"Mary Rosenblum - Home Movies" - читать интересную книгу автора (Rosenblum Mary)

luxury of an inside lifestyle. "That's what I do ... learn about the family, get a sense of what the client is
really interested in so I can participate the way my client would, if she was here." She smiled at him. "I
really do feel like a member of the family or the group while I'm there. That's what makes me good at
this."

"A chameleon." But he smiled as he said it. "What about your family? Does it change how you feel about
them?"

"I never had one." She shrugged. "I was a London orphan when Irish looks weren't the fad. Did the
foster home slash institution thing."
"I'm sorry."

She shrugged again, tired of the topic years ago, and not sure how they'd gotten here. She didn't talk
about herself on a job. "So how come you rate the job of chauffeur?" She smiled at him. "Just how ne'er
do well was your family branch?"

"Oh, they were all off-off-Broadway actors, musicians, failed writers, the usual wastrel thing ... according
to our family's creed." He laughed, not at all defensive. "The family bails us out before we disgrace
anyone, but they make sure we know our place." He shrugged, gave her a sideways look. "I play jazz,
myself. Among other things my family disapproves of. But I don't do illegal drugs, murder, mayhem, or
anything else too awful, so I got a genuine invitation to this bash."

"To be a chauffeur."

"Well, yeah." He grinned, his hazel eyes sparkling. "But they have to make sure I know my place."

"Does that bother you?" She asked it because she was curious.

"No."

He meant it. She watched his face for her client. She would resent it, Kayla thought. Which was the
better reaction?

They had arrived at the resort complex. More pink stucco. Lots of lanais on the sprawling buildings,
carefully coiffed tropical plantings to make the multitude of cottages look private and isolated, pristine
blue pools landscaped to look like natural features with waterfalls, and basking areas studded with
umbrellas, chaise lounges, and bars. He drove her to the lobby entrance and she checked in, noticing that
he hovered at her shoulder.

The staff wouldn't let her do a thing, of course. Two very attractive young men with Polynesian faces,
wearing colorful island-print wraps around their waists, snatched up all her luggage and led the way to
her own cottage with palms to shade it and a glimpse of white sand and blue-sea horizon. Kayla smiled
to herself at the location of the cottage as she offered a tip and received twin, polite refusals. Not a front
row seat to the ocean view ... that went to major family guests. But she could still see the water through
the palm trunks and frangipani. A little. And the furnishings were high-end. Lacquered bamboo and glass,
with flowered cotton upholstery ... the real fiber, not a synthetic.

A knock at the door heralded another attendant pushing a cart with champagne, glasses, and a tray of
snacks. Puu-puu. The word surfaced, unbidden. Snacks. What language? Kayla tried to snag it, but the
connection wasn't there. Two glasses. "Will you join me?" she asked Ethan. She smiled at the young man