When the Walls Fell (8 page)

Elizabeth smiled as demurely as twenty years of independence would allow. “This is very kind of you, Mr. Harrington.”

He grasped her hand and helped her stand. If they’d had them in 1906, his smile would have flipped the circuit breakers. “Call me Max.”

Chapter Eight

“S
imon. Simon Cross.”

The man behind the desk gave the pages of his book a circumspect study. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t see you on the list.”

The concierge at the Palace had recommended the Haven as the most prestigious private club for a man of means. Judging from the haughty indifference of the man behind the desk and the expensive smelling cigar smoke wafting under the large oak double doors, it was the perfect place to find the people he needed to meet. “I’m not surprised. I’ve just arrived in town.”

“I see. And your references? Do you have a letter from a member?”

Simon had expected that and pulled an envelope from the inner breast pocket of his overcoat. He handed it to the clerk.

Inside was a tidy bribe and formal paper. The man smiled as he pocketed the money and handed the paper back to Simon.

“I’m sorry for the misunderstanding, Sir Simon.”

Simon handed him a few more bills. “I’m sure you’ll find that adequate for my initial dues.”

“Forgive me, Sir Simon. I’m sure I’ve misplaced your letter of introduction.”

He opened a small drawer in the desk and pulled out a piece of paper. “Here it is,” he said as he wrote Simon’s name onto an empty space on what was obviously a well-prepared letter for just such an occasion. “Ah yes. I see you’re an acquaintance of Major Tuttle. The Major is rather forgetful. Hasn’t been the same since that business with Spain, I’m afraid. Doesn’t get out much anymore.”

For once, Simon was pleased his low opinion of human nature had been proven correct. “Of course.”

“Welcome to Haven, Sir Simon.”

***

“Your chariot awaits,” Max said as he opened the gate to the street with a flourish. “You aren’t afraid of automobiles, are you? Don’t believe anything my aunt says. I assure you it’s an entirely safe form of transportation. The horseless carriage is the wave of the future.”

Elizabeth swallowed her smile. “I’m sure.”

She didn’t know what she’d been expecting, but it definitely wasn’t something so beautiful. His car, although still nestled in Mrs. Eldridge’s flowerbed, was exquisite. And huge. It had to be nearly twenty feet long.

Catching her smile, Max quickly moved to rub dirt off one of the brass, gas lamp headlights. “She’s something, isn’t she? Had her sent over from England a few weeks ago.”

“She’s amazing.” She’d never been one to pay much attention to cars, just enough to keep her Bug running, but this was a work of art. Everything about it was elegant and powerful. It was a sleek convertible with an aquiline hood and broad sloping fenders. The cream colored paint, she realized, matched his suit.

“The English don’t do much well,” Max said. “But Rolls knows what they’re doing when it comes it automobiles.”

“Rolls Royce?”

Max seemed inordinately pleased. “You’ve heard of them? The 40/50. Finest automobile I’ve seen. I’m a bit of an aficionado. Planning on making the Peking to Paris rally next year. That’s off the cuff, mind you, nothing official yet.”

Dear God, it was the Great Race. He really was the Great Leslie. “Sounds very exciting.”

Max dug under one of the seats and produced another pair of goggles and a topcoat. “Driving with me is always exciting.”

He gestured for her to come around to the left side, as the steering wheel was on the right, and helped her into what was obviously a coat meant for a woman. Max was nothing if not prepared for the ladies.

“Perfect fit.”

He took her hand, helped her up onto the running board and into the seat which was more like a large leather reading chair for two than any car seat she’d ever known. After tucking in her voluminous skirts, she took the offered goggles. There was a windshield, but it was far too small to offer much protection. Great. It took her five minutes to get the dang hat on straight in the first place. The feathered plume tickled her nose as she took out the pins.

Max moved around to the driver’s side and flipped a switch. Gently, he eased a few levers on the steering wheel into position then jumped out again.

“Have it going in a tick,” he said as he moved to the front and inserted the crank. He fiddled with the choke for a moment and then gave the crank two robust turns. The engine roared to life and Elizabeth gripped her seat. The sound was nearly deafening and the entire car shimmied in place. Securing the crank, he jogged back to the car and moved a few more levers.

“Off we go,” he said as he released the parking brake on the right-side running board and simultaneously manipulated two of the three pedals on the floor.

They lurched forward as the wheels finally got a grip in the beleaguered flowerbed and bumped off the curb. Without a seatbelt to be found, Elizabeth nearly bounced out of her seat. Where was Ralph Nader when you really needed him?

Across the street a horse pranced nervously in place in front of its carriage. The driver pulled the reins in with one hand and made a very unpleasant gesture with the other. Max waved back as they trundled down the street.

Even though they were only going about twenty miles an hour the world passed by in a blur. Between the bumpy ride and the deep scratch on her goggles, which no matter how you sliced it, did not bode well, she could barely see anything. Apparently, Max couldn’t see much either as he narrowly swerved around another carriage. He squeezed the rubber bulb of the car’s horn and a loud squawking honk came out. That and the sound of another angry carriage driver were left behind them as they sped away.

They were seriously picking up speed as he rolled down one of San Francisco’s ubiquitous hills. Elizabeth glanced down to see if Max was riding the brake. That is if they had brakes. Just in case, she tightened her death grip on the seat’s edge.

