Paisley Mansion had never played host to a gathering such as the one proposed for this night. With the exception of a few small business gatherings, most of those expected had never even been on the road leading up to the estate. But this was a special night. Only Arthur knew the reason, and why he was opening his home to a bevy of, in some cases, total strangers.

It was, coincidentally, also the twentieth anniversary of his arrival in Ashton Hills, an arrival that woke the sleepy hamlet from its rural complacency and pushed it begrudgingly onto the path of becoming the booming town it was today.

After receiving his invitation, it had occurred to him that not only would this be a grand opportunity to enhance his community stature, it could also pave the way for a more convenient association with his object of desire—Gertrude Bader. Their affair had sparked on and off for the past two years, always mindful of propriety, however frustrating. Tonight would be a legitimate opportunity to socialize openly.

He ambled through the vast living room, smiling and nodding at Hartley's small army as they streamed about placing ashtrays, fluffing cut flowers in vases about the room, and generally acting out what was expected in return for a handsome charge. Hartley gave him a wave from the dining room, his face set in an expression of harried control.

Arthur smiled appreciatively and went into his study. This was his favourite room. His command centre. His retreat. Prominent, in front of the floor to ceiling, sculptured glass windows that overlooked a dense forest of trees, stood his massive desk; the throne from which he wheeled, dealed, doodled and sometimes, just relaxed. He ran his fingertips fondly over the soft leather surface, buffed to a mahogany patina over years of hard use.

It was the only remaining, physical reminder of his cattle breeding business, built, and covered with the hide from one of the unlucky beasts that helped him to the fortune he enjoyed today. The huge desk held other memories as well, and he allowed the pleasure of a small thrill into his reminiscing. Would Ivan accompany the coveted Gertrude tonight, he wondered?

Arthur rotated slowly, breathing in the room's ambience; the rows of well-used books, collected over a lifetime, the shelves of photographs, awards and trophies, the fieldstone fireplace with the solid oak mantelpiece, and the magnificent Savonnerie carpet. A copy of number 73, from a set woven for the Galerie du Bord de l'Eau of the Louvre Museum in Paris, it spread across the dark stained oak of the study floor; a luxurious sponge underfoot.

He breathed a sigh of pride and satisfaction, the moment broken suddenly as his eyes lit upon the painting over the fireplace. The gift, painted by his mother, when he first started his cattle business, depicting a rankly amateurish rendition of a Chisholm Trail cattle drive, never failed to make his senses cringe. Only the suspicion of her otherworldly surveillance and a dash of guilt, kept the eyesore hanging in his sanctum.

A soft chime from outside the study broke his deliberation over the painting, and with a jolt of anticipation, his good humour returned, leading him from his reverie and out to the foyer to greet the first of his guests. Henry Matute stood nervously holding Darlene's hand, as Arthur approached wearing a huge, welcoming smile.

"Henry. I'm so pleased you accepted my offer." He grasped the damp hand and pumped it dry. "And who is this lovely lady?"

"Darlene King, Mr. Paisley. I'm Henry's fiancé." She shared a warm handshake, alert for any hint of reserve and finding none.

"Fiancé! Well congratulations to you both. You have wonderful times ahead." Henry found his voice and apologized for possibly arriving too soon. "Nonsense! You should be here before the others arrive. Now maybe I can get a decent drink." He winked a grin at Darlene and said, "Would you join me? We'll toast your upcoming union." Arm in arm, they strode into the living room, Henry in nervous pursuit.

Hartley came over and spoke to the couple, taking Henry by the arm and leading him to the bar. "Now everything you need is right here." He fussed. "If you need ice, or mix or anything, just get Jose to fetch for you." He turned and beckoned a young man who was busily folding napkins. "Jose, this is Henry Matute, the bartender. Now if Henry needs anything, I want you to be alert. We don't want the flow of the party to be disrupted in any way."

Jose nodded with servility, catching a welcome wink from Henry. "Good. Well then, off you go, and remember, be alert."

Henry poured two glasses of champagne and carried them to the living room for Darlene and their host, hurrying back under a scolding from Arthur, to get one for himself.

"To those wonderful years of mutual love and companionship. Long may they last," Arthur raised his glass and drank merrily.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Pais—"

"Arthur, please."

"Arthur then. That was a very romantic toast, were uhh, you married, Arthur?"

"Nope. Never." The gentle chime sounded again, and Arthur excused himself from the stunned couple, moving off to greet the next arrivals.

The great door opened back and Milo, beaming with self-importance, ushered Melaine ahead of him, addressing Arthur with all the gusto of bosom buddies. Highlighting the greeting, a train of cars crunched up the shale drive, their lights sweeping across the precision landscaping and floodlighting the trio in the doorway.

"Well, it looks like everyone has come at once." The night air erupted with the slamming of car doors, and Arthur released Milo's hand and told him to go right on inside, turning away as a chattering crowd made their way up the wide steps.

Milo huffed at being dismissed so readily, and steered Melaine into the living room, stumbling to a halt at the sight of Darlene, seated comfortably on a large chesterfield, with a glass of wine.

"Darlene! It's been ages, how are you?" Melaine joined her among the comfortable cushions.

"What are you doing here?" Milo asked, stunned. Darlene lifted her head slowly and stared back.

"I'd like a glass of wine, Milo. Would you be a dear?" Melaine cut between the potential hostility with a frosty smile.

Arthur led the crowd into the room waving a helpless hand. "Susan, dear, I can't possibly remember all these names at once. I'm sure I'll get to meet them during the evening. Why don't you just get yourself a drink and make yourself comfortable." He handed her off to greet the next couple in line and stepped away, bowing the retinue past with a gracious smile.

The men gravitated to the bar while the women converged on the available seating, blowing kisses, commenting on outfits, all gaggling at the same time.

"Some digs, eh?" Daryl said to the suddenly thirsty group, pointing at a bottle of scotch and holding three fingers up to Henry.

"This place must be twenty thousand square feet!" Ross gaped. "Who else lives here?"

"No one," Milo sniffed, unimpressed. "The King of Casa Paisley likes his solitude."

"That sounded rather green, Braithwaite." Peter McCorkidale dropped a slice of lime in his drink and looked at Milo over the rim of his glass.

"If you're inferring envy, McCorkidale, you're way off the mark. Frankly I think the whole place is a little ostentatious."

The men shuffled around, selecting drinks and carrying them off to the waiting women. Milo had a hair up his nose, and nobody was interested in discussing what it might be.