Fortune is a Woman (50 page)

Hours later she rode the tired mare slowly back again, wishing she had never met Buck Wingate. And then she turned into the courtyard and there he was.

She was off the horse and in his arms in an instant. "You shouldn't be here," she said, her voice muffled against his shoulder.

"You're wrong," he said. "This is where I belong." He held her at arm's length, looking at her. "You won't send me away again?"

She shook her head. "I can't. But I'll never take you away from your wife, Buck. Or your career. I'll just be happy to see you, whenever we can."

And she thought as he held her close, that for all the Mandarin's teaching, she was still only a weak and helpless woman when it came to love.

CHAPTER 37

1930

Maryanne Wingate was a busy woman, she was rich and spoiled and used to having things her own way, but she wasn't a fool. She suspected Buck was having an affair and at first she said nothing, supposing it would pass, as these things did. Not that she was worried: she told herself men needed the sort of women they had affairs with, women they paid for in small trinkets or cold hard cash, not
her
sort of woman. And she knew the Bucks of the world
never married
women like that. Her position as his wife was inviolate, but as months passed and the weekends away began to grow more frequent and the door between their bedrooms remained firmly shut, she began to get frightened. A casual affair was one thing, but a major indiscretion would be a disaster.

She thought angrily of all the time and effort she had put into furthering his career and decided she was going to get to the bottom of things. She called a very discreet detective agency and had her husband followed. She was shocked at the speed with which she received her answer —it seemed Buck hardly bothered to cover his tracks. And she was even more shocked when she found out the name of her rival.

She fumed silently for days, pacing like a maddened panther around her room. Buck was away again—at the ranch with
her.
He'd been going there for over a year now and she thanked God that at least the ranch was at the back of beyond and they weren't flaunting their relationship in front of all San Francisco. She remembered seeing Francie Harrison at that party and she thought angrily that she was beautiful, and with a reputation like hers she wasn't surprised Buck had fallen for her. But now if she wasn't to lose everything she had worked for, she had to do something about it.

***

Francie lived for their weekends at the ranch, it was their home—hers and Buck's: her room was now their room, his clothes hung in her closet and his riding boots stood in the hallway next to hers. His nervous black Thoroughbred shared the stables with her Appaloosa mare, his books filled her shelves, his papers filled her desk, and his shaving things her bathroom. It was exactly two years since they had met in Paris and she was more in love with him than ever, her whole world revolved around the stolen hours he spent with her. She had kept her promise to herself that she would never ask for more, only now things were different. She needed him.

It was Friday evening and he was on his way from San Francisco. She paced the shady front porch gazing hopefully down the driveway, sighing happily as she quickly counted her blessings: she had this beautiful ranch with her dairy cows and her cattle and her precious vines; she had her wonderful house in San Francisco, and her charity work; she had wealth and two good friends, Annie and the Mandarin; she had a man who loved her and now she was having his child.

Her face clouded as she thought about her beautiful Ollie; she would gladly have given everything she had if she could have brought him back, the circumstances of his death were too painful to bear and she kept them in the back of her memory, but he was always in her thoughts, and she and Annie often talked of him. She remembered the night he had been born, here at the ranch, with only Annie and Lai Tsin to help. And now she was to have another fatherless child.

Her happiness drained quickly away as she faced the facts. She would never have asked Buck to divorce Maryanne for her own sake, but now there was his child to think of. She sank down into the porch swing, closing her eyes as the old familiar loneliness crept over her, wondering what to do.

Buck saw her as he turned the bend in the drive in the little Ford and he honked the horn, sending birds whirring excitedly from the trees and setting the dogs barking in the stables. He swung into the courtyard with a squeal of tires, leapt from the car and strode up the steps to the porch, marveling that his heart still gave a little lurch when he saw her. She stepped into his arms and they hugged each other tightly. "It's been too long," he murmured into her soft hair, "a month since I've seen you." They walked hand in hand into the house and he glanced around appreciatively; the ranch was the one place he knew that never seemed to change. Oh sure, an extra room was added here and there, a new painting was hung on the parlor wall, maybe new curtains at the windows, but the heart of the place never changed. The polished elm floorboards shone, the windowpanes glittered in the sunlight, big bunches of wildflowers were crammed into innumerable vases and the house smelled of honeysuckle and lavender and Hattie's cherry pies baking in the kitchen.

