Several days after their arrival, Marcus, the chauffeur, brought an envelope to the beach house, and with a bow, handed it to the Queen. "Your Majesty, this invitation was delivered by one of the staff from the property next door."
"Thank you, Marcus." The chauffeur bowed again and left the room. Clarisse opened the small white envelope and read the card.
It was an invitation to cocktails with the town's well-to-do residents, her neighbors, in fact. She hadn't thought of socializing while she was here, but it would only be a small group of people, very casual and it would do her good to kick up her heels for one night. She hastily filled out the RSVP and called upon Marcus to deliver it.
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Even though it would be only a three-minute walk next door, Marcus insisted that he drive Her Majesty, and would be ready at a moment's notice to drive her back to the beach house. Clarisse gave in and consented to be driven.
An attendant opened the door of the limousine upon her arrival at the Adair Inn, and another escorted Clarisse into the house. The Inn was similar to the beach house, but years earlier had been transformed into an inn and spa for wealthy travelers and repeat guests, of which there were many. Rumor had it; the cook had told her earlier, that there was a 2-year waiting list for a stay at one of Genovia's finest establishments.
The staff member took Clarisse directly to the patio, which had a similar view to that of her own patio, but the bluff between the two properties gave them both the privacy they desired. No one else was there, but a waiter came and brought her a raspberry cosmopolitan, a favorite of hers. She thanked him and was duly impressed that her host had bothered with such a small detail as a drink preference. The waiter told her the owner was running a few minutes late but would join her shortly. She should make herself comfortable.
Clarisse sipped her drink and watched the sun go down, relaxed but wondering where the other guests were. This was unusual for her, waiting for others, how many times had Joseph chided her for keeping her guests waiting? That anxious feeling in her stomach came back at the thought of him. The longer she stayed at the beach house the more she thought of him, and the less calm she became. After all these years, how could he still have that effect on her?
The waiter returned with another drink, and took her empty glass. "He'll be right down, Ma'am. Won't be a minute". Clarisse thanked him and returned to the railing, momentarily distracted by a yacht mooring at the Inn's dock. While she had been waiting, she had tried to come up with the name of the inn's owner, but couldn't. There was no real shame in that, she told herself, after all, she hadn't been here for a quarter of a century. She had momentarily toyed with the idea of asking the waiter, but that would have been both rude and embarrassing. She was just hopeful the name would come to her when she saw him.
And it did.
She had heard the patio door close and turned to greet her host. Peering at him in the semi-darkness, she saw a man dressed in dark pants, white shirt, and a dark colored sport coat. As he stepped down off the terrace to the patio she saw he had an earring in his left ear. Clarisse drew a sharp breath. He rushed to her side and caught her as consciousness quickly slipped away from her.