned up at Sandy's elbow with a large bloody mary, and Sandy accepted it gratefully. He toasted Teach. "Your continued good health," he said.

Teach raised his own glass. "And good sources," he replied. They clinked glasses.

"Ah," Saul cried, "our host!"

Sandy looked up to see a small man with shoulder-length hair making his way toward them.

"Sandy, Cara," Saul said, "may I present Martin Cage?"

"You are very welcome," Cage said with relish, "and may you always bring with you such good news. It's about time somebody nailed the bastard."

"Many of your guests have expressed similar sentiments," Sandy said, shaking the man's hand.

"Martin," Cara said, "your work is very striking. I wish there were fewer people to block my view of it."

"On another occasion, Cara, I will bring you here alone, so that you may drink in its every nuance."

"Oh, Martin!" Saul exclaimed suddenly. "You are wicked!"

Sandy and Cara turned and followed his gaze up the lawn, to see Peter Martindale striding confidently toward them, resplendent in a white linen suit.

Simon Teach was very nearly jumping up and down. "Oh boy, oh boy!" he was muttering under his breath. He turned to his photographer, a young girl. "Miss this and I'll strangle you with that camera strap." The girl began clicking off shots with her machine-driven camera.

"Well, Helena!" Martindale crowed as if in triumph, "what a great surprise to see you here!" He turned and looked narrowly at Sandy. "And this must be the fabled Mr. Kinsolving. Allow me to introduce myself."

Sandy looked him in the eye. "Your reputation precedes you," he said.

Martindale reacted as if he had been spat upon. He turned his attention to Cara again. "And where did you pick up this thing?" he asked. "Down by the docks?"

With no hesitation, Cara tossed her champagne into his face.

Martindale blinked, then took a silk pocket square from his breast pocket and dabbed at his damp white suit.

"Don't worry, Peter," Cara said. "It's only champagne; it won't stain your suit."

Sandy spoke up. "This should do it." He threw his entire bloody mary at Martindale's head.

For a moment there was a great silence, except for the whirring of the newspaper photographer's camera. Everyone waited expectantly for Martindale's response. When it came it was disappointing.

"Another time," he sputtered, then he turned and strode back toward the house.

Everyone seemed to let out a breath at once, a tiny moan of disappointment, then the babble of conversation resumed.

Simon Teach turned to his photographer. "Go!" he said. The young woman sprinted toward the street. "If you'll forgive me," he said to the others, "I have a deadline." Then he, too, was gone.

"Martin," Saul Winner breathed, "you really know how to throw a party."

"Thank you, Saul," Cage replied, beaming.

"Well, that was certainly fun," Cara said as they left the waning party.

"I thought so."

"It was brilliant of you to order a bloody mary," she said. "I've never seen you drink one before. What made you do it?"

"Fate, I guess."

"While we're in town, let's pick up my car at my friends' house," she said, "then we can drop off the rental car at one of the hotels.

"Good idea. Your car is certainly classier transportation."

"Yes," she said, "it is."

"Cara," Sandy said, "we have to do something about your name."

"My name?"

"Yes. How long does it take to get married in California?"

She leaned over and kissed him on the ear. "Not long."

"Let's see how fast we can do it"

"You're on."

Paul Keyes picked up the phone in his office. "Yes?"

"Mr. Peter Martindale to see you," the receptionist said.

"Please send him in," Keyes replied. He had always found Peter Martindale charming, had even bought some pictures from him, and he was ashamed to recall that, when he had received service of the Kinsolving lawsuit, it had crossed his mind that perhaps he should have somebody authenticate his own paintings.

"Paul, how are you?" Martindale said, smiling broadly and squeezing the lawyer's hand in both of his own.

"How are you, Peter, is the question," Keyes replied.

"Oh, you mean that business in the paper this morning. Nothing to it; I just didn't realize how drunk Kinsolving was."

"Good, I'm glad you're not upset."

"Not in the least. Well, I guess we should talk about our defense in this suit."

"Yes, Peter, let's do that. How do you see us proceeding?"

"Well, they'll get their expert, I suppose, and it'll be my word against his. I'll make a very good witness, you can count on that."

"I'm sure you will, Peter." Keyes evened the corners of a stack of papers and moved them from one side of his desk to the other. "Now, I have to ask you some very direct questions, Peter, and it's important that you be absolutely frank with me."

"Of course, Paul; how could I be anything else with you?"

"Remember, this all comes under the heading of client-attorney privilege, so nothing you and I say to each other can ever leave this room, not even if a court asks."

"Yes, I understand that."

"First of all, tell me how you came to have Lars Larsen as a client."

"Well, let's see; I was up in the Napa Valley for a wine tasting at a restaurant there-you know the one, it's an annual fund-raiser for some charity or other."

Keys nodded. "I think I do."

"I was tasting some of Larsen's wines, and we fell into conversation, ended up having dinner together after the event at some little steak house. Drank quite a lot of his wine, as I recall."

Keys nodded. "Go on."

"Well, Larsen insisted I be his guest for the night. Quite rightly, I suppose, since I shouldn't have driven back to the city, having put away a few, so I accepted. At breakfast the next morning he gave me a tour of the house-lovely old Victorian place; you can see it from the highway, up a lane lined with trees."