Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [139]
He quickly put his foot in the gap and pushed it open again. “Mrs. Harrison, then, if that’s what you call her,” he retorted, striding past her into the hall. He turned to look at her. “Tell her that her brother, Harry, is here to see her.”
Annie squared her shoulders, glad she didn’t have her apron on and that she was wearing her good maroon wool dress. Not that it mattered to Harry Harrison, but at least she didn’t look like a servant and it gave her an edge of badly needed confidence. “I’ll see if she is at home,” she said in a firm voice even though her knees were shaking. “Kindly wait here in the hall.”
Harry watched her walk up the stairs. She was small and rounded and attractive, and under any other circumstances he might have fancied her, he had always liked older women. But his mind was on more urgent matters. His anger boiled again as he thought of his sister, here in this very house—flaunting her bastard child and her illicit relationship with a Chinaman right under his goddamn nose. All of San Francisco must have known, except him.
Annie walked into Francie’s sitting room and closed the door behind her. She leaned against it, her knees still shaking, and Francie glanced up at her surprised. “It’s Harry,” she said bluntly. “He’s downstairs. He knows you’re here.”
Francie’s eyes grew dark with shock. She stared at Annie and then looked wildly around for an escape.
“You can’t,” Annie said, reading her thoughts. “You’ve got to see him. You’ve got to face him once and for all.” She took her by the shoulders. “There’s nothing he can do to you, Francie. Nothing. Remember what Lai Tsin told you? You are your own woman now. Your brother is not your keeper. You are twenty-five years old. You are you, Francie. Face him. And then at last you can get on with your life.”
Her round brown eyes pleaded and she gripped her hands tightly together, she wanted Francie to do this so much.
“I can’t,” Francie said, sounding terrified, and Ollie ran frightened to her side. She flung her arms around him and held him close.
“Yes, you can,” Annie insisted. “And you must. Remember Lai Tsin. Remember all the things he’s told you. And just think of Ollie, too, think what it would mean for him to be free of the Harrison ghosts.”
“What ghosts, Mommy?” Ollie cried, frightened.
Francie looked at her son and knew she finally had to face her past, for his sake. “It’s nothing,” she said soothingly. “Just grown-up talk, nothing to do with you at all. Go down the back stairs to the kitchen and help yourself to one of Annie’s brownies and some milk. There’s someone I have to see.”
Annie opened the door and Ollie scampered through. Francie glanced down at the ruffled white lawn blouse and gray wool skirt she was wearing, and Annie said reassuringly, “You look fine. There’s no need to dress up for the man. Save it for Edward Stratton.”
“Show him into your office, Annie,” Francie decided quickly. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
She smoothed back her hair, wishing her hands would stop shaking, but all the old fears had come rushing back. She remembered the loneliness and the pain, the beatings and the barred windows, her father’s hatred and Harry’s indifference. And then she told herself she was a fool, that Annie was right and that Lai Tsin was right. She was her own woman and to hell with Harry. There was nothing he could do to her. Nevertheless she was still frightened as she walked slowly downstairs and along the black-and-white flagged corridor to Annie’s office. Annie was waiting by the door and she looked silently at her, her eyes full of encouragement as Francie went in.
Harry was standing by the desk. He looked just the way he had the night she had seen him at his grand party, tall, handsome, and arrogant, and it didn’t take a genius to see that he was simmering with suppressed anger. He glanced contemptuously at her and she lifted her chin, matching his arrogance.
“Why are you here, Harry?” she asked in a calm voice, and Annie, her ear to the door, crossed her fingers and nodded