Fortune is a Woman (51 page)

Intrigued, he hurried back to his own house. He stood at the first-floor window, watching, telling himself he must be mistaken, it couldn't be Maryanne. But he waited until she came out again to make sure.

***

Francie was in her room when the houseboy told her Mrs. Wingate was waiting downstairs to see her. She stared speechlessly at him; her stomach leapt with shock and then tightened sickeningly. "Mrs. Wingate?" she repeated, hoping he had made a mistake.

He nodded solemnly. "Mrs. Wingate, Miss Francie. She's waiting in the hall."

Francie got slowly to her feet; she knew there could only be one reason Maryanne Wingate was in her hall. She looked down at her short pleated blue wool skirt and her simple white blouse, wondering wildly whether she should change into something grander to meet her rival. Then with a quick shrug she said, "Show Mrs. Wingate into the drawing room, take her coat, and tell her I shall be with her in just a minute."

She sat trembling at her dresser, staring at her own frightened face. Then she brushed her long, smooth hair and tied it back with a velvet ribbon. She added a touch of jasmine scent, took a deep breath, and walked to the door. She hesitated, her hands pressed against her belly and the still-invisible roundness that was Buck's child, and then she opened the door and walked slowly down the beautiful curving staircase.

Ah Fong, the houseboy, opened the drawing room door for her. Maryanne was standing by the window looking out across California Street. She glanced up and the two women stared at each other, sizing each other up.

"Mrs. Wingate?" Francie said politely, but she did not offer her hand and neither did Maryanne.

"I'll come straight to the point, Miss Harrison," she said. "Of course you know why I am here." Francie said nothing and Maryanne paced from the window to the marble fireplace; her glance traveled slowly over the luxurious room with its Oriental carpets and works of art. "You have a beautiful home, Miss Harrison," she observed coldly, "and as you are a very rich woman I shall not insult you by asking if it was my husband's money that paid for all this luxury."

Francie's chin tilted warningly but she said nothing and Maryanne continued.

"It is well known," she said in her calm cool voice, "that men of my husband's age often succumb to"—she hesitated, searching for exactly the right words—"a
'crise de
coeur.'
Their lives are so full of work and pressures and family and they suddenly need a change. A sexual affair is very soothing to a man's ego, Miss Harrison. Sometimes I think they are even vainer than women." Her smile was almost conspiratorial as she looked at Francie. "But then, I'm sure you know how they are just like naughty children really."

Her gaze hardened as she looked at Francie in her simple skirt and blouse, unmadeup and with a ribbon holding back her blond hair. "I must admit you are not what I expected," she added. "I had thought someone more flamboyant, a notorious woman who enjoyed the intrigue and suspense of an illicit romance." She looked away and paced back to the window.

Francie stared at Buck's wife: she was beautiful, there was no denying that; and cold, there was also no denying that; and in her impeccable gray wool day dress she looked every inch the lady.

"What is it you want to say, Mrs. Wingate?" she asked, surprised at how calm her own voice was when she was churning inside with fear.

Maryanne swung around from the window. "I am here to appeal to your intelligence, Miss Harrison. I do not want to know the sordid details of your relationship with my husband, but there are things about him that you ought to know.
That you must know.
For
his
sake. Tell me, have you ever considered his children?"

Francie's heart jumped, there was no way Maryanne could know that she was pregnant, even Buck didn't know yet....

