Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [194]
The logs settled into the grate amid a shower of sparks and one rolled to the very edge. It lay smoldering dangerously on the brink and Maryanne stared, hypnotized, as it fell. Somewhere from the maze of fear in her mind came a cool, clear thought. The whole room reeked of brandy, Harry had been drinking, he had fallen and hit his head…. All it needed was a delicate little push with the toe of her black suede shoe and the log was touching the expensive Aubusson rug, not two feet from where Harry lay. It smoldered for a moment and then there was a red glow and then a tiny yellow tongue of flame.
With a terrified cry she fled from the room, slamming the door behind her. She ran through the marble hall to the door, then remembering her cape she ran back again. She flung the cape over her shoulders with the dark fur on the outside in the hope she would not be so visible. Then she opened the door and stepped outside.
She looked up and down the street, but the night was dark and cold and it was deserted. She ran down the steps, flinging herself around the corner out of sight of that terrible house, hurrying as fast as she could in her high-heeled black suede pumps back to Aysgarth’s. As she turned into Union Square she slowed down, smoothing back her hair and wishing she could powder her nose and put on her lipstick so she would appear more normal. And then she realized she had left her purse behind at Harry’s.
She thought of the log on the rug and her purse lying on the big wing chair near the hearth and she told herself reassuringly it surely would have burned by now. Clutching her fur cape closer she strode into Aysgarth’s and hurried across the lobby to the elevator, praying it would be waiting empty on the ground floor. She was in luck, it was, and she stepped inside, ignoring the bellboy who said a cheerful good evening as he pressed the button, leaning against the wall waiting for it to waft her to safety.
Maryanne hid her face in the cape collar as the elevator sped upward. She ran down the corridor to the Knaresborough Suite, only realizing when she got to the door that her keys were still in her purse. And her purse was at Harry’s. Her heart sank, it meant she would have to go back down and explain to the desk clerk that she had been out and had lost them. The service elevator pinged to a stop at the end of the hall and a waiter appeared with a tray. She breathed a sigh of relief as she sped toward him, he would have keys and could open her door, she was saved after all.
She was in her suite within minutes and running a hot bath, as hot as she could bear, pouring in lavish amounts of her expensive French bath oil. She stripped off the ruined dress, wrinkling her nose again at the smell of brandy as she rolled it into a ball and threw it into the wastebasket. She tore off the ecru silk slip and ripped it to shreds and threw it in with the dress. Then she climbed into the tub and lay back with her eyes closed letting the sweet-scented water wash away the vile imprint of Harry’s hands.
She was still there half an hour later when Buck came in.
“Is that you, darling?” she called in her usual calm voice.
“Yes.” He stood in the doorway looking at her and she glanced gratefully at him. He looked so strong and handsome, just like his photographs in the newspapers. He was her husband and now nothing could harm them. She had made it all right again. Vaguely from a distance in the street below came the urgent sound of bells and sirens. “What time is it, darling?” she asked as he turned away.
“Nine-fifteen.”
“Must be a fire somewhere,” she said with a lazy smile as she lay back again and closed her eyes. There had been plenty