Moments later, we entered the formal dining room. It was the grandest room I had ever been in. Now that I saw it, I realized how ridiculous it was for me to think the classroom dining room was the main dining room. This was probably four times the size, with very large works of art on the walls and two enormous teardrop chandeliers over the long table that could definitely seat twenty-five or more people. There was a large red and black oval rug beneath and around it. On both sides of the room were beautiful matching armoires filled with dishware, glasses, and cups. Both sides also had tall windows with black velvet drapes. Portia and Mr. Whitehouse were on one side, and Mrs. Brittany’s guest, Decker Farmingham, was seated on the other. The place at the head of the table was obviously reserved for Mrs. Brittany.
“You’ll sit next to Decker,” Mrs. Brittany told me as we approached.
The men stood. With a wide smile on his face, Randy stood off to the right, dressed in a tuxedo, watching us enter. He winked at me.
“May I say you look more beautiful than ever,” Decker Farmingham told Mrs. Brittany.
“You may say it, Decker, but no one with half a brain would believe it. I know what’s lost when we age,” she replied, and he laughed. His eyes were on me. “This is our newest potential Brittany girl,” she continued, “Roxy Wilcox. Roxy, this is Decker Farmingham.”
He held out his hand for mine. He wasn’t a particularly good-looking man. I thought his nose too long and his mouth too soft for a man. He had rather ordinary brown eyes and thick, styled dark-brown hair with just a touch of gray around his ears. The gray looked suspiciously dyed, something a man might do to appear older, wiser. I didn’t think he was quite six feet tall. He was chubby-faced, with a little too much of a paunch. I recognized that he was wearing an Armani suit. Two rings glittered on his left hand, one a diamond pinkie ring and another that was probably a wedding band, also with tiny diamonds.
When I gave him my hand, he held it in his soft fingers and stared at me for so long before speaking that I was sure any other girl I knew would either giggle or turn and run.
“Don’t memorize every cell in her body,” Mrs. Brittany said.
He laughed but held on to my hand when he turned to her. “I think our Mr. Bob is a pure genius,” he said, and then smiled at me. “Pleased to meet you, Roxy.”
“Enchanté,” I said. I glanced at Mr. Whitehouse. He took on the look of a proud father, nodding at Mrs. Brittany to be sure he received some credit for my social etiquette. She ignored him and sat.
Mr. Farmingham pulled out my chair for me.
“Merci,” I said.
“Well, well, well,” Mr. Farmingham said, taking his seat. He looked at Mrs. Brittany. “Looks like you’ve borrowed a page from Nabokov. Might be a good idea.”
He turned to me and smiled to see if I understood or appreciated his cleverness.
“I’m hardly Lolita,” I said, and Mrs. Brittany laughed heartily. “At least, at the beginning of the novel.”
“There’s a bit of fresh honesty,” she said.
Mr. Farmingham took on a shade of crimson. “Well, she doesn’t look much older. I thought you were trying for that. Lolita is a popular male fantasy, you know,” he told me. “I admit to having it myself.”
I looked at Portia. She was staring with interest and amusement. I had the sense that she had gone through some similar initiation ceremony.
Randy came around to set my napkin on my lap. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. I smiled and gave him a slight nod before turning to Decker.
“Yes, I
know about that male fantasy, Mr. Farmingham. I often saw that fantasy working in the eyes of some of my high school teachers and even some of my father’s friends. Let me say this about it. I am confident that I can be whatever Mrs. Brittany wants me to be.”
He nodded, impressed. Portia widened her smile. Nigel Whitehouse looked a little overwhelmed.
“You have no reservations about fulfilling such fantasies?” Mr. Farmingham asked.
“Not really. It’s a bit like being Cinderella, don’t you think?”
“It doesn’t always end at midnight, and you’re not always with a prince,” he countered.
I shrugged. “The point is, it ends,” I said.
“Well said,” he said. “I must admit that you women are a total mystery to me. The ones I think are simple turn out complicated, and the ones I expect to be complicated turn out to be simple.”
“Maybe you should not go by first impressions,” I told him.
“Well, now it seems I’m getting advice from Lolita.”
“You asked for it,” Mrs. Brittany said. She turned to Randy and nodded. The dinner service began. Two maids brought out our salads, and Randy opened the first bottle of white wine.