Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [110]
Harry kissed their white-gloved hands, waved them grandly into the house and then went back to his post at the door to greet the next arrivals. He should have been greeting his guests inside the great hall, but he was enjoying his starring role. He liked the admiring, envious stares of the crowd and he liked the photographs. He wanted the whole of San Francisco to see him and know that the Harrisons had beaten God at His own game. The house was a temple to his father and to himself and he wanted to make sure they knew it.
A line of limousines stretched all the way down the street, waiting to drive up to the royally carpeted entrance and discharge their passengers—beautiful girls in silks and satins and their handsome young escorts in white tie and tails. It took almost an hour to greet them all and as the last car drove away Harry gave a sigh of relief. Now the party could begin.
He turned one last time to smile at the crowd, and suddenly his eyes met Francie’s. She pulled her hat lower over her eyes and turned quickly away, but he knew it was her. For a moment he stood frozen with shock. Then he ran down the steps toward her, but she had disappeared into the crowd like a ghost.
He stared blankly at the crowd and they stared back at him, wondering what was going on. He pulled himself together, shrugging his shoulders. He must be mistaken, it was all in his mind, just because he had told himself earlier this would be the ideal setting for Francie’s return from the dead. He was being stupid, the girl he had seen was probably someone who barely even looked like her, just the same blond hair and blue eyes … those deep, sapphire-blue eyes. He shivered as he ran back up the steps. Francie was dead and he hoped her bones and ashes had been scattered to the wind so that no trace of her even remained. Tonight was his party, his triumph, and he was going to enjoy every minute.
Francie shrank behind the columned porticoes of the Fairmont Hotel, waiting for Harry’s hand to fall on her shoulder. She could almost hear his triumphant voice saying, “There you are at last, Francesca.” She could feel the coarse fabric and the cold leather straps of the straight-jacket cutting into her and see the blank, barred window that would lock her away from life again, just the way they had all through her childhood. Her heart was thudding, shivers ran up and down her spine, and she could hardly catch her breath.
“Are you all right, miss?” a concerned voice asked.
She looked up, terrified, and almost fainted with relief. It wasn’t Harry after all, it was the top-hatted Fairmont doorman.
“I just felt faint for a moment,” she replied shakily. “Thank you, but I’m sure I’ll be all right now.”
The doorman eyed her curiously. She didn’t look any too well to him, she was pale and her blue eyes looked panicked. He wouldn’t normally have allowed a woman to stand here in the Fairmont’s entry, but she was beautiful and well-dressed and she was most certainly a lady. “Would you like me to call you a cab, ma’am?” he asked, and Francie nodded gratefully, tipping him lavishly as he helped her into it.
She shrank back into its shadowy interior as they drove by the Harrison mansion. The massive bronze doors that looked fit for a cathedral were closed now, but the crowds still lingered, peering at the lighted windows and listening to the faint strains of the orchestra.
Francie shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself, overcome by a terrible chill. Harry had seen her, he had recognized her, and now she knew he would never rest until he found her.
Back home, at Aysgarth’s Boardinghouse, she ran quickly upstairs to Ollie’s room. Her four-year-old son was sleeping peacefully, one arm outflung and the other clasped around a worn toy tiger. The night-light shone on his cap of blond hair and his long eyelashes cast curving shadows across his cheeks. She stood