by McKenna Dean
“I don’t know why you think it would after all this time.”
Delighted laughter erupted out of her. “You see? Such an elegant, effortless put-down. You probably didn’t even mean it. And in your usual lovely, dry manner. I’ll never master that, not in a million years.”
Heat rushed into my cheeks. “You don’t want to sound like my mother. Just be yourself and everyone will fall at your feet, the way they always do.”
She preened a little before her frown showed she registered that the compliment was also a distraction. “You’re changing the subject. You’re already one of Eddie’s set. Just pick someone and marry him. All your troubles will be over.”
Not exactly. She was correct in one respect. Everyone in the upper social register knew Harry Bishop, of the Leesburg Bishops, who’d married the somewhat frail, but quite wealthy, Helen Cartwright. Harry Bishop, loquacious and charming, who’d had a coffee plantation in Africa and a stable of racing thoroughbreds in Maryland. Harry Bishop, who’d taught me, his only child, Henrietta, to ride anything with four legs and shoot like Annie Oakley. Harry Bishop, who’d gambled away everything he loved, and taken the easy way out with a bullet to the brain just a few weeks after my graduation. That Harry Bishop.
My mother had gone back to her cattle baron family out West. To my utter shock, less than three months after my father’s death, my elegant mother had married a former beau from her debutante days. I refused to hide my sense of betrayal, nor, if I’m being entirely honest, my disgust. She had extended an invitation to join her in Wyoming, but I declined with some heat, and we were not on speaking terms these days. Sometimes I felt as though I never knew my parents at all.
“I tell you what, Em. If this job doesn’t work out, what I really need is an introduction to one of your father’s foremen. My deadly efficiency, as you so kindly call it, might be appreciated as an office or factory manager.”
Though at first I’d rebelled at being pulled away from my beloved life of traveling with my father, I’d taken to university study like an orphaned duck introduced to water. I immersed myself in English Lit, finding kinship in women across the ages. I’d also taken advantage of the courses offered in political economy and women’s industries. And thanks to my father, I knew what a well-managed business looked like, as well as one that was being used to launder money.
Pity I hadn’t learned about these things before his death.
Em’s lips pursed as though she’d bitten into a lemon tart when she was expecting chocolate instead. “Rhett, darling. If it were in my power, you know I would. But dearest, those jobs don’t go to women.”
“It’s 1955. Women did those jobs and more during the war. There’s no reason we can’t do them now.” I knew I could run a large factory better than I could alphabetize file folders. The problem was that filing was all I was being offered. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. All too often, I received offers that had little to do with my skill at the typewriter and more with a presumptive knowledge of skills in the bedroom. Hence, my frequent need for a new job.
“Women only worked in factories until the men came home.” Em looked as if she’d like add “idiot” to the end of her sentence.
“What about Tommy Stanford’s father?”
“My dear.” Em’s eyebrows made a brief flight toward her hairline before she narrowed her eyes in speculation. “Don’t you think he’s a bit old for you? Tommy adores you and would make a far better match.”
“Not as a husband.” I glanced around before leaning across the table to hiss at Em. “What do you take me for?” With a sigh, I sat back in my chair. “I could run his stables and school his racehorses.”
“Ah.” Em’s face relaxed as once more, as everything in her universe sank back in its proper orbit. “I’m certain you could, but you have even less chance of landing such a position than you do of managing a factory. But back to Tommy....”
“I’m not marrying Tommy.”
This time, a single eyebrow arched upward. “Has he asked?”
“He wasn’t serious. He was drunk at the time.”
“My dear, that’s the only time Tommy is serious. You should have accepted him.”
“As amusing as Tommy is, I’m rather off drunkards at the moment. Besides, I can’t marry someone for the sake of financial security.”
“I don’t see why not.”
