Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [181]
Annie shook her head. Something was wrong and she wished she knew what, because that feeling in her bones was growing stronger.
Fifteen minutes later, Harry Harrison entered the hotel. He walked up to the desk, told the clerk Mr. Wingate was expecting him, and asked the name of his suite. Annie stared suspiciously after him as he took the elevator. She asked the desk clerk where he was heading and was stunned when she heard it was the Wingates’ suite. She went into the elegant drawing room and took a seat near the entrance, where she could monitor everyone who came or went, and then she ordered tea and settled back to wait.
Maryanne was just stepping from the shower when the doorbell rang. She knew it must be room service with the coffee she had ordered and she called “Come in.” Coffee was her only vice, and she really needed a cup now. This afternoon had been quite a strain, though she knew she had handled it supremely well. “Leave the tray on the table,” she called out, patting herself dry with a soft peach-colored towel with an inch-thick pile. She had to give Annie Aysgarth credit, whatever her background was she knew “the best” and she provided only “the best”; even in towels. She hummed a little tune as she slipped on her blue velvet robe and pushed her narrow aristocratic feet into matching velvet slippers embroidered with a family crest that she had specially made at an exclusive men’s shop on Jermyn Street in London. She was still humming happily to herself when she emerged from the bathroom and came face to face with Harry Harrison.
“My God,” she said, startled, “how did you get in?”
“I rang the bell, you called ‘come in,’ so I did. Sorry I startled you, Maryanne, but Buck said to meet him here about five-ish. I guess maybe I’m a little early.”
Maryanne sighed. She didn’t bother to pretend she was pleased to see him; Harry was not one of her favorite people. In fact, Harry was nothing but trouble and why Buck even bothered with him was beyond her comprehension. The doorbell rang again and this time it was the waiter with the coffee; he placed it on the table and left.
Maryanne glanced at Harry with annoyance. She had wanted to be alone when Buck came in, she wanted to surprise him with the new, sexier woman she was about to become—for his sake, not hers. As she poured coffee, she thought with a little smile how good it was for one’s ego to vanquish a mistress and reclaim one’s husband, it was almost worth going through it, it made her feel so good. “Coffee?” she asked, holding out the cup to Harry.
“Thanks, Maryanne.” He sat opposite her on the sofa, admiring her with his eyes and she stared haughtily back at him.
“Why do you want to see Buck?” she asked.
He sipped the hot coffee, regarding her more thoughtfully, and then he said, “I’ll tell you why, if you’ll tell me exactly what you were doing at my sister’s this afternoon.”
She felt the color drain from her face; he had caught her completely off guard and she set down her cup with a trembling hand. “You must be mistaken,” she said, frantically gathering her scattered wits back together. “I don’t know your sister. Ah, one moment, I tell a lie.” She held up her hand and tilted her head back, thinking. “Yes, I did meet her once, at a party Annie Aysgarth gave. We were introduced, I believe.” She shrugged delicately as if it were too unimportant to recall.
Harry was enjoying himself and he smiled. “My butler saw you, too, and my houseman,” he lied. “And even under that hat”—he waved at the black coat and hat lying with her purse on the chair where she had thrown them—“even under that hat, there was no denying it was you. I wonder,” he said, putting things as delicately to her as she had to Francie earlier, “I wonder if dear, devoted, upright Buck has developed an intimate acquaintance with my notorious sister.”
He laughed at her shocked face. “Right in on one, I’d say,” he chortled, setting down his cup.
“You’re talking