Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [114]
“With the same standards and the same cooking, though of course I won’t be doing it all myself,” she told Francie over a breakfast cup of coffee. “But I’m ready to take on the challenge.”
Francie’s blond head was bent over the Examiner and Annie gazed fondly at her. She had thought Francie a lovely girl when she met her, but now she was a beautiful young woman. Her long blond hair waved softly around her face, her candid blue eyes were startlingly dark and long-lashed, and her skin was smooth and creamy. And she was no longer the frail waiflike creature Annie had first known, her body had new curves and she held herself tall and walked with a proud, effortless grace. Annie thought with a pang that Francie was still only twenty-three, she was so young and so lovely. Men looked admiringly at her, she should be able to have her pick of any of them, but she just wasn’t interested. She gave all her love to her son, Ollie.
The kitchen door opened as if on cue and the little tow-haired four-year-old ran in and climbed on Annie’s lap. “Annie,” he said, smiling cajolingly at her, wrapping his wiry little arms around her neck, “can I have a cookie?” His sweet gray eyes beamed into hers and he looked so like Josh that her heart turned over, but she didn’t give in. She said, “It’s ‘may I,’ not ‘can I.’ And anyway, no, you may not. You may have an apple instead.”
He sighed and pressed himself closer. “Why are you so difficult, Annie?” he complained. “All I want is a cookie.”
“You’ll have one at teatime with your milk,” she promised, smiling fondly at him. “And one day, when you are a man, you’ll look into the mirror and see what fine strong teeth you’ve got, and you’ll thank your aunt Annie for not plying you with cookies every time you asked.”
Ollie sighed; he knew when he was beaten. Annie looked back at Francie—her head was still bent over the newspaper and she was oblivious to her son’s presence. Annie’s brows rose in surprise. Francie usually focused all her attention on Ollie, but this morning her thoughts were a million miles away.
“I bet you didn’t hear a word I said,” she exclaimed loudly. “Your head’s been stuck in that newspaper for ages. Whatever’s in there that’s so fascinating?” Francie looked frightened as she passed the newspaper wordlessly to Annie.
The photographs of the Harrison party covered two pages, with another page detailing the scintillating guest list, the fabulous flower decorations, the expensive champagne, the delicious food served from golden platters by the burgundy-liveried footmen in white gloves, and the amazing rebirth of the Harrison mansion, PHOENIX HOUSE said the headline over a full-page picture of the mansion. Its portals were flung wide and Harry, in white tie and tails, was greeting his guests. “A San Francisco landmark is reinstated with the year’s most magnificent party …”
Annie glanced quickly at Francie. She took her hand across the table. “That’s where you went last night, wasn’t it?” she said compassionately. “You just couldn’t keep away.”
Francie nodded. “It’s worse than that,” she said. “I saw Harry.”
“Well, Harry’s back in town and even though you don’t frequent the same places, it’s still a small world. Sooner or later you’d have bumped into him anyway, walking down the street or at a corner newspaper stand or in a store.”
“Annie, you don’t understand. He saw me. Our eyes met.”
“Maybe he didn’t recognize you. After all, it’s been years—”
“Oh, he recognized me all right. And if he didn’t, then this will confirm it.” Francie pointed to her own face in the photograph of the crowd outside the Harrison mansion.
“There’s no mistaking it’s you, all right,” Annie admitted less confidently. “But I still don’t know why you are so afraid, Francie. Things have changed. You’re a grown woman, not an underage girl. There’s nothing Harry can do to you now.”
Francie shook her head miserably. She had been telling herself the same