Fortune Is a Woman - Elizabeth Adler [8]
Buck’s father had been at Princeton with Harry’s father, the Wingate law practice had handled their business for years, and Buck and Harry had had a passing acquaintance all their lives, though they could never have been called friends.
He kissed Maryanne’s scented cheek lightly as she stepped into the chauffeur-driven limousine, and she gave him the cool little smile that never reached her beautiful green eyes. Her blond hair lay in smooth, sculpted waves, her lips were a perfect glossy red, and her midnight-blue silk gown was uncreased. She looked as though she were just starting out the evening instead of ending it.
Harry knew Maryanne Brattle had not married Buck Wingate because he was handsome and charming and nice —and a good catch; she had married him because he was a man with his feet firmly fixed on the political road and she adored the world of politics. Her family lived and breathed politics. They had been in and out of Congress and cabinet posts for generations, though no one had ever yet made it to the presidency. And that was where Maryanne’s hopes for Buck lay. He had been senator for the state of California for the past twelve years, and had held official posts under two Republican presidents. Now he was being spoken of as a future presidential candidate. It was exactly as Maryanne had planned. She had used all her power as a member of an influential political family, and all her plentiful wiles and scheming to get what she wanted.
They had a house on K Street in Georgetown, the Wingate family house outside Sacramento, a vast apartment on Park Avenue, and the imposing country estate, Broadlands, in New Jersey hunting country, which had been left to her by her grandfather. She had two polite, good-looking children, a stable full of Thoroughbred horses, garages full of expensive cars, and acres of shady lawns for taking tea and playing croquet. Maryanne Brattle Wingate had it all. There was only one man who could stop Buck’s ultimate progress to the White House, and that was Harry Harrison. Maryanne knew it and she hated him for it.
She said coldly, “Good night, Harry. I can’t say I enjoyed myself. I’m afraid film folk make poor conversationalists.” Glancing maliciously at the platinum-blond in the clinging silver dress waiting for him in the hall, she added, “Though I suppose Gretchen has her redeeming qualities.”
“Greta,” Harry corrected her, smiling and thinking what a superbitch she was. But she was smart, he had to hand her that. Just look at the way she had handled Buck’s career. He could have used a wife like Maryanne instead of the two losers he had ended up with.
“Good night, Harry,” Buck said, climbing thankfully into the limousine and wondering why in hell he’d just had dinner at Harry Harrison’s. He was a busy man, his time was not his own and Maryanne took care of their “social” arrangements, all of which were connected with politics because there was nothing else in their lives. He glared at Maryanne as they edged from the curb. “Can you explain to me exactly why we spent the evening at Harry’s,” he said angrily. “I can’t stand the man, you know that.”
“I told you earlier, darling, his name still counts for a lot in San Francisco, and he had some very influential money men there tonight.”
“I don’t give a damn about Harry or his money men,” he said coldly. “Just don’t ever do that to me again.”
“After all, darling, your office still takes care of his legal business. I thought it wasn’t right just to ignore him,” she said soothingly. “But if you dislike him that much, we won’t do it again.”
As they drove past Francesca Harrison’s house, she noticed he turned his head to look at the lighted windows, but she made no comment.
Harry waved his hand in salute, watching as their car drove down California