Black Diaries

31. Loving Welcome

"Humph!"

The rest of the dinner passed in about the same happy atmosphere. With Elliot's hand in mine and his grandmother's cheerful chit-chat and friendly smiles to distract me, I just about managed to ignore the suspicious looks hurled at me from across the table. I had to say, for someone who had been so eager to see his grandson married off, Mr. Winslow was being less than enthusiastic. But then, a twice-widowed karate-practicing veterinarian was probably not the type of woman he had hoped his grandson would meet at Club Hesperides.

Although somewhat more circumspect in her choice of topics, Mrs. Winslow's inquisition was no less effective than her husband's. In the course of the evening, she managed to extract from me my hobbies (reading, martial arts, visiting the zoo), my favorite pets (cats, rabbits and worms), my favorite food (coffee, although she kept protesting this wasn't actually a food), my favorite drink (also coffee), my lucky number (nine, like the number of a cat's lives) and my favorite song (Killing Me Softly).

Finally, to lighten the atmosphere a bit and hopefully reduce the intensity of his glares, I asked Mr. Winslow: "What do you like to do?"

"Me?" He raised an elegant silver eyebrow.

"Yes. I'm sure you don't spend all your time working for your billion-dollar corporation, do you?"

"Well, no. As a matter of fact, I collect cars."

My face brightened.

"Miniature cars? I knew a guy in college who did that, once. He used to take them to these races and drive them around with a remote control..."

"No!" Mr. Winslow snorted. "Not miniature cars! Real ones!"

"Oh." My mouth fell open, slightly. An image appeared in front of my inner eye of the three sleek, shiny cars I had seen standing outside in the driveway. Together, they probably had cost a million dollars or more. To imagine ten of these, or twenty or even more... good God! Collecting cars? How much money exactly did this man have?

"Would you like to see them?" he asked, a spark of eagerness suddenly in his eyes. "My collection, I mean? It's just downstairs."

No! Please, no cars! I don't want to spend my evening staring at cars! I don't want to have to listen all evening to boring guy talk about cylinders and horsepower and camelpower or whatever it's called! I don't even want to see a single exhaust pipe!

The broad smile that I somehow managed to lure onto my face and trap there actually looked halfway genuine.

"Yes, please! I'd be delighted!"

"But we haven't had dessert yet," little Mrs. Winslow protested.

"Oh, scrap dessert!" Pushing back his chair, Mr. Winslow got to his feet and marched to the door. Elliot, I noticed, while waiting politely for me to rise, looked longingly after his grandfather.

"Don't tell me you're infected with this insanity of the male species, too?" I whispered.

One corner of his mouth turned up. "Haven't you noticed yet that every time I come to pick you up, it's in a different limousine?"

"What? No, you don't!"

"Yes, I do."

"Well... they all look the same to me."

The corner of his mouth twitched again. "I've noticed."

My elbow hit his ribs, hard. He didn't even wince, but bowed his head. "Why, thank you. So kind of you to offer me your arm."

I couldn't keep from grinning myself. "You're welcome."

"Although traditionally, that's my job."