The Best Laid Plans. Sidney Sheldon

For herself, Leslie shopped at Fayette Mall on Nicholasville Road and selected a floor-length gown with a full skirt and a sweep train, shoes to match the gown, and long gloves.

      Oliver ordered a black cutaway coat with striped trousers, gray waistcoat, a wing-collared white shirt, and a striped ascot. His best man was a lawyer in his firm.

      ‘Everything is set,’ Oliver told Leslie. ‘I’ve made all the arrangements for the reception afterward. Almost everyone has accepted.’

      Leslie felt a small shiver go through her. ‘I can’t wait, my darling.’

      On a Thursday night one week before the wedding, Oliver came to Leslie’s apartment.

      ‘I’m afraid something has come up, Leslie. A client of mine is in trouble. I’m going to have to fly to Paris to straighten things out.’

      ‘Paris? How long will you be gone?’

      ‘It shouldn’t take more than two or three days, four days at the most. I’ll be back in plenty of time.’

      ‘Tell the pilot to fly safely.’

      ‘I promise.’

      When Oliver left, Leslie picked up the newspaper on the table. Idly, she turned to the horoscope by Zoltaire. It read:

      FOR LEO (JULY 23RD TO AUGUST 22ND). THIS IS NOT A GOOD DAY TO CHANGE PLANS. TAKING RISKS CAN LEAD TO SERIOUS PROBLEMS.

      Leslie read the horoscope again, disturbed. She was almost tempted to telephone Oliver and tell him not to leave. But that’s ridiculous, she thought. It’s just a stupid horoscope.

      By Monday, Leslie had not heard from Oliver. She telephoned his office, but the staff had no information. There was no word from him Tuesday. Leslie was beginning to panic. At four o’clock on Wednesday morning, she was awakened by the insistent ringing of the telephone. She sat up in bed and thought: It’s Oliver! Thank God. She knew that she should be angry with him for not calling her sooner, but that was unimportant now.

      She picked up the receiver. ‘Oliver …’

      A male voice said, ‘Is this Leslie Stewart?’

      She felt a sudden cold chill. ‘Who – who is this?’

      ‘Al Towers, Associated Press. We have a story going out on our wires, Miss Stewart, and we wanted to get your reaction.’

      Something terrible had happened. Oliver was dead.

      ‘Miss Stewart?’

      ‘Yes.’ Her voice was a strangled whisper.

      ‘Could we get a quote from you?’

      ‘A quote?’

      ‘About Oliver Russell marrying Senator Todd Davis’s daughter in Paris.’

      For an instant the room seemed to spin.

      ‘You and Mr Russell were engaged, weren’t you? If we could get a quote …’

      She sat there, frozen.

      ‘Miss Stewart.’

      She found her voice. ‘Yes. I – I wish them both well.’ She replaced the receiver, numb. It was a nightmare. She would awaken in a few minutes and find that she had been dreaming.

      But this was no dream. She had been abandoned again. ‘Your father’s not coming back.’ She walked into the bathroom and stared at her pale image in the mirror. ‘We have a story going out on our wires.’ Oliver had married someone else. Why? What have I done wrong? How have I failed him? But deep down she knew that it was Oliver who had failed her. He was gone. How could she face the future?

      When Leslie walked into the agency that morning, everyone was trying hard not to stare at her. She went into Jim Bailey’s office.

      He took one look at her pale face and said, ‘You shouldn’t have come in today, Leslie. Why don’t you go home and –’

      She took a deep breath. ‘No, thank you. I’ll be fine.’

      The radio and television newscasts and afternoon newspapers were filled with details of the Paris wedding. Senator Todd Davis was without doubt Kentucky’s most influential citizen, and the story of his daughter’s marriage and of the groom’s jilting Leslie was big news.

      The phones in Leslie’s office never stopped ringing.

      ‘This is the Courier-Journal, Miss Stewart. Could you give us a statement about the wedding?’

      ‘Yes. The only thing I care about is Oliver Russell’s happiness.’

      ‘But you and he were going to be –’

      ‘It would have been a mistake for us to marry. Senator Davis’s daughter was in his life first. Obviously, he never got over her. I wish them both well.’

      ‘This is the State Journal in Frankfort …’

      And so it went.

      It seemed to Leslie that half of Lexington pitied her, and the other half rejoiced at what had happened to her. Wherever Leslie went, there were whispers and hastily broken-off conversations. She was fiercely determined not to show her feelings.

      ‘How could you let him do this to –?’

      ‘When you truly love someone,’ Leslie said firmly, ‘you want him to be happy. Oliver Russell is the finest human being I’ve ever known. I wish them both every happiness.’

      She sent notes of apology to all those who had been invited to the wedding and returned their gifts.

      Leslie had been half hoping for and half dreading the call from Oliver. Still, when it came, she was unprepared. She was shaken by the familiar sound of his voice.

      ‘Leslie … I don’t know what to say.’

      ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then there isn’t anything to say.’

      ‘I just wanted to explain to you how it happened. Before I met you, Jan and I were almost engaged. And when I saw her again – I – I knew that I still loved her.’

      ‘I understand, Oliver. Goodbye.’

      Five minutes later, Leslie’s secretary buzzed her. ‘There’s a telephone call for you on line one, Miss Stewart.’

      ‘I don’t want to talk to –’

      ‘It’s Senator Davis.’

      The father of the bride. What does he want with me? Leslie wondered. She picked up the telephone.

      A deep southern voice said, ‘Miss Stewart?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘This is Todd Davis. I think you and I should have a little talk.’

      She hesitated. ‘Senator, I don’t know what we –’

      ‘I’ll pick you up in one hour.’ The line went dead.

      Exactly one hour later, a limousine pulled up in front of the office building where Leslie worked. A chauffeur opened the car door for Leslie. Senator Davis was in the backseat. He was a distinguished-looking man with flowing white hair and a small, neat mustache. He had the face of a patriarch. Even in the fall he was dressed in his trademark white suit and white broad-brimmed leghorn hat. He was a classic figure from an earlier century, an old-fashioned southern gentleman.

      As Leslie got into the car, Senator Davis said, ‘You’re a beautiful young woman.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.

      The limousine started off.

      ‘I didn’t mean just physically, Miss Stewart. I’ve been hearing about the manner in which you’ve been handling this whole sordid matter.