Like most people who didn’t need money, Em had no real concept what it was like to live without it. I hadn’t either, before I discovered I was dead broke. I could have taken the sanctuary my mother offered, but I didn’t care for the price tag. I had a hard time believing her love of status and wealth hadn’t been a huge factor in the decisions my father had made, even as he’d kept up the pretense that everything was all right. Aloud, I said I didn’t blame her for my father’s death, but in my heart of hearts, I did.
Em continued unconscious of her ignorance. “Women have been doing it for centuries. Not just for the money, but for power, too. Look at Cleopatra.”
“You realize that didn’t end well for her.”
“Didn’t it?” Em opened her eyes wide and then shrugged. “The point is, you shouldn’t turn your nose up at the idea. Don’t you ever want to get married?”
“Not to someone I don’t love.” I spoke with complete, uncomplicated sincerity.
“Oh, Rhett.” Em gave me her genuine smile, not the sexy little moue she usually made. “I never would have pegged you for a romantic. Love is so over rated.”
“So you don’t love Eddie, then?”
She flicked her fingers in a dismissive little gesture. “Of course I do. We’ll rub along together quite well. He’ll worship me and I’ll make him happy. But we’re talking about you, not me. It takes no more effort to fall for a rich man than a poor one.”
I laughed at this. I’m certain she quoted some celebrity, no doubt Marilyn Monroe. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Marriage is a contract one enters with good intentions. It helps if you like the other person involved, though.” Em took a delicate sip of coffee. “Take Eddie and me, for example. I get the benefit of his family’s place in society and everything that goes with it. And Eddie gets me.” Wickedness curved her smile, a smile I envied, even if I had no desire to be Mrs. Hardcastle.
“I can see where liking the other person helps,” I murmured against the rim of my cup.
Her next question came out of the blue. “Are you all right?”
I blinked. “Of course I am.” Much better, in fact, than before the meal. I could almost feel the fog of hunger leaving from my brain.
She fidgeted with a fork before lifting her gaze to meet mine. “It’s just that you’ve changed, whether or not you realize it.”
“Having your father kill himself has a way of doing that to you.” Let Em appreciate my lovely, dry comeback now.
I felt guilty for putting that rare frown on her face.
“I know it’s a terrible thing to have happened, and I would be devastated if Daddy died all of a sudden—” she looked as though she might burst into tears for a moment, “—but it’s not like you could have prevented it, you know.”
“If I hadn’t been so wrapped up in school....” The school I hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place.
She waved me off with a flick of her napkin, which she then used to dab with care at her lips before speaking again. “Nonsense. It wouldn’t have mattered if you’d been at your family’s brownstone instead of in Pennsylvania. It’s not like you were in Timbuktu, now was it?” She checked her lipstick in the deftly concealed mirror tucked in her palm, replaced the compact in her purse and then snapped the clasp shut in a moment of decision. “We’re spending most of our time in the Hamptons right now. The apartment is empty, except on the rare occasions I come back to town for fittings and the like. Why don’t you move in? Just until you get back on your feet. Martha would love having someone to take care of again.”
Her generous offer made my eyes water for
an instant, but hardened businesswomen don’t cry, so I blinked back any signs of weakness. I could only imagine how their housekeeper would feel about my presence in the family’s absence. And what if the entire family returned? It was one thing to room with Em in college, but I wasn’t sure I could bear to bunk with her parents. Even if it saved on rent. “That’s kind of you, but I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t? You know what they say about pride and falls, don’t you?”
“No. What?”
A peal of laughter rang out. “I hoped you could tell me.” Em patted my hand. “Promise me one thing, at least. If this new job doesn’t pan out, and you’re not marrying Tommy, please consider moving in before you’re out on the street?”
“I promise. Anyway, impending marriage suits you better than it would me.” If I sounded brisk, it was to dispel any sentimentality. “You look divine, as always, and I’ll keep in mind your offer of the apartment and your advice on rich men. If this job doesn’t work out, that is. Speaking of which, I should be going. It was lovely to see you, Em. We should try to get together again before the wedding.”
