Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [165]
He stared at her, surprised. She was wearing a narrow cream cashmere coat with a huge fox collar and a small cloche hat, her cheeks were pink from the cold and her eyes were the most incredible, deep pansy blue. He thought she looked wonderful. He smiled ruefully. “Was it that obvious? I was just recalling memories of Christmases past.” He took her hand, feeling the warmth beneath the soft beige suede glove. “Of course I remember you.” He didn’t say, “How could I everforget?” but his eyes did, and she looked away, flustered.
“What are you doing in New York, Miss Harrison?” he asked, letting go of her hand. She told him that she was in town to look at a property for the Lai Tsin Corporation and to do some Christmas shopping.
He glanced at the gaily wrapped parcels she was carrying and said ruefully, “It surely looks as though you’re more successful at it than I am. I still haven’t found anything for Maryanne—my wife.”
Francie thought of Maryanne, so cool and sure of herself. “Jewelry?” she suggested.
He shook his head and grinned. “Another pair of earrings and she would be mistaken for a Christmas tree ornament.” Francie laughed and he thought, surprised, how different she looked when she was happy.
“I know what I’d like for Christmas if I were your wife,” she said, still smiling. “I just saw it in a gallery and fell in love with it.”
“Why don’t you show me?” he asked, eager for her company.
They walked companionably across Fifth Avenue and around the corner to the little gallery. In the window was a small portrait by Morisot of a blond child, her face serious and her eyes dark with wonder. Francie sighed. “Don’t you think the artist has captured the essence of childhood?” He thought again of all those wondrous childhood Christmases and knew she was right.
“I’m afraid it’s not exactly Maryanne though,” he said regretfully. “Maybe I’ll just get her the gray pearls after all.” He glanced up as the first flakes of snow began to fall. It was four o’clock and the sky was already dark. “At least let me invite you for tea,” he said eagerly, “to thank you for your help?”
She tilted her head consideringly. “I really shouldn’t, I still have so much to do.”
He’d bet she didn’t have a single important thing to do at four o’clock on a Thursday afternoon before Christmas. He said authoritatively, “I won’t take no for an answer,” and took her arm, hurrying her back across Fifth and into the new Sherry-Netherland Hotel.
The café was busy with smart shoppers relaxing after their afternoon’s labors. The sound of their high-pitched chatter mingled with the violins of the quartet and the tinkle of silver spoons against fine china and the giggles of overexcited children being treated to ice-cream sodas and chocolate cake.
Francie thought tremblingly of Ollie; Christmas was always the hardest time and that’s partly why she was in New York, to get away from her memories, but it wasn’t always possible to succeed. She thought sadly that he would no longer have been a child—he would have been a young man now and maybe he would have been taking her out to tea instead of Buck Wingate.
He said quietly, “I can see you find Christmas lonely too.” She looked at him, her eyes dark with sadness, and he wanted to put his arms around her and tell her it would be all right again one day, but of course he couldn’t—and it wouldn’t. Nothing could ever compensate her for the loss of her son.
“The children are having such a good time,” she said with a smile. “Look at them enjoying all those forbidden treats.”
“And what shall we treat ourselves to?” he asked gaily. “That fabulous chocolate cake? Or a mountainous icecream sundae? Cherry cake? Millefeuille? Or are you the cucumber sandwich type of woman?”
Francie laughed, swinging out of her dark mood. “If you want to know the truth I’m a toasted muffin type of woman,” she confessed.
“Then muffins it shall be.” He gave the waiter his order and then said, “You see how much I’m learning about you in just a few hours? I know you’re buying property in Manhattan, and what you’d