The street was crowded, but Max didn’t seem to mind as he careened in and out among the slower moving carriages. The intersection ahead was congested with cross-traffic, but Max didn’t seem to notice. Just as they were about to broadside a cable car, he gripped a lever on the running board and a high-pitched screech joined the roar of the engine. Dampening their speed barely enough, Max made the hard left turn.

The force of the turn caused her to slide across the small loveseat, flush against Max. “Handles like a gem, doesn’t she?” he yelled in her ear over the engine noise.

It was reckless and totally out of control. And Elizabeth loved it. The anxiety that had balled up in her stomach started to loosen up. She gripped the seat and yelled over the din. “This as fast as she goes?”

Max grinned and pulled down his cap. Elizabeth held on for the ride of her life.

***

Oliver Wentforth droned on interminably. Normally, listening to a Civil War veteran would have fascinated Simon, but the man made even the Battle of Antietam boring.

Simon had been in the Haven for barely an hour and already he was reassessing his strategy, but he knew he was in the right place. As much as men denied it, they gossiped like old women in clubs like this. The main topic of conversation was, not surprisingly, women. If a beautiful woman had just arrived in town, he’d be sure to hear about it in a place like this. God help him.

Long ago he’d forsaken this very sort of life for the very sort of reasons he wanted to stuff Wentforth’s Meerschaum pipe down his throat. Pompous and wildly embellished, his retellings of the historic battle made Simon want to cringe, but he dutifully played his part and nodded, adding the occasional requisite grunt of agreement.

Several puffs on Wentforth’s pipe gave Simon the opening he was looking for. “Fascinating,” he said as he shifted his seat and hopefully the conversation. “Tell me, Gardiner. Did you serve in the army too?”

Reginald Gardiner sniggered and Simon took that as a no. He’d doubted Gardiner was the military sort, but any change in conversation would be a welcome one. And Gardiner seemed much more the sort of man Simon wanted to be acquainted with. From his fastidiously trimmed mustache and the overwhelming smell of brilliantine, he was obviously someone who thought himself a ladies’ man. Wedding ring, not withstanding. Foppish and lascivious was usually a combination Simon wouldn’t tolerate, but in this case, it was exactly what he needed.

Gardiner played with the ends of his mustache as his laughter died down. “Good gracious, no. I’ll leave that sort of thing to men like Wentforth. I prefer a more personal battle, if you get my meaning.”

Wentforth scowled and puffed out his pipe smoke with distaste. “Reg, really.”

Gardiner shrugged and gave Simon a surreptitious wink. “All men have vices. For some it’s drink. Others laudanum,” he added, causing Wentforth to puff erratically. “Man is a flawed creature. Woe to woman for she is stuck with the likes of us.”

If this was the sort of man Elizabeth was forced to consort with, he couldn’t find her soon enough. “Ah, but what a wonderful thing to be stuck to, no?”

“Oh, or stuck in,” Gardiner said with a wink.

It was all Simon could do not to throttle the man. Somehow, he managed a weak smile.

“A kindred spirit. I think that calls for a drink,” Gardiner said with a haphazard wave to a waiter. “Cross?”

“A bit early for me, but—”

“Oh, come now. It’s never too early. I’ll order you some eggs to go with it if it pleases you.”

Simon forced out a short laugh. “No, thank you. But I might take you up on that drink later tonight.”

Gardiner pouted like a small boy. “Oh, if only I could. Caroline is having another of her famous dinner parties. God help me. And you think he’s boring,” he added with a nod toward Wentforth.

Simon sensed his opening, but months of playing cards with Elizabeth had taught him never to play his hand too early. “Surely it isn’t that bad?”

“You have no idea,” Gardiner said, rolling his eyes to the ceiling and slouching in his chair. “Although at least the entertainment tonight isn’t that awful quartet. She’s found some psychic. Madame Palianko or Petroika or something equally Russian. You see my wife’s foibles aren’t just limited to her taste in music but they’ve somehow managed to venture into the Other World.”

“Twaddle,” Wentforth said between puffs.

“Caroline will be seeing spirits for weeks,” Gardiner said, rolling his eyes. “Last time we had a medium over she was convinced the ghost of her Uncle Merryweather was trapped in the credenza.”

“We don’t love them for their minds, now do we?” Simon said.

Gardiner barked out a loud laugh. “No, indeed.”

“They are pleasant company though,” Simon said. “I’ll admit my trip from New York has me rather lonely.”

Gardiner’s eyes lit up. “I’m sure. Perhaps I could make some introductions?”

“Do you know any young ladies who perhaps have just arrived in town?”

“That’s an odd stipulation.”

Simon swallowed the bile that crept up in the back of his throat. “I find young women new to a city are more…pliant.”

“Very good,” Gardiner growled appreciatively. “Hmm… I think I might just have the very girl for you.”

“Really? And her name?” He didn’t dare get his hopes up, but he could feel his heart begin to race at even the possibility.

Gardiner waved the question away. “What does it matter? Someone Caroline met. You’ll come to the party and see for yourself. If she isn’t to your taste I’m sure there are others that will suffice. I doubt you have trouble on that score. Being a baron and all!”

“Baronet,” Simon corrected.

“Tonight then?” Gardiner asked.

Simon had little choice. He was in a city of nearly half a million people. Finding Elizabeth by wandering the streets was madness. He had to hope that San Francisco society was incestuous as every other he’d known and that eventually, he’d find her. “That’s very generous of you.”

Gardiner laughed, a high-pitched unpleasant sound. “We’ll see if you still think so after the party.”