Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [141]
“A couple of days,” she gasped.
“On Tuesday at eight o’clock to be precise,” he said with a laugh in his voice. “I only wish it were sooner. Francie, do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?”
She blushed, holding the receiver closer as though she could get nearer to him. “Really?” she whispered.
“Do you know what you’ve put me through all these months? Not letting me see you? Well, now you have no choice. I’m stopping at the Fairmont and I’ll be at Aysgarth’s at eight o’clock. Promise me you’ll be there?”
“I’ll be waiting for you,” she promised.
“You know what I’m going to ask you?” She nodded as though he could see her. “Please let your answer be yes, Francie. The train’s about to leave. I must go. See you Tuesday, my darling.”
She hooked the phone back on the wall set, dizzy with happiness. Harry had flown from her mind as though he never existed. Edward was on his way to ask her to marry him and she would say yes. She was Edward Stratton’s “darling” and all of their life together was ahead of her, and she didn’t plan on wasting a single moment of it.
Edward settled himself in his suite at the elegantly refurbished Fairmont Hotel, then he strolled across California Street to the Pacific Union Club, where he had a meeting with a business acquaintance. The club, which was housed in the old James Flood mansion, was San Francisco’s most elite establishment, and tonight it was crowded.
His business was quickly completed and Edward glanced impatiently at his watch; there was still an hour and a half to go before he saw Francie. He contemplated going to Aysgarth’s right away and surprising her, but then he smiled and told himself it would not be fair. In his experience women hated to be surprised; no doubt she would be making herself beautiful for him and he would restrain his impatience in the name of politeness. But he could hardly bear the wait.
He sank into a big leather chair, ordered a Scotch from a passing steward and lit a small cheroot. Staring into space, he contemplated the pleasure ahead of him. He had waited a long time. What difference did another hour or so make? But this time he wasn’t going to allow Francie to say no. Since he’d met her she had barely left his mind; she was the perfect woman, beautiful and a lady, and passionate—all the things a man could want in a wife.
The man opposite rustled the pages of his newspaper and then flung it disgustedly onto the table, glaring at it as he downed his drink. “Not bad news, I hope?” Edward asked with a faint smile.
“Bad news?” Harry shrugged. “I own that damned tabloid and it’s losing money hand over fist. Don’t ask me why. God only knows I put enough time and money into it to float a dozen other companies.” He glanced moodily at his interrogator, but didn’t recognize him.
“You new around here?”
“Just visiting actually. The name’s Stratton. Edward Stratton.”
“Harry Harrison.” He held out his hand and the other man shook it firmly.
“Let me get you another drink?” Harry said, summoning a steward, but Edward shook his head. “Bourbon and branch water,” Harry ordered, his eyes restlessly scanning the gloomy, dark-paneled room to see who was around. His nerves were on edge; he was getting bored with his newspaper, bored with San Francisco and the same old faces. He was beginning to think people he knew were looking oddly at him. He suspected they were talking about him behind his back, that rumors were already circulating about his goddamn sister and her son-of-a-bitch Chinese lover. He needed to get away from here for a while, he needed the bright lights and razzmatazz and urban pleasures of Manhattan to set him back on an even keel.
“You’re not from New York?” he asked the stranger, and Edward laughed.
“London and Scotland, though I was just in New York on business.”
“It’s business that brings you to San Francisco, I suppose?” Harry was making polite conversation and he gulped his bourbon, scarcely listening to the man