Violet pulled them aside and pushed something in Jonathan’s hand.
“The keys to my penthouse at the Sands in Vegas,” she said. “If you two know what’s good for you, you’ll go get married before Joanie turns your wedding into some big old society brouhaha full of cats like that Miss Fiddle Faddle. It’s people like her that keep me living nice and simple most of the time. Now go on…Oh, look who’s here!”
A familiar Dennis the Menace cowlick had appeared behind Sybil.
Plantagenet turned pale.
“Glen!” Camilla said, stepping forward to take his hand. “I didn’t know you were a friend of Violet’s.”
“We met while I was handling your case.” Glen, underdressed in a business suit, looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I’m late, Mrs. Rushforth, but I’m here, as promised. I was tied up in court. I just got an acquittal for an abused wife who drowned her husband in a toilet bowl. Her name was Ronnelle Brown. She seemed to think she knew you, Camilla….”
Everybody stood in awkward silence until Camilla’s mother appeared, with a cowed waiter trailing behind her.
“Here we are everybody. Champagne.”
“Nothing like a glass of Dom Perignon to restore one to health.” Her mother took two glasses from the tray and handed them to Jonathan and Camilla. She handed two more to Plant and Glen.
“Hello, Mr. Jones, said Plantagenet stiffly.
“Hello, Mr. Smith,” said Glen.
“Now boys,” Violet said. “Will you cut it out with the Mr. Smith and Mr. Jones crap? I happen to know that you two boys are good friends, so why don’t you make up, and stop being pig-headed?” Violet grabbed both men’s wrists and brought their hands together. “Go ahead,” she said. “You can hold hands—this isn’t the dark ages.”
“Joan, dearest!” Sibyl’s rasping voice intruded on the moment. “Isn’t it nice to see you and Jonathan so cozy. As I recall, the last time we lunched, you were plotting revenge on poor Jonathan for making a botch-up of some interview. Camilla, did you know your mother had your fiancé blacklisted…?”
Camilla looked helplessly at Jonathan.
“Camellia and Jonny have to leave now,” Violet said. “Camellia has that column of hers to write.”
“Oh, yes. You write that funny little column, ‘Living Well’,” said Sybil.
Jingling Violet’s keys in his pocket, Jonathan put an arm around Camilla and hid his laughter by kissing her ear.
Plantagenet raised his glass, still grasping Glen’s hand.
“I think we should drink a toast to Dr. Lavinia and ‘Living Well’.”
“Yes,” said Jonathan. “Let’s drink to ‘Living Well’, because as my grandmother has taught me—taught all of us—tonight, “living well is the best revenge.”
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