“As mysterious as Cynthia Weller?” she couldn’t resist asking as she trailed her hand in the water. She knew that he married Cynthia and they had three daughters.
“Don’t believe I know the name,” he said. “Should I?”
“No, not yet.”
Hal maneuvered the boat around a tree that had fallen into the stream. “I want you to tell me everything about yourself.”
“To see if I’m suitable?” she asked, smiling.
At first Hal frowned; then he smiled. “I get the feeling that you know me, as though you know more about me than I know about myself. And, in answer to your question, yes, I want to know if you’re suitable.”
When she looked at him, she saw that ambition in his eyes. Every article she’d ever read about Halliwell J. Formund IV had talked about his eyes. The writers said that you could mistake Hal for the boy-next-door—as long as you didn’t look directly into his eyes, that is. Once you looked into those eyes, you saw what was propelling him on the journey toward the Oval Office. “Eye on the Future,” had been the title of one long in-depth article.
“He doesn’t make mistakes,” the article had said.
This isn’t a man who will later have pictures surface showing some bikini-clad bimbette sitting on his knee. It was as though Hal decided when he was eighteen years old that he wanted to be president and since then he has conducted his life with that goal in mind. His wife, Cynthia Weller, is eminently suitable, the perfect helpmate for a future president. She’s pretty, but not too pretty. Educated but not so much as to be formidable. She has a quiet sense of humor, a conservative sense of dress, and a background without a hint of scandal. No doubt she will make a perfect First Lady.
Now Leslie thought about the description of Hal’s wife, and she realized that it described her as well. She was not someone who would cause controversy or engender anger among the American people. She wasn’t elegant like Jacqueline Kennedy, but she wasn’t Hillary Clinton, either.
“All right,” she said, looking back at Hal. “My father is a building contractor, and . . .”
Twenty-six
“What have you done to my son?” Millicent Formund asked Leslie, her eyes narrowed at her. “Do you have any idea how many young women we parade before him, but he isn’t interested? Yet he’s spent every minute of the last two days with you, ignoring all his other guests.”
Leslie liked this woman a great deal. She reminded her of a woman on her church fund-raising committee. When Lillian Beasley called and asked for a donation, no one ever said no. “You’re wondering how a middle-class girl like me can interest him over these long-legged thoroughbreds, aren’t you?” Leslie asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Dear, if you’re trying to cast me as a snob, it’s not going to happen. My father drove a truck.”
Leslie smiled. “Oh? And how many trucks did he have to drive?”
At that Millie laughed. “All right, so he owned them as well as drove them, and he owned more than a few. I can see what my son likes about you.”
“He’s a very serious young man, and he wants to do serious things with his life,” Leslie said. “Who he marries is of great importance to his future.”
Millie didn’t say anything for a moment, but she looked at Leslie with interest. “You have an old head on your shoulders, don’t you?” she said; then she slipped her arm through Leslie’s. “Is it possible that you paint?”
“Houses?” Leslie asked. “I painted our summerhouse when I was—” She’d been about to say, “when I was pregnant.” “When I was a teenager,” she finished.
“No, I mean watercolors.” Millie gave a grimace. “This was my doctor’s idea. He said that my life was so stressful that I must slow down, so he got together with my family and they persuaded me to take private watercolor lessons. I’m really quite awful,” she said. “But it is relaxing. But now, with all the guests, I’m weeks behind in my lessons.”
Leslie squeezed Millie’s hand on her arm. “Someone cares a great deal about you, don’t they? Gardening for exercise and watercolors for relaxation. And house visits by the doctor.”
“I’m very lucky in my life,?
? Millie said softly, then smiled. “Do you think you could try painting?”
“I would love to,” Leslie said, “but I know nothing about painting, other than houses, that is. But, truthfully, you don’t have to spend the day with me. I can occupy myself easily.”
“Actually, I think I’d rather like to have your company. And, besides, it seems that I’ve been elected to chaperone all the young people today.”
The way she said this made Leslie laugh. “It couldn’t be as bad as that. If you give them enough food and keep them out of the bushes, they should do all right.”
“You are an old soul, aren’t you? Well, come along and help me carry things. We’ll set up by the pool, so I can see everything that goes on.”
Actually, Leslie was glad for some quiet time so she could think. She’d spent two days with Hal and she liked him a great deal. In fact, she liked him more than a lot.
They reached the pool area, and set up under a big umbrella were two easels. It looked as though Millie had assumed that Leslie would spend the day with her, and that she would join her in painting. As a mother herself, Leslie knew that Millie wanted to get to know this young woman who might become part of her life.