The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [142]
Verity took it from her. A single perfect creamy rose and a card that said “The Baron Edmund Arnhaldt.” Nothing else, just the card with his name and the rose. Smiling, she put the rose in the big crystal vase along with the dozens of others and thought nothing more about it.
The following night he sent his card again, and another rose—this time fashioned in silver. It was charming and unusual and for once she kept it, putting it into a slender silver bud vase on her dressing table. The next night there was a gold rose, obviously antique and valuable, and she gasped with amazement. And the next, there was a rose of pale pinkish diamonds that sparkled as brightly as her smiling eyes. And this time the card said “Would you please have supper with me tonight? I am your devoted slave.”
Missie hesitated. For once she was tempted. Then she decided she couldn’t possibly do it. It was against all her rules. Besides, she had no idea who he was, or even what he looked like. He might be ninety years old and speak only German for all she knew. She went next door and asked Genny, one of the showgirls.
“Arnhaldt!” Genny exclaimed. “Eddie Arnhaldt. My dear, you’ve hit the jackpot. Arnhaldt is rich, rich, rich … he could buy every theater on Broadway if he wanted and never miss the money, he could buy every diamond in Cartier and not even flinch. He has yachts and castles and he’s very handsome. All the money comes from muck and grime—steel and iron works, it’s solid money. Verity, you’re crazy if you don’t see him—at least once. Just to test the water. I mean, after all, you can feel the man’s got style. Just look at his approach!”
Missie dithered. Eddie Arnhaldt was becoming more and more intriguing, “Well,” she said, “maybe just this once.”
“Bravo,” Genny cried, laughing. As Missie closed the door behind her she called, “Oh, by the way, I forgot to tell you. He also has a terrible reputation with women.”
Her laughter followed Missie all the way back to her dressing room, but it did not change her mind. She was too fascinated by the mysterious Eddie Arnhaldt.
The long black Mercedes-Benz limousine with the tinted windows was parked in front of the theater, a uniformed chauffeur standing to attention in front of it. “Miss Byron?” he asked, whipping off his cap and opening the door for her. “The baron is waiting for you at Rector’s, ma’am. He said to apologize but he has injured his leg and it is painful for him to step in and out of the limousine. He hopes you will forgive him for not being here personally, ma’am.”
The chauffeur sounded like a parrot repeating his lines, and she thought, annoyed, that it seemed she was going to be kept in suspense just a little bit longer about Baron Eddie Arnhaldt.
Rector’s was located between Forty-third and Forty-fourth streets, and its plush green and gold lobby was jammed with people desperate for tables. The ground-floor dining room with its ceiling-high mirrors and glittering chandeliers was crowded and from his table in the corner, Ziegfeld watched as Verity followed the maître d’ up the sweeping staircase to the second floor, where there was a second dining room and also several private rooms. He was surprised to see her there alone. After summoning a waiter, he asked him to find out whom Verity Byron was dining with. When he heard who it was he wrote a quick note, asking him to deliver it to her right away.
Eddie Arnhaldt was at the window, staring down at the busy scene on Forty-third Street. As the door opened, he turned to look at her. There were compensations after all: She was beautiful, not merely pretty, though too slender for his taste. But her violet eyes were like jewels and her hair like silk and she walked like a dream. “I must ask your forgiveness again for not coming to meet you,” he said, limping toward her with the aid of an ebony stick. He held out his hand to her, drawing her into the room as the waiter closed the door discreetly.
Missie glanced at him from under her lashes. Eddie Arnhaldt was handsome in a