"They are still young, Miss Harrison, and they have a right to expect their father's presence as they grow up. They need his help and guidance"—her eyes pierced Francie—"to say nothing of his support. How do you think this scandalous affair would affect them?" She paused for a moment, letting her point sink in and then she said, "Of course, I shall not speak of the hurt this has inflicted on me, but I will mention something more important—not only to me, but to Buck. And to our country." She sat down on the edge of the chair opposite Francie, her hands clasped around her shapely knees, her eyebrows raised in interrogation. "Does he speak to you of his work?" She didn't wait for an answer, just shrugged and carried on. "No, no of course he wouldn't, I'm sure you had other things to talk about. Then I must tell you that his work means everything to Buck. He is a
dedicated
man, a political animal through and through. He
lives
for politics. You have known him such a short while, how could you possibly be expected to understand these things? But, you see, I have known him all my life, his father used to bring him to my home when he was just a boy. We were a family of politicians and Buck rarely bothered to play with us children. Oh no, he was always hanging around the library, listening to them talk. I guess he absorbed politics by osmosis—through his skin, and I must say my family encouraged him. And as he grew up they saw he had a big future ahead of him.
Take politics away from Buck, Miss Harrison, and you might as well stick a knife into his back."
She paused again to let her words sink in Francie stared at her, mesmerized. "A scandal like this"—she shrugged, lifting her arms expressively outward and up—"a scandal like this affair would finish him in politics."

Francie looked away from her, down at the pattern on the carpet. "I understand," she said quietly.

Maryanne sighed. "I hope so, Miss Harrison. I do hope so. For Buck's sake, not my own." She paused, a gleam of triumph in her eyes. "Buck has a brilliant political future in front of him. The political world is Buck's oyster. It just wouldn't be right—for any of us—to jeopardize that."

Francie's heart sank, she thought of the child she was carrying and realized how wide the gap was between Buck's life and her own. Their time together at the ranch, which she had thought so real, was just play-acting, and reality was the man with the brilliant political future ahead of him, married to the perfect woman who gave him children who had the right to bear his name. She looked at Maryanne Brattle Wingate, so confident of her "rightness," confident of her life, of her claims on her husband, and she knew she could never ask Buck to give it all up. She would never be the one to put the knife in his back and take away all the things he had worked so hard to achieve.

There was sadness in her eyes, but her voice was calm and quiet as she said, "Thank you for coming to see me, Mrs. Wingate. I realize how hard it must have been for you. Of course I shall tell Buck that I do not wish to see him again."

Maryanne couldn't hide the triumph in her voice as she got to her feet and said, "And, of course, I'm sure I can rely on your discretion. You know how important it is for him."

"Naturally." Francie walked with her to the hall. She watched as Maryanne put on her coat and hat and then she said quietly, "Ah Fong will show you out." She left Maryanne and walked up the beautiful flying staircase to her room and lay tearless on the bed.

She heard the door close downstairs and she stared at the ceiling, imagining Mrs. Wingate hurrying down the front steps and back down Nob Hill, back to her husband and their wonderful future. And as the bitter tears flowed she asked herself why fortune treated her so harshly. And she felt again the way she had when she was a child, when her terrifying father towered over her, the strap in his hand. It was then that she had first realized that it was a man's world and she was merely a woman.

CHAPTER 38

Annie watched with astonishment as Maryanne Wingate hurried across the lobby to the elevator, tapping her foot impatiently as she waited for it to appear. She watched her step inside, glancing nervously around until the doors closed and she was swept upward out of sight. Maryanne had often stayed at Aysgarth's over the years and in all that time she had never seen her look the way she did now, in that anonymous black coat and hat, scuttling through the lobby of her elegant hotel like a guilty wife.

Annie shook her head. Something was wrong and she wished she knew what, because that feeling in her bones was growing stronger.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry Harrison entered the hotel. He walked up to the desk, told the clerk Mr. Wingate was expecting him, and asked the name of his suite. Annie stared suspiciously after him as he took the elevator. She asked the desk clerk where he was heading and was stunned when she heard it was the Wingates' suite. She went into the elegant drawing room and took a seat near the entrance, where she could monitor everyone who came or went, and then she ordered tea and settled back to wait.

Maryanne was just stepping from the shower when the doorbell rang. She knew it must be room service with the coffee she had ordered and she called "Come in." Coffee was her only vice, and she really needed a cup now. This afternoon had been quite a strain, though she knew she had handled it supremely well. "Leave the tray on the table," she called out, patting herself dry with a soft peach-colored towel with an inch-thick pile. She had to give Annie Aysgarth credit, whatever her background was she knew "the best" and she provided only "the best"; even in towels. She hummed a little tune as she slipped on her blue velvet robe and pushed her narrow aristocratic feet into matching velvet slippers embroidered with a family crest that she had specially made at an exclusive men's shop on Jermyn Street in London. She was still humming happily to herself when she emerged from the bathroom and came face to face with Harry Harrison.

