Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [162]
But Annie was never mean; it was nothing but the best for her invited guests: vintage Roederer champagne—the very same that used to be served by the czar of Russia; impeccable caviar from Persia; the finest wild salmon from Scotland; and morsels of delicious lobster from the coast of Maine.
“We shall not be served finer in the White House itself, Mrs. Aysgarth,” the President told her, beaming. The room was full of pretty women, but Annie was the center of attention and her Yorkshire accent and boisterous laugh could be heard over the noisy buzz that marked a successful party.
Francie stood near the door, her champagne glass clutched nervously in her hand, answering politely when she was introduced by Annie and wishing she had never promised to come. She had never in her life attended a party like this and she felt like a fish out of water.
Maryanne Wingate’s expert eyes rested on her momentarily, registered the fact that she was unknown and passed quickly on in search of more important prey. But Buck’s eyes lingered. He thought she looked lovely but remote and unapproachable, as though she had erected an invisible fence around her that said “keep away.” Her floating gray chiffon dress was as discreet as a cloud, and the pearls were worth a small fortune. He walked across to her and said, “You look as though you are about to bolt out the door. Is the party that bad?”
She glanced at him, startled. “Oh, no, not at all. It’s a perfectly lovely party.”
He held out his hand. “I’m Buck Wingate.”
She shook his hand so quickly he scarcely felt the pressure of her fingers. “Francesca Harrison,” she murmured, blushing.
It was his turn to look startled. “But I know your brother,” he exclaimed. She froze, her eyes grew distant, her mouth tightened, and she did not reply. “My father was your father’s lawyer,” he said, realizing he was getting deeper and deeper into the mire. “I mean, that’s the only reason I know him, because of his trust. My firm handles it.”
She nodded and said icily, “I see.”
“Miss Harrison,” he said, though he had no idea why he should be making such an effort to set the record straight, she meant nothing to him, nor did her brother. “I did not choose your brother as a client, I inherited him. You know, the sins of our fathers …?”
He smiled winningly at her, breathing a small sigh of relief as she smiled back and said, “Please don’t apologize for knowing Harry, Mr. Wingate. It’s your misfortune, not mine.”
He nodded, searching to change the subject, but in the back of his mind he was running through what he knew about her. Wasn’t there a Chinese lover and the multimillion-dollar corporation? And of course, the tragic death of her young son in the fire. Her past certainly didn’t show in her flawless face and he thought again how beautiful she was. “What brings you to a political party like this, Miss Harrison?”
“Annie Aysgarth is an old friend. She wanted to show off her guests to me.”
“That sounds like Annie, she enjoys a bit of praise—especially for her Yorkshire puddings.”
Francie laughed. “They’re the best—and probably the most expensive puddings this side of Yorkshire. But there’s more to Annie than that.”
“I daresay there is. I’ve known her for about ten years now. How come I’ve never met you before?”
“Oh, don’t you know?” Her tone was faintly contemptuous and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. “I’m San Francisco’s worst-kept secret. The notorious Harrison sister living in sin with her Chinese lover on Nob Hill, right opposite her illustrious brother, Harry. Nobody ever talks about me, Mr. Wingate, except behind my back.”
“Buck?” Maryanne took his