“Of course we will. At the very least, there’s the bridal shower, the bridesmaid’s luncheon, and the rehearsal dinner....”
I nodded. I needed to get moving, or I’d be late for my job interview. As it was, I’d stayed too long, and walking to save the bus fare was no longer an option. I prayed they were running on time. I checked the position of my hat and put on my gloves.
Em signaled the waitress to bring the check and then fixed me with that imperious stare of hers. “What about Tommy?”
“What about him?” I stood, taking care to fold my coat over one arm so the bread wouldn’t fall out of the sleeves. It took skill to tuck the sleeves in so that the rolls remained hidden, but then I’d had a lot of practice lately.
“Well, you’ll need a date for the wedding. Tommy’s part of the wedding party, and I know he’s dying to find out where you’re living these days. Shall I give him your number?”
I pictured trying to have a conversation with Tommy on the community phone in my building, wedged into the little booth at the bottom of the stairs while my landlady Mrs. King pounded on the door with her cane and yelled at me to hurry up. I repressed a shudder at the memory of being trapped in Tommy’s convertible, holding him at bay while he declared his drunken, undying love. “No, thanks. I have a date for the wedding.”
“You do? Darling, spill the details.” She reached toward me and her engagement ring caught the light again, sending little rainbows dancing across the white tablecloth.
“I’d love to, but I really must run. More later. Kiss, kiss.” I blew a token of affection at her and dashed out the door before she could question me further about my fictional date. Darn it, I’d have to come up with a man or an excuse by the wedding. Good thing I had several months to solve that problem.
As I hurried out of the restaurant, a few flakes of snow tumbled in the surrounding air. A June wedding seemed an eternity away. A glance back at Em showed her accepting another cup of coffee instead of leaving as planned. She sat with such a feline look of appreciation, I couldn’t help but feel a spurt of envy. The pane of glass separating us might have been as thick as steel, she in her world, and me in mine.
A world of my own choosing, I reminded myself. Since I’d rather have my fingernails pulled off with a pair of pliers than marry someone for the sake of getting married, it was off to the job interview for me. I’m sure Em felt the same about earning a living as a typist as I did about accepting Tommy’s offer of marriage.
I hunched into the wind and turned away. Much as I loathed to spend the money, if I hurried, I could catch the next bus. With my head tucked against the cold, I strode to the corner. Ahead of me, a man stood waiting for the light, the collar of his coat turned up against the bitter weather. The light changed just as I reached him, and he stepped off the curb into the slushy street.
“Look out!” I grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled hard, causing him to stumble backward as a taxi rounding the corner almost clipped us both. The edge of his heel caught the curb, and he fell against me, knocking my coat to the sidewalk. He flailed his arms, turning in my direction, and I caught him mid-stumble before he took us both down. As it was, I ended up nose to chest with him. He smelled of pipe tobacco and damp wool.
I’ve always been a little partial to the scent of tobacco.
“Steady now.” I held onto him to make sure he regained his footing on the slick pavement. With his fedora pulled down low, I couldn’t see the color of his hair, but the day-old stubble on his chin suggested it was dark. He had the face of a beautiful, tortured angel, all planes and angles, with a thin, elegant nose. He could have been a priest or an artist, someone acquainted with suffering, but it was his eyes that struck me the most. A vivid, startling blue, they were almost electric in the gray light of the afternoon, but so sad it was as if they held the weight of the universe in them.
“Well, that would be utterly ironic, being run over by a taxi.” He didn’t explain his comment, speaking almost to himself. His clipped, yet polite accent marked him as British, not American. “I suppose I should thank you.” This time, he met my eye. “Though I can’t say you did me any favors.”
Heaven knows what he thought of me standing there in the falling snow, studying his face like a lost Rembrandt. He glanced down where I still gripped his arms and then met my gaze with the lift of a decidedly opinionated eyebrow. Heat burned my wind-whipped cheeks as I flushed and let him go.
