“It’s not that so much—though that’s part of it. I’m not used to being wondered over, and I don’t think I’ll like it, but it’s my work….” She pressed her lips together. “It’s the best part of me, Mrs. Sweeney. If it’s found wanting. If it’s not good enough—”
“Rogan thinks it is.”
“A lot he knows,” Maggie muttered.
“That’s true. A lot he does know.” Christine tilted her head. The child needed a bit of mothering, she decided. And mothering wasn’t always kind. “Do you want me to go down and tell him you’re too afraid, too insecure to attend the show?”
“No!” Helpless, Maggie covered her face with her hands. “He’s trapped me. The tricky snake of a man. The damned greedy—I beg your pardon.” Going stiff, Maggie lowered her hands.
Christine made certain to swallow the chuckle. “That’s quite all right,” she said soberly. “Now, you wait here and I’ll go down and tell Rogan to go on without us. He’s already wearing a trench in the hallway with his pacing.”
“I’ve never seen anyone so obsessed with time.”
“It’s a Sweeney trait. Michael drove me mad with it, God bless him.” She patted Maggie’s hand. “I’ll be right back up to help you dress.”
“Mrs. Sweeney.” Desperate, Maggie grabbed at Christine’s sleeve. “Couldn’t you just tell him I’ve died? They could make a lovely wake out of the showing. And as a rule, you make more of a profit off a dead artist than a live one.”
“There, you see.” Christine dislodged Maggie’s clutching fingers. “You’re feeling better already. Now run along and wash your face.”
“But—”
“I’m standing in for your gran tonight,” Christine said firmly. “I believe Sharon would have wanted me to. And I said go wash your face, Margaret Mary.
“Yes, ma’am. Mrs. Sweeney?” With no place else to go, Maggie got shakily to her feet. “You won’t tell him…I mean, I’d be grateful to you if you didn’t mention to Rogan that I’d…”
“On one of the most important evenings of her life, a woman’s entitled to linger over dressing.”
“I suppose.” A ghost of a smile played around Maggie’s mouth. “It makes me sound like a frivolous fool, but it’s better than the alternative.”
“Leave Rogan to me.”
“There’s just one other thing.” She’d been putting this off, Maggie admitted. She might as well face it now when she was feeling as low as she imagined she could possibly feel. “Do you think you might be able to find those clippings you spoke of? The ones about my mother?”
“I think I could. I should have thought of it myself. Of course, you’d like to read them.”
“I would, yes. I’d be grateful.”
“I’ll see that you get them. Now go fix your face. I’ll scoot Rogan along.” She sent Maggie a bolstering smile before closing the door.
When Christine found him, Rogan was still furiously pacing in the foyer. “Where the devil is she?” he demanded the moment he spotted his grandmother. “She’s been primping up there for two hours.”
“Well, of course she has.” Christine gestured grandly. “The impression she makes tonight is vital, isn’t it?”
“It’s important, naturally.” If she made the wrong one, his dreams would slide down the drain along with Maggie’s. He needed her here, now, and ready to dazzle. “But why should it take her so long? She’s only to put on her clothes and fuss with her hair.”
“You’ve been a single man too long, my darling, if you truly believe such nonsense.” Affectionately, Christine reached out to straighten his already perfect tie. “How handsome you look in a tuxedo.”
“Grandmother, you’re stalling.”
“No, not at all.” Beaming at him, she brushed at his spotless lapels. “I’ve just come down to tell you to go along without us. We’ll follow when Maggie’s ready.”
“She should be ready now.”
“But she’s not. Besides, how much more effective might it be if she arrived just late enough to make an entrance? You appreciate the theater of these events, Rogan.”
There was truth in that. “All right then.” He checked his watch, swore lightly. If he didn’t go within the minute he’d most certainly be late. It was his responsibility to be there, he reminded himself, to see to any last minute details, no matter how much he wanted to wait and take Maggie to the gallery himself. “I’ll leave her in your more than capable hands. I’ll have the car come back for you as soon as I’ve been dropped off. See that she’s there within the hour, won’t you?”
“You can count on me, darling.”
“I always do.” He kissed her on the cheek, stepped back. “By the way, Mrs. Sweeney, I haven’t mentioned how beautiful you look.”
“No, you haven’t. I was quite deflated.”
“You will be, as always, the most stunning woman in the room.”
“Well said. Now, run along with you and leave Maggie to me.”
“With pleasure.” He shot one look up the stairs as he headed for the door. It was not a gentle look. “I wish you good luck with her.”
As the door closed Christine let out a sigh. She thought she might need all the luck she could get.
Chapter Nine
NO detail had been overlooked. The lighting was perfect, leaping and bounding off the curves and swirls of glass. The music, a waltz now, flowed as softly as happy tears through the room. Fizzing glasses of champagne crowded the silver trays carried gracefully by liveried waiters. The sound of clinking crystal and murmuring voices set up a gracious counterpoint to the weeping violins.
It was, in a word, perfect, not a detail missing. Except, Rogan thought grimly, the artist herself.
“It’s wonderful, Rogan.” Patricia stood beside him, elegant in a narrow white gown shivering with bugle beads. “You have a smashing success.”
He turned to her, smiling. “So it would seem.”
His eyes lingered on hers long enough, intensely enough, to make her uneasy. “What is it? Have I smudged my nose?”