* * * *
Allison had fronted her husband the money to buy into a catering business, and somehow he had gotten the contract for the reception preceding the ball. I wasn’t going to be so snide as to ask whose palm he’d used her money to grease, but…
I was going to wonder.
People would go up to the buffet and sample a bite. Their faces would become blank, or twist into a grimace, and then they would hand their plates with what was left on them to the waiters and waitresses who circulated.
If Allison wasn’t one of my oldest, dearest friends, I would have walked out.
Quinton approached me. “Mother? You look…concerned.”
“I am. I don’t know whether I should inform Allison about this debacle or if silence on the matter would be kindest thing. I’ve never seen her so…so besotted.”
He gave me an angelic smile, which I knew better than to accept at face value. Sure enough, “Sorry, Mother, but better you than me. I’d hate to be the one to break Aunt Allison’s heart.”