the lawn. Somewhere off to the right a cock crowed.
“Your chickens?” Peterson asked her.
“Yes, we keep half a dozen for eggs. Sometimes for eating too, though I hate killing the silly things.”
“What kind do you raise? Orpingtons or Leghorns, I suppose, if they’re mainly for eggs.”
She looked at him in surprise. “You know something about hens, then, do you? Yes, we’ve got some Orpingtons. No Leghorns. They’re good layers, but I like the brown-shelled eggs better than white.”
“Right. And Leghorns are highly strung, too. They tend to cause chaos in a small run, which is what I suppose you have. How about Rhode Island Reds? They lay nice brown eggs.”
“I’ve got a couple of pullets right now. They haven’t started laying yet.”
“You’re going to crossbreed, are you? That rooster didn’t sound like a Rhode Island Red.”
“I’m surprised you know so much about them.”
He smiled at her. “I know a lot of things that surprise people.”
She smiled back politely, but tried to keep her eyes cold. She was one woman who was not so easily charmed. The man was despicable, she told herself. He had no interest in her at all. He automatically flirted with her just because she was a woman.
“Would you care to have dinner with us this evening, Mr. Peterson?” she asked, rather formally.
“That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Renfrew. Thank you, but I already have a dinner engagement. As a matter of fact,” he added, looking at his watch, “I should probably be going. I’m supposed to meet someone at 7:30 back in Cambridge.”
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to go back to work this evening, too,” John said.
“Oh, no,” she protested. “That’s too bad of you.” She was feeling rather tipsy now and in the mood for company. She also felt full of energy, almost twitchy, as if she had drunk too much coffee. “I haven’t seen anything of you for ages and I was going to make a shrimp soufflé for dinner. I absolutely refuse to be left all alone again this evening.”
“Sounds like a tempting offer. I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment if I were you, John,” Peterson said with another of his insinuating smiles.
John looked embarrassed at her outburst before a stranger. “Well, all right, if it’s that important, I’ll stay for dinner. I’ll probably have to go in for a couple of hours afterwards.”
They went back into the house. Peterson put his glass down. “Thank you for the drink. I’ll let you now when I next have to go to California. Mrs. Renfrew, thank you for this pleasant interlude.”
She let John see him to the door and got herself another drink while they were in the hall. It was rather disappointing that Peterson was not staying to dinner. She might even have enjoyed a mild flirtation with him—although he was, she supposed, a totally unprincipled and unlikable character.
John came back into the room, rubbing his hands.
“Well, that gets rid of him. I’m glad he couldn’t stay, aren’t you? What did you think of him?”
“Reptilian,” she said promptly. “Smooth and slimy. I wouldn’t trust him an inch. Of course, he’s very attractive.”
“Is he? He looks pretty ordinary to me. I was surprised that you knew all that about his wife. You never mentioned it before.”
“Oh but heavens, John, it all came back to me while he was here. Don’t you remember? There was that frightful scandal about her and Prince Andrew. Let me see, I was twenty-five, so it must have been 1985. Prince Andrew’s the same age as me and she was—oh, I don’t know—about thirty, I should think. Anyway, I can remember how we all talked about it. Randy Andy, we called him.”
“I don’t remember it at all.”
“Oh, but you must. It was in all the papers. Not just the gossip columns, either. Lots of letters about the public expecting higher standards of the Royal Family and all that stuff. And the Queen had Peterson made an ambassador to—well, I don’t remember where, but it was a long way off. Africa.”
“You mean they were married, then?”
“Well, of course they were. That was what made it such scandal. They’d had a big Society wedding only about a year before that. He wasn’t actually made an ambassador. You know, first secretary or some such post. Yes, we used to think Prince Andrew was rather super. It was quite an exciting affair. I think the last straw was when they got a bit smashed one evening and he took her back to a room