The Property of a Lady - Elizabeth Adler [23]
“And not too far from your place,” he countered, laughing. “Maybe you’ll ask me in for a home-cooked meal sometime. That’s one thing a Washington bachelor never gets—all the dinner parties are catered.”
“I’ll bet you think I can’t cook,” she said indignantly. “I’ll have you know I learned at my grandmother’s knee.”
“And was she a good cook?”
“The best—though I must admit, not quite as good as this.” She tasted the ethereally light chocolate praline mousse. “I never eat dessert, so it just goes to show what being stranded in a storm can do. It takes away all your control.”
“You look as if you live on moonbeams and champagne,” he said, glancing at her admiringly.
She laughed. “That’s exactly the way it’s meant to look.”
“I’d say your charms are not lost on our Russian friend,” Cal said quietly. “He’s scarcely taken his eyes off you all night.”
Blushing, Genie reached for her glass and knocked it over. As the waiter hurried to mop up the spilled champagne, Cal said, surprised, “I didn’t expect Valentin to have quite such a drastic effect on you.”
“Sorry, sorry … I guess I’m just tired.” She ran her hand nervously through her hair again. “Let’s have coffee in the lounge. I think I hear someone playing a piano.”
Solovsky stood up as she slid from the banquette, their eyes met across the room, then, with a smile, he bowed to her. And again she was aware of his gaze following her as she walked, a little too quickly, from the restaurant.
Snow was still piling in great drifts outside, but inside the Hotel Beau Rivage all was calm and luxury. The lounge was welcoming, with soft lights, silken curtains, and the scent of flowers. A fire blazed in the huge grate and the young man playing the piano slid easily between Cole Porter and Debussy.
Genie glanced at Cal, sitting beside her on the pink-striped sofa. She just had to get him to tell her what was going on, but how? The only way was to speak the language he understood. Leaning forward, she touched his hand. “Cal,” she said hesitantly, “I’m at a crossroads in my life, in my career.” His eyes acknowledged what she had said and she hurried on. “I was sent here to do a job I didn’t want to do. I had planned to cover the President’s visit to Houston, but the station sent me to the jewelry sale instead. Because I was a woman.”
Cal took a sip of his brandy. “Genie,” he said thoughtfully, “there’s no denying you are a woman, and women talk to other women about jewelry.”
“Exactly!” she retorted triumphantly. “And therefore I should exploit being a woman—to the hilt. Agreed?”
He nodded. “I guess, careerwise, it’s legitimate to use everything you’ve got.”
“I need your help, Cal,” she whispered. “I know I’m sitting on the brink of a great story, but nobody is letting me in on it. Cal, if I could have an exclusive on this Ivanoff business, it would make me as a national reporter. I thought we might be able to help each other. You tell me something I want to know and I’ll tell you something you want to know.”
“Like what?” he asked, carefully spooning sugar into his coffee.
“Like who bought the emerald,” she said softly.
Cal’s red-setter eyes hardened. “You know?”
“It was after the auction,” she said quickly. “I’d bought my crew a drink in the bar at the Richemond. I was on my way to the powder room when I noticed the door to the auction room was slightly open, so of course I peeked in. It was empty, but there on the dais was the red ledger in which I had seen the auctioneer enter every bid. I thought there was just a chance that he might also have entered the bid for the emerald—after all, it was only withdrawn from sale moments before the auction began. I didn’t stop to think about the ethics of the situation,” she admitted, glancing guiltily at him. “That red ledger just beckoned me the way the apple must have done Eve. I can tell you my heart was pounding so hard I felt sure someone would hear it and come running in and catch me and I would end up in a Swiss jail. But anyway, I tiptoed