Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [188]
The cup of coffee lay forgotten on the table; he put his head in his hands and groaned aloud, “Oh, Francie, why didn’t you tell me? Why?” He thought of all she must have gone through, bringing up the child alone and the scandal she had faced, and then he thought of Maryanne, sleeping the sleep of the righteous in the room next to his. He looked at his watch: it was seven o’clock, still early, but he couldn’t wait. He picked up the phone and called Annie Aysgarth.
She answered promptly. “Buck,” she said with surprise. “Is something wrong? Do you have a complaint?”
“I’ve seen the morning papers,” he said abruptly.
Annie said, “Then you’ve beaten me to it, love. I’ve not had time yet. What’s in there that’s so important?”
“A photograph of seven-year-old Lysandra Lai Tsin.”
There was a little silence and then Annie said in a quiet voice, “I see.”
He could almost hear her thinking and then she said, “Give me five minutes; then come and have breakfast with me, up here in the penthouse.”
Annie had been up since six, she had already bathed and dressed and dealt with the morning’s mail, the day’s menus, the chef, the staff complaints, and her general inspection. Now she powdered her nose in front of the silver dressing-table mirror that once belonged to the wife of an eighteenth-century grandee and for the first time since she had owned it she didn’t marvel that she, Annie Aysgarth from Montgomery Street, owned such a beautiful, expensive object, because right now she was wondering what she was going to tell Buck about Francie.
The bell rang, and taking a deep breath she went to answer it. As she let him in she thought that like good port, Buck got better with years. But she also noticed he looked too lean, his thick dark hair was streaked with gray, there were tired lines imprinted on his handsome face and a weary look in his steady brown eyes.
He kissed her cheek and she said bluntly, “You look as though you need a good breakfast, Buck Wingate. Doesn’t that wife of yours feed you anymore?”
He shrugged and took a seat opposite her at the heavy glass-topped table, watching as she poured orange juice from a big crystal jug.
He said, “Lysandra Lai Tsin is my daughter, isn’t she?”
Annie looked at him. “You’re putting me in a very difficult position, Buck.”
“It’s all right, you don’t have to answer. I know it’s true. Just tell me why Francie didn’t want me to know. I would have looked after them, cared for them. Francie was everything to me.” His eyes searched hers, and he added softly, “She still is.”
Annie looked at him and she saw an unhappy man; she thought of Francie and Lysandra, and then she thought of Maryanne Brattle Wingate and weighed the balance. She had always been a woman who spoke her mind and now she didn’t hesitate. She told Buck the story of Maryanne’s visit to Francie, that Francie had not wanted him to give up his career for her, and that she would never have used the fact that she was having his child as emotional blackmail. “Francie’s not like that,” she said fiercely, “she’s an honest woman.” She didn’t add “unlike Mary an ne,” but he knew she was thinking it.
“She set you free,” Annie said simply, “no strings and no ties. Free to do whatever you wanted. To fulfill your political destiny.”
She filled the coffee cups, watching sympathetically; she could almost read the thoughts rushing through his head and she wasn’t the least bit surprised when he finally said, “I must see her, Annie.”
She nodded, “She’s gone to the ranch with Lysandra. They left early, they should be there by now.” She gulped down her coffee and stood up. “There’s a phone on the desk. I must be on my way to see what my staff are up to.” She smiled at him and said, “For what it’s worth, I told her she was a bloody fool to send you away.” Then she hurried from the room, leaving him alone.
Francie