"We like the moonrise," said Polly. "It seems more romantic, don't you think?" She glanced at Diana.
Diana looked down at her plate. She was wearing a low-cut gown of firemesh that set off her red hair. A single strand of Reinach pearls gleamed at her throat.
Orne sat down in the vacant seat opposite her. What a handsome woman! he thought.
Polly, on Orne's right, looked younger and softer in a green stola gown that hazed her barrel contours. Bullone, across from her, wore black lounging shorts and knee-length kubi jacket of golden pearl cloth. Everything about the people and setting reeked of wealth, power. For a moment, Orne saw that Stetson's suspicions could have basis in fact. Bullone might go to any lengths to maintain this luxury.
Orne's entrance had interrupted an argument between Polly and her husband. They welcomed him, went right on without inhibition. Rather than embarrassing him, this made him feel more at home, more accepted.
"But I'm not running for office this time," said Bullone patiently. "Why do we have to clutter up the evening with that many people just to—"
"Our election night parties are traditional," said Polly.
"Well, I'd just like to relax quietly at home tomorrow," he said. "Take it easy with just the family here and not have to—"
"It's not like it was a big party," said Polly. "I've kept the list to fifty."