Home Free - Fern Michaels [28]
Annie blinked when she was told that explanations were better given in person. She powered down and looked at her teacup. The hell with the tea. She slugged directly from the brandy bottle until her eyes watered. Just as a car’s headlights lit up her parking area, she realized she was wearing her flannel nightgown. She groaned and took another slug from the bottle. She told herself that if she wasn’t drunk, she was so close to it that there was no point in splitting hairs.
Then Fergus Duffy was standing in her kitchen, all six feet four inches and 260 pounds of him. “What took you so long?” Annie mumbled.
“I was driving, not flying, Annie.” Fergus looked around, then marched over to the fireplace to warm his hands. “This is nice. I like it. It’s you, Annie. My whole cottage back in Scotland could fit in this kitchen.” He shucked off his jacket and walked over to the island and sat down opposite her. “Do you always read cookbooks at this hour of the night?”
“You came all the way out here to ask me a silly question like that? The answer is no. Why are you here?”
Fergus eyed the brandy bottle and Annie’s glassy eyes. “I’m retired now and doing some traveling. I had a meeting with your president earlier today, along with . . . several colleagues. I just sat in as a courtesy until my replacement can get here Monday. I was going to call you earlier, but I just didn’t . . . What I mean is, I was already ready for bed, and I just knew I had to see you. That’s the only explanation you’re going to get from me, so take it or leave it.”
Annie sniffed. “Well, since you put it like that, it doesn’t look like I have much of a choice. As you can see, I’m not really dressed for company. And I’ve also been imbibing a little. I’m also in a state of flux right now.”
“I see that.”
“Would you like to come for dinner tomorrow? Well, today, actually. It’s Thanksgiving. I have to warn you, though, I might be serving scrambled eggs.”
“Is that a definite invitation, or are you just rambling here, Annie? I’m asking for a specific reason.”
Annie squinted to see Fergus better. “Well, you’re already here, and it is Thanksgiving Day already, so yes, it is a definite invitation. Why, are you expecting a better offer to materialize at this late date?”
“Actually, I’ve already gotten an invitation, but I think I like yours better. I accept.”
“I thought you said you don’t know anyone here. Who invited you for dinner?” Annie asked, suspicion ringing in her voice.
“President Connor. She invited me and my colleagues to Camp David. I’m to be at the White House in a few hours. I have a number to call if I can’t make it. I think I’ll call that number right now.” Annie was speechless as she watched Fergus punch in the numbers that would put him in touch with the White House. With nothing better to do, she picked up the brandy bottle again and took another healthy swig. She knew her eyes were crossed, but couldn’t bring herself to care.
Fergus dusted his hands together dramatically, then he opened the monster stainless-steel refrigerator. Eyeing the array of food and the thirty-pound turkey sitting on a tray, he turned to look at the scattered cookbooks on the island, then at Annie. “You can’t cook, can you? And just so you know, you only have a dozen eggs in that thing you call an icebox. A dozen eggs will not feed many people.”
“What was your first clue?” Annie sniffed. “Have you always been such a know-it-all?”
Fergus pointed to the cookbooks, then the refrigerator. “That bird has to go into the oven around six in the morning if you plan on serving dinner late in the afternoon. And then there is all that other food you have to prepare.”
“I think I’m up to the challenge.” Annie sniffed again. “I suppose you’re going to tell me you could whip this all up with your eyes closed.”
“Actually, I can. I did many dinners like this when my wife became ill. Do you