Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [50]
He showed her a city she had lived in all her life and never seen; they climbed Telegraph Hill and watched the fog lift itself in a white mass from the ocean and roll toward them, engulfing them in a clinging white shroud; laughing, they covered their ears as every boat afloat sounded a warning horn or bell or whistle. They rode the cable cars and the ferries and laughed at the seals frolicking on the rocks near the Cliff House, and watched the waves roll in along Ocean Beach. And they admired the magnificent Palace Hotel, America’s largest, with a soaring seven-story atrium, seven thousand bay windows overlooking the city, and a sumptuous, thirty-foot-long bar.
Sometimes Josh would smile as he listened to Francie chatter about their discoveries, but at others he would stride silently by her side, his eyes fixed on the ground, lost in a world of his own.
“Is anything the matter?” she would ask anxiously, but he would just shrug his shoulders and say, “Nothing’s wrong, lass,” as though it was a great effort for him even to speak. And sometimes when they were in her room he would stare silently out the window for ages, his eyes as opaque as the gray sky outside. But there were other times when he would hold her in his arms and kiss her and her whole being would just fill with joy.
Still, there was no doubt about it, Sammy Morris did not like her. Sammy worked on a construction site carrying bricks up and down scaffolding all day and he spent his evenings in the bar downstairs with Josh. He had not been near her since she met him on the sidewalk that first day, and then one night he came to her door. She was standing at the window looking down at San Francisco’s twinkling lights and at the pale spring moon when she heard the knock.
She ran eagerly to open the door, stepping back, surprised when she saw Sammy.
His dark, glowering eyes met hers. He took off his cap and said, “I’ve come straight from work. I’ve got to talk to you, Miss Harrison.”
She smiled shyly. “Please come in. Won’t you call me Francie?”
“I’ve not come here to make small talk,” he said abruptly. “I’m here to tell you about Josh.”
“I think I understand, I know how important your friendship with Josh is.”
“More important than you,” he said with a sudden venomous glance. “And more important than you’ll ever know, Miss Francie Harrison.”
His dark eyes filled with hatred. He stepped closer; she could smell the sweat on his work shirt and see the cement dust like powder on his skin, and she pressed herself against the door, away from him. She wished Josh were here, but Sammy had chosen his moment well—Josh wouldn’t be home for another hour.
“Josh and I are in love, we are going to be married,” she said nervously. “But we can all stay friends….”
Sammy gripped his cloth cap so tight, his knuckles gleamed white. He wanted to hit her smiling face.
“What have you done to count yourself his friend?” he snarled. “You don’t even know him. Not really know him, the way I do. He doesn’t need you. He doesn’t need any weak woman leeching onto him. He needs a friend who’ll look out for him, who’ll help him, who’ll be there for him, whatever happens. Josh has got nothing to give you.”
“But he saved my life—”
“And bloody near lost his own doing it. He didn’t tell you what your father did to him, did he? No, of course he didn’t. He’s probably forgotten about it already. Josh always conveniently forgets