We both stared down at my coat lying on the damp sidewalk. When it became obvious he had no intention of picking it up, I stooped to collect it, just when he seemed to realize courtesy demanded he do the same. We bumped heads hard enough to make him mutter a curse, and he straightened, allowing me to scoop up my coat in a manner that kept the bread from falling out.
Those blue eyes glared at me from under the brim of his hat, but then faded into bleak indifference. I can’t say that I liked the implication I should have let the taxi hit him. Stepping back, I took in his painful slenderness. I wasn’t the only one missing meals these days. But starving or not, his attitude annoyed me. As long as you were alive, you could still put things right. I pulled a yeast roll out of one coat sleeve and slapped it up against his chest. “Cheer up, pal. I just stole bread from that restaurant back there for my breakfast tomorrow. You don’t see me crying about it.”
On reflex, he closed his hand over mine to take hold of the bread. When I was sure he had a sufficient grip on the roll, I pulled away and gave him a cheeky grin. Satisfied I’d done my part as a Good Samaritan, I checked the traffic and crossed the street through the swirling snow. After I reached the bus stop, I risked a glance back.
He stood where I’d left him, looking down at the bread roll in his gloved hand as the bus pulled up to take me away.
Chapter Two
With a belch of noxious exhaust, the bus trundled away from the parts of the city I knew well, far from the 5th Avenue stores and Broadway’s marquees. A poster for East of Eden slipped by on a billboard, and I hoped it would still be in the theaters when I had the money to see it. I’d read the book by Steinbeck and wondered how they could distill the sweeping saga down to a single film.
With misgivings, I got off the bus at the stop closest to the address the Dragon Lady had given me. Sandwiched in between a shoe repair business and a pawnshop, the location in one of the rougher parts of town and the dinginess of the building itself were discouraging. Nothing on the door indicated I had the right place. Perhaps I’d made a mistake. I checked my directions again.
To my dismay, contact with the greasy napkin wrapping the ham sandwiches in my purse had caused the ink to blur the address, but I thought I could still make it out. I held the slip of paper by the corners to avoid ruining my gloves with oil. The note contained a street address with no company name, but since most of the surrounding businesses were shops, I had to be at the right
place.
A spit of sleety wind rattled in behind me as I entered the building, chasing around my skirt to billow into the corridor. I closed the door in haste, shutting out most of the natural light. The hallway was narrow and dark, bordered on one side by a set of stairs—the treads worn smooth in the middle—leading to the second floor. The hallway wasn’t much warmer than outside, but at least there wasn’t any wind. The wall facing the door bore a small directory. Down the corridor, I could make out a door not listed on the panel. The washroom, no doubt.
According to the directory, the second floor housed offices for a lawyer and an insurance agent. The stillness in the building suggested business wasn’t brisk. My directions said the organization I wanted was on the first floor. Only one firm was listed at ground level.
Redclaw Security.
Odd name. A brokerage firm, perhaps? Or maybe a different kind of security. It seemed unlikely anyone in this neighborhood would hire private protection, or that someone from my old way of life would hire guards from this part of town. Though if I were perfectly frank, I wouldn’t care to do business with a broker in this seedy location, either.
I hesitated in front of the office. Should I knock? Or just walk in? Nothing on the outer door confirmed I had the right agency, and yet, Redclaw was the sole firm on this floor. Had Dragon Lady sent me on a wild goose chase? The idea my personal nemesis might crack an evil smile over my presumed despair stiffened my spine. That and the fact it was so bloody cold. Even if I’d been wearing my coat instead of carrying it, I wouldn’t have been warm enough. I dearly regretted hocking the mink coat Father had given me for my last birthday. However I’d felt about wearing the pelts of dead animals, fur would have been welcome just then. At the very least, I could go inside the office and warm up a bit, even if the trip proved fruitless.
Pressing my ear to the door’s paneling, I heard the indistinct murmur of voices. Chiding myself for my unusual indecision, I took hold of the handle with determination and opened the door.