"God, I love this place," he said, his voice full of yearning. "Every time I'm here I ask myself why I ever leave." He poked his head in the kitchen door and called, "Hi, Hattie. What's for dinner?"

"Hi, Mr. Buck. Why, it's nothing but southern fried chicken and fried bananas, just your fav'rit, that's all."

Her face split in a wide grin and he grinned back. "That's why I love ya, Hattie, you surely know the way to a man's heart."

"Some
men's hearts," she sniffed, going back to her stove, but she was smiling. Hattie was Francie's housekeeper and she approved of Mr. Buck, "Marry him, Miss Francie," she said firmly and often. "He's the best thing ever happen'd to you."

"But he's already married," Francie protested, and Hattie would sniff disparagingly and say, "A man can get a divorce, cain't he? And you're as good as married right now—'cept in the eyes of the Lord."

"You're right, Hattie," Francie had said wonderingly. "We are as good as married." And she often consoled herself with that thought in the long days and nights when Buck was in Washington—with Maryanne.

He stripped off his clothes and headed into the shower, singing tunelessly at the top of his voice and Francie laughed. "Guess what?" he called.

"What?"

"I've got something for you. It's in my bag."

Her eyes lit up. "A present?"

"It's special, very special." He stepped into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his loins. "I hope you're gonna like it."

She opened his bag, staring at the small gold box and then at him. "Go on, open it," he said gently. His smiling eyes were fixed on her face as she untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. It was a perfect miniature portrait of Ollie. It was exactly the way she remembered him and she burst into tears.

"Oh God, Francie, I'm sorry." He sat beside her on the bed staring anxiously at her. "I had it copied from the photograph you keep in the bedroom. Annie has the same photograph and she lent it to me. I thought the artist had caught his expression so beautifully, I really thought it would please you. Oh God, Francie, I didn't mean to upset you."

She shook her head, her eyes still brimming. "It is Ollie, and that's why I'm crying. It's just the most wonderful, wonderful present."

Somehow the time didn't seem right to speak of the new baby and the next morning she watched sadly as Buck hurried back to San Francisco. She knew he was staying at Aysgarth's as usual and she waved good-bye to him again, envying Annie who was free to speak to him and even dine publicly with him without causing a scandal. The ranch felt lonely and impulsively she decided to return to San Francisco too.

***

Harry Harrison saw her car pull up outside her house later that day. He was just leaving and he stood at the bottom of his steps watching as she strode quickly indoors without glancing his way. She wore a simple jacket and skirt and she drove an unpretentious Ford, but she had the easy confident air of a woman rich in her own right, which, goddamn it, she was.

He fumed silently about her as he walked to the Pacific Union Club, thinking about the Lai Tsin Corporation and how, thanks to the Mandarin's astute business brain, it had only been mildly affected by the stock-market crash while he himself had damn near gone under. He supposed by most standards he was still considered "rich," but not by his own. Thanks to decent management—again not his own—the Harrison Mercantile Bank had survived, but he was no longer chairman of the board and had little say about its day-to-day affairs and he certainly couldn't touch its assets; but his commodities brokerage business had taken an irreversible beating and his investments had disappeared like melting snow.

He had what was left of his trust fund and his remaining blue-chip stocks but his major investment, the phosphate mines in South America, were not coming through as promised. Still, he was certain they would soon, if only he could hang in; one day he would recoup the Harrison fortune and he would be like his grandfather and stash it away in gold bars in the bank vaults where nobody could touch it. Meanwhile, his father must be turning in his grave, seeing Francie flaunting her ill-gotten gains and her illicit relationship with that damned Chinese.

The club was crowded but his restless eyes immediately spotted Buck Wingate in conversation with a couple of prominent San Francisco businessmen and he strolled over and slapped him on the shoulder.

"Afternoon, Buck," he said genially, nodding a greeting to the other men. "I can see you're busy right now but I'd like a word with you later, if I may?"

