French Silk(57)

"Get inside!" Cassidy tried to take her arm, but she resisted.

"Claire Laurent is a whore!"

"French Silk is filth!"

"Down with porn!"

Cassidy had to lean down in order to hear what Claire was saying to him. "All I want from them is an opportunity to be heard."

"Dammit, now's not the time for a speech."

The crowd was pressing against the human barricade of policemen who had rushed into action. Voices were raised in anger and hatred. Faces were contorted with malice. Pickets were being brandished like weapons. One spark was all that was needed to make the whole ugly scene explode.

It was instantly and effectively defused by the unexpected appearance of Mary Catherine Laurent.

Beautifully dressed and coiffed, looking as though she were about to enter a courtyard for a garden party, she stepped through the door of French Silk pushing a tea cart. On it were rows of Dixie cups filled with what appeared to be red KoolAid. A tall, spare woman wearing a white uniform followed her, carrying a tray of cookies.

Claire followed Cassidy's startled gape. "Oh, Mama, no!" Claire tried to waylay her, but she determinedly wheeled the dainty tea cart toward the surging, hostile crowd.

"I'm sorry, Claire," Harriett York said as she passed with the tray of cookies. "She insisted on doing this and got so upset when I tried to change her mind, I thought—"

"I understand," Claire interrupted quickly. She moved to Mary Catherine's side and placed her hand beneath her elbow. "Mama, you'd better go back inside now. This isn't a party."

Mary Catherine looked at her daughter with incredulity. "Well, of course it's not, Claire Louise. Don't talk foolish. These people are here on behalf of Reverend Jackson Wilde, aren't they?"

"Yes, Mama. They are."

"I listened to enough of his sermons to know that he'd be ashamed of his followers for conducting themselves this way. I think they need to be reminded of that, Reverend Wilde said many ugly things about you from his pulpit, but he also advocated loving one's enemies. He would never have condoned violence."

She went straight to the leader of the group. Those around him fell silent, and the silence rippled outward until all the name-calling ceased. Mary Catherine gave the man a smile that would have disarmed a Nazi officer. "I've never known anyone who could be cruel and unkind over cookies and punch. Sir?"

She took a Dixie cup from the cart and extended it to him. To refuse the gesture from a woman so utterably guileless would have been bad P.R. for the Wilde ministry and apparently the man realized that. He was fully aware of the mini-cams recording the bizarre occurrence. Disgruntled, he took the cup of punch from Mary Catherine.

"Thanks."

"You're quite welcome. Harry, pass the cookies around, please. Who else would care for punch?"

Cassidy watched, shaking his head in disbelief. One by one the pickets were lowered and the crowd began to disperse. "They could use her at the U.N."

Claire stepped around him and approached her mother. "Thank you, Mama. That was a lovely gesture. But you'd better let Harry take you upstairs now."

"I'm glad I could help. They were creating such a ruckus." Claire kissed her mother's cheek, then signaled Harry to take her back inside. An employee retrieved the tea cart. Claire asked others to collect the empty Dixie cups and napkins and to sweep up the broken window glass that had fallen onto the sidewalk.

"When you're finished out here, return to work," Claire told them. "Let's try to make up for lost time. Mr. Cassidy, you're still bleeding. Perhaps you'd better come upstairs and let me tend to that cut on your check."

As they rode the elevator up, she asked, "Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Would you admit it if it did?"

"What, and ruin my—what was it?—'athletic, macho-type' image?"

She smiled with chagrin. He smiled back. They continued looking at each other until the elevator came to a jarring halt on the third floor. Mary Catherine was playing gin with Harry when they entered the apartment.

She looked up from her hand of cards. "Have they gone?"

"Yes, Mama."

"Everything's back to normal," Cassidy said. "Thank you for what you did. But I wish you hadn't placed yourself in danger like that. The police had it under control."

"Sometimes it's more expedient for one to take matters into one's own hands."

"Come on, Mr. Cassidy," Claire said, steering him toward the bedroom. "Blood's dripping on your shirt."

"Gin," he heard Mary Catherine say as he followed Claire into a spacious bedroom. It was decorated monochromatically, in shades of white and ivory. The furnishings were contemporary except for a massive armoire against one wall. Louvered shutters were drawn against the afternoon sun, which cast striped shadows across the king-size bed. He couldn't help but wonder how many men had slept there with her. She had confessed to having only a few meaningful relationships following her broken engagement, but that could be another in her series of lies.

"In here," she said over her shoulder, indicating that he should follow her into the adjoining bathroom. It looked like a 1930s' movie set. The walls were mirrored. The tub, set into the floor, was three feet deep and twice as long.