Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [161]
Annie had watched admiringly as she petted the gray that had been her son’s favorite. Her desperate impetuous action had carved the first chink in the ice of Francie’s despair. She was on the long, slow road back to life again.
That year Francie and the Mandarin established the Oliver Harrison Memorial Foundation, through which they helped sick and needy children, but it was Francie who ran it. And it was Francie who every week visited the new annex they had donated to the Children’s Hospital, bringing toys and games, and books that she read to the small patients. She sat for hours at the bedside of the desperately ill and comforted the distraught parents. And it was Francie who helped rehouse the poorest Chinese families and rescued the youngest children from their slavery in terrible sweatshop factories. She provided textbooks for schools and scholarships to enable immigrant children to attend college. She worked tirelessly for months on end, though she was careful always to keep out of the limelight and her name rarely appeared in the newspapers. And when exhaustion finally overcame her she always returned to her beloved ranch again.
The vineyard was her new passion and Annie smiled as she drove past the acres of neat rows. Francie’s vines were manicured to the peak of perfection and though her production was small, a mere three thousand bottles, the soft red wine was good.
“Good—but not good enough,” Francie told her later as they strolled through the vineyard together. She stooped and picked up a handful of the rich, dark earth. “Look at this,” she demanded indignantly. “Can it be any better in France? We have the same sunshine, the same rain, the same sheltered slopes. So why can’t I produce a burgundy as good as theirs?”
Her blue eyes were flashing with the old fire and Annie laughed. “Ask the French, not me.”
“I may just do that. One day.” Annie knew she was joking because she never went anywhere anymore, and she said, “Then before you venture so far afield, why don’t you come to my party next week?” Francie stared off to the horizon and she added quickly, “It’s about time you did something to please yourself—and me, for a change. Good works are all very well, Francie Harrison, but it’s time you got out and about a bit more and met some people.”
Francie looked thoughtfully at her. Annie was always busy, she had dozens of friends and hundreds of acquaintances; she was a queen bee of the smart hotel world and everyone wanted to know her. With a sudden lonely pang, she envied her. She said quickly before she could change her mind, “All right then. I will.”
Annie looked so astonished that it made Francie laugh. But later as she packed her bags for the trip, she was more than a little apprehensive. Her life was as cloistered as a nun’s. San Francisco had grown from the small town of her youth to a bustling city, and sometimes, driving home from Aysgarth’s after dining with Annie, she would stare enviously at the noisy crowds thronging the sidewalks outside the cafés and theaters, feeling like a little girl with her nose pressed to the window again, as real life passed her by.
This week the President was giving a large ball to thank the Californians who had worked in the party’s behalf. The city was packed with out-of-towners and hotel rooms were at a premium. Over the years Annie had played host to many of Washington’s politicians, and before the ball she was holding a small champagne reception for her favored customers, one of many held that night.
“My own inaugural reception,” she told Francie excitedly as they waited in the private drawing room for her guests. She patted her expensive bronze lace dress anxiously. “Do I look like the First Lady of the hotel world?”
“You look perfect,” Francie reassured her, and indeed she did. Her glossy brown hair was arranged in smooth waves and her brown eyes shone with excitement. The bronze lace suited