I'll Walk Alone - Mary Higgins Clark [42]
“Brittany’s father, Toby Grissom, was in this morning looking for her,” Phyllis explained. “The poor old guy’s worried. The last postcard he got from her was six months ago, from Manhattan. He’s sure she’s in trouble. I told him I’d talk to you because you would remember her if she worked on any of those jobs. He’s coming back after three. I figured Bartley would be on his way to Litchfield by then. What can I tell Grissom?”
“Only that she did some freelance work for us a few years ago and that we have no idea where she might be working or living now,” Elaine said. “That’s the truth.”
“But if you think Bartley might have had a thing going with Brittany, could you ask him if he’s been in touch with her? The father said that he’s had some bad news about his health, and I can tell he’s desperate to see her.”
“I’ll ask Bartley,” Elaine agreed nervously. “But if there was any romance going on between them, he won’t like to have her name brought up. He’s still steaming about that model who sued him for sexual harassment. He settled big on that one and might be afraid that this will develop into that kind of problem. Was there a postmark on the card Brittany sent her father?”
“Yes, New York. That’s why he’s here. But Mr. Grissom did say that just about two years ago, Brittany told him that she had some kind of job and wouldn’t be in touch with him often.”
“Oh, brother,” Elaine sighed. “I wonder if Bartley got her pregnant? What time did you say Brittany’s father is coming in?”
“Anytime after three o’clock.”
“Then let’s just hope that Bartley takes off for Litchfield, and I can talk to the father quietly.”
But at three o’clock when Toby Grissom timidly rang the bell and Phyllis released the lock, Bartley Longe was still incommunicado in his office. Grissom’s sneakers were squishing and Phyllis looked with horror as they deposited muddy soil on the Aubusson carpet.
“Oh, Mr. Grissom,” she said, “I wonder if you’d mind wiping your feet on that mat.” She tried to soften the request by adding, “The weather certainly is miserable today, isn’t it?”
Like an obedient child, Grissom walked back to the mat and rubbed the soles of his sneakers on it. Seemingly oblivious to the stain on the carpet, he said, “I’ve spent the day chasing down the girls my daughter lived with while she was in New York. I want to see Bartley Longe now.”
“Mr. Longe is tied up in a meeting,” Phyllis said, “but his secretary, Elaine Ryan, will be happy to speak to you.”
“I didn’t ask to speak to Longe’s secretary. I’ll sit in this fancy waiting room no matter how long it takes until I see that Bartley Longe fellow,” Grissom said, his manner unquestionably determined.
Phyllis could see the weariness in his eyes. His jacket and jeans looked soaked through to the skin. I don’t know what else is wrong with him, but he’s lucky if he doesn’t catch pneumonia, she thought. She picked up the phone. “Mr. Grissom is here,” she told Elaine. “I explained Mr. Longe is in a meeting, but Mr. Grissom plans to wait until he’s free.”
Elaine caught the cautionary note in the receptionist’s voice. Brittany La Monte’s father was going to wait Bartley out. “I’ll see what I can do,” she told Phyllis. She replaced the phone in the cradle, and deliberated. I have to tell our fearless leader about this guy, she thought. I’ve got to warn him. The light on the phone panel showed that Bartley had made an outside call himself. When the light went out, she got up and knocked on Bartley’s door. Without waiting for a response she went into his private office.
The television was still on, muted. Bartley’s lunch tray was pushed to one side of his massive desk. The norm would have been for Bartley to call for someone to take out the tray when he had finished eating. Now he looked at Elaine, his expression