The last person Buck wanted to see was Harry, but his firm still handled his trust and he had no choice. "I'll be back at Aysgarth's around five," he said coldly. "Why don't you call me then."

Harry nodded. He'd caught the chill in Buck's voice and it angered him. As he turned away and ordered himself a bourbon he asked himself what goddamn right Buck Wingate had to be so goddamn superior when
he
was the client, goddamn it. The Wingates had made a fortune handling the Harrison affairs over the years. Wingate had just better remember that. He sat brooding over his drink thinking that first it was Francie looking so goddamn superior and then Buck, and he asked himself who the hell they thought they were.

***

Buck was in San Francisco alone and Annie was surprised when later that day she saw Maryanne Wingate walk into the lobby and speak to the desk clerk. She knew she wasn't expected because when Mrs. Wingate accompanied her husband they always requested the royal suite. She noted that even after her journey, Maryanne looked uncreased and coolly beautiful in a lipstick-red coat with a wide, silver-fox collar and a matching fur hat.

"Mrs. Wingate, what a pleasant surprise," she said. "We weren't expecting you this time."

Maryanne looked at her coldly. She knew Annie Ays-garth was Francie Harrison's friend and that she probably knew about her and Buck. "I decided to surprise my husband," she said with an innocent smile. "The poor man travels so much, and I know he misses me. A man under constant pressure the way he is needs the support of his wife, don't you think?"

Annie nodded pleasantly, but there was something about Maryanne's smile that sent little warning bells ringing in her head. "I'm sure you're right, Mrs. Wingate," she said, "though I wish I had known because I would have kept your favorite suite. I'm afraid it's already taken. Perhaps the Knaresborough will do instead? It's not quite as big, but it has the same view across the square and the gardens."

"Whatever," Maryanne agreed uncharacteristically quickly. "Just move Mr. Wingate's things in there along with mine."

As she escorted her to the lift Annie had the feeling in her bones that something was up; normally Maryanne would have refused to take anything smaller. She was just too easy, all sweetness and light as she made small talk about the weather.

Maryanne treated her to another of those cold, innocent smiles. "I think I'll take a rest, Miss Aysgarth. Could you see that I'm not disturbed? The maid can unpack for me later. If you could just quickly send up some tea, I'd be so grateful."

As soon as Annie had closed the door behind her Maryanne flung off her bright red coat and fur hat. She took her keys from her alligator purse and unlocked her big leather valise; she took out a simple black coat, shaking it from mounds of tissue paper her maid had packed it in, and took a wide-brimmed black hat from one of the hat boxes.

She hurried into the bathroom and quickly applied face powder and lipstick, she brushed her short blond hair and then tucked it beneath the black hat. There was a knock on the door and she swung guiltily from the mirror, but it was just the maid with the tea and she called out to her to leave it on the table. She waited until she heard the door close again and then she put on the black coat, checked her appearance in the mirror again, picked up her purse and walked to the door.

She looked quickly up and down the empty corridor and then she ran to the emergency exit and pulled open the fire door, hurrying down the drab concrete staircase, counting the floors until she was dizzy. When she reached the bottom she glanced quickly around and then hurried out through the back exit. It was the first time in her life she had ever left by the servants' door and she pulled her black hat low over her brow, praying no one would see her as she turned on Taylor Street toward Nob Hill.

The climb was a steep one and her heart was thudding as she walked along California Street looking for Francie's house. When she saw it she stopped for a moment to collect herself and then she strode firmly up the steps and rang the bell.

Walking back from the club, Harry glanced with surprise at the woman ringing his sister's doorbell. There were not many visitors to the Lai Tsin residence, but there was something eerily familiar about the woman in black. Moving stealthily into the shadows he watched as the door was opened by the Chinese houseboy and the woman spoke to him. The boy held the door wider and she turned and glanced quickly right and left before stepping inside. Harry gave a low, surprised whistle. What the hell was Maryanne Wingate doing visiting his notorious sister? Whatever it was she was up to no good. It wasn't like Maryanne to lurk on anybody's doorstep
and
she had been dressed in what amounted to a disguise, with her coat collar turned up and that hat pulled down over her eyes.