"My God," she said, startled, "how did you get in?"

"I rang the bell, you called 'come in,' so I did. Sorry I startled you, Maryanne, but Buck said to meet him here about five-ish. I guess maybe I'm a little early."

Maryanne sighed. She didn't bother to pretend she was pleased to see him; Harry was not one of her favorite people. In fact, Harry was nothing but trouble and why Buck even bothered with him was beyond her comprehension. The doorbell rang again and this time it was the waiter with the coffee; he placed it on the table and left.

Maryanne glanced at Harry with annoyance. She had wanted to be alone when Buck came in, she wanted to surprise him with the new, sexier woman she was about to become—for his sake, not hers. As she poured coffee, she thought with a little smile how good it was for one's ego to vanquish a mistress and reclaim one's husband, it was al- most worth going through it, it made her feel so good. "Coffee?" she asked, holding out the cup to Harry.

"Thanks, Maryanne." He sat opposite her on the sofa, admiring her with his eyes and she stared haughtily back at him.

"Why do you want to see Buck?" she asked.

He sipped the hot coffee, regarding her more thoughtfully, and then he said, "I'll tell you why, if you'll tell me exactly what you were doing at my sister's this afternoon."

She felt the color drain from her face; he had caught her completely off guard and she set down her cup with a trembling hand. "You must be mistaken," she said, frantically gathering her scattered wits back together. "I don't know your sister. Ah, one moment, I tell a lie." She held up her hand and tilted her head back, thinking. "Yes, I did meet her once, at a party Annie Aysgarth gave. We were introduced, I believe." She shrugged delicately as if it were too unimportant to recall.

Harry was enjoying himself and he smiled. "My butler saw you, too, and my houseman," he lied. "And even under that hat"—he waved at the black coat and hat lying with her purse on the chair where she had thrown them— "even under that hat, there was no denying it was you. I wonder," he said, putting things as delicately to her as she had to Francie earlier, "I wonder if dear, devoted, upright Buck has developed an intimate acquaintance with my notorious sister."

He laughed at her shocked face. "Right in on one, I'd say," he chortled, setting down his cup.

"You're talking nonsense, Harry, just as you always do," she said icily, but her voice shook just a little, and he was the sort of man who noticed those details.

"Oh I think not," he said, still smiling. "Not after what the detective report said."

She stared at him aghast, her face the color of chalk. "The detective report?"

He patted his pocket, smiling gently. "You must remember to keep your door locked, Maryanne, and not to invite just anybody in without first seeing who they are. You never know, it might be a thief. And your purse was just lying there, so temptingly open...."

Maryanne glanced at her purse and then at him; she closed her eyes, feeling sick. "You bastard," she said quietly.

"Oh, I don't know," he said easily. "I don't mean any harm. All I want is a little help—from you and Buck. Just a word or two in the right place, that's all, maybe to your father and the right banker—you know the scene. I have these phosphate mines, you see, down in South America, and I need a little financial backing. Look upon it as an investment, Maryanne. That's all it is—an investment. Because one day soon this mine will supply the world with phosphates and it'll earn you a fortune."

"I already have a fortune," she told him coldly.

He shrugged as he stood up to leave. "Tell you what, I'll let you talk to Buck for me," he said, strolling toward the door. "I'm sure you know what to say to him better than I do. I'll just leave it in your capable hands, Maryanne."

She looked murderously at him smiling at her from the door, and he patted his pocket holding the detective's report meaningfully. She could hear him laughing as he walked down the hallway, as though life were just one big joke. And she knew this time the joke was on her.

Buck was in the lobby waiting for the elevator as Harry stepped out. "Harry," he said with surprise.

"Sorry I missed you, Buck," Harry called as he stepped around him on his way to the exit. "I'm in a bit of a rush. But I spoke with Maryanne, she'll tell you all about it."