Newport: A Novel Read Free Page A

of the man he meant to be.
    Jim’s drawl brought him back to Bellevue Avenue and the midmorning sun. “Can you imagine walking through that front door at the end of a hard day?”
    The chateauesque lines of Belcourt filled the passenger-side windowpane. Adrian remembered seeing that mansion go up back in the 1890s, listening to tongues wag over the eccentricity of its owner.
    “Actually, Mr. Reid, that’s the back of the place. The entrance is on Ledge Road, around the other side.”
    Jim let out a low whistle as his gaze took in the massive house. “It’s obscene. Is Liriodendron like this?”
    “I’ve never been. But I wouldn’t be surprised. Summer cottages built in Newport were meant to impress.”
    “Summer cottages.” Jim’s snort was understandable. One of these “summer cottages” could have housed his entire family—parents, siblings, nieces, and nephews included.
    “It’s a different world, is it not?”
    Jim slid him a sideways glance. “But one with which you’re familiar.”
    Jim Reid had yet to recognize his own many gifts, one of which was an innate sense of observation. Adrian took great pleasure not only in this but in the young man’s ability to effortlessly gather clues and weave them into a fine tapestry of reason. Watching Jim’s mind work was almost worth his own slip into momentary transparency.
    “Yes,” Adrian said simply. “I spent some time in Newport in my youth. I had friends here.”
    Jim left a wide-open pause just perfect for filling. Adrian declined the invitation, guiding the town car into a smooth right turn instead. To their left, the ocean opened out in sparkling ripples of deep blue and white.
    Jim turned to study the sea. “I noticed you booked the hotel room for another night,” he said. “How long do you expect we’ll be in Newport, given the unforeseen complications?”
    Another gift: the young man knew when to change the subject.
    “I don’t know yet,” Adrian replied. “It’s hard to tell exactly how much of a complication Lady Dinwoodie will be once sober. And we’ve yet to meet brother, Nicky . . . also known as the ‘dull stick,’ I believe.”
    “Do you think the old man is afflicted, as they claim? What’s he like?”
    “The ‘old man,’ as you so succinctly put it, can be difficult. Still, he’s made more money for our law firm than half our other clients combined. Do you know much about him?”
    “Some.”
    “Bennett Chapman made a fortune in cotton textiles after the Civil War.”
    “Gainfully?”
    “Now that’s a question I’ve never asked. Breathe deeply, Mr. Reid. There are few sensations as cleansing as a lungful of fresh salt air.”
    Jim obliged, dissolving into a fit of coughing as his chest expanded beyond its usual habit. Adrian gave him a moment to fumble for his missing handkerchief, then passed over his own without a word.
    “Thanks.” Jim made use of the neat silk square, crumpled it up, and shoved it into his pocket. “Mr. Chapman must be rather up in years.”
    “Eighty next month.”
    “Hmm.” Jim’s fingers tapped out an impromptu jazz rhythm on the dashboard of the automobile as he considered. “Well, then, there’s a chance that Lady Dinwoodie is correct. What if the man’s truly not right in the head?”
    “Then I suppose we won’t be drafting a new will after all.”
    “Bennett Chapman might take his business elsewhere.”
    “I know.”
    “Could the firm absorb the loss?”
    Adrian hesitated. “That would remain to be seen.”
    The younger man nodded, apparently satisfied with the answer.
    Jim Reid had been slightly more than a toddler when they’d first met, but Adrian had recognized the boy’s sharp intelligence even then. He’d have funded the child’s education no matter what his ability, but it had taken no more than a few minutes of watching the boy scrutinize him from the safety of his father’s lap to realize that any money spent on the lad would be money well spent. Indeed,what