Love, Come to Me(111)

“Monday,” Damon said grimly, making it sound like a curse, “should be struck off the calendar.” He and Bartlett, one of the youngest reporters the paper employed, looked around the dispirited editorial room. A few reporters were scribbling languidly at their desks, while others thumbed through reference books and waited for the office hack to come back so they could go out and search for some news.

Bartlett sighed under the oppressive weight of boredom. “Even bad news would be welcome right now.”

“In this business, bad news is good news . . . but do you ever get material for a good story on Monday? Of course not. Would it be too much to ask for a natural disaster? A small hurricane? God knows in a state like Massachusetts there should at least be a political scandal.” He turned to Bartlett. “What about your personal interview? Did Mrs. Lowell consent to talk to you about her charity auction?”

“No, sir—”

“I knew she wouldn’t,” Damon said with glum satisfaction. “No matter what Heath said, I knew she wouldn’t. The Lowells hate publicity of any kind. My mother used to tell me that a lady is only in the paper three times in her whole life; when she’s born, when she’s married, and when she dies. And when you think about it, that really does cover the major points.”

Bartlett had no idea how to reply. “I suppose so, sir.”

“Mr. Redmond!” Joseph Davis, the city editor’s young assistant, nearly tripped over a reporter’s desk as he made his way over to Damon. “Mr. Redmond—”

“Yes? What are you so excited about? Don’t tell me you’ve found some news to report.”

“The doorman told me to tell you that someone is here for Mr. Rayne.”

“Tell him that Mr. Rayne isn’t available, but if he’ll leave his card—”

“It isn’t a ‘him,’ ” Davis said breathlessly. “It’s Mrs. Rayne.”

Damon’s ebony eyes flashed with interest. Without a word, he left Bartlett and Davis standing there as he strode rapidly through the editorial room to the door. The doorman, gilt-buttoned and rigid-backed with dignity, stood aside to reveal Lucy, then closed the door to allow the two of them the privacy of the hallway. Wearing an emerald green dress and a tiny velvet hat that perched coquettishly on her head, Lucy looked like a small, exotic bird against the businesslike gloom of the walls. Damon knew as soon as he saw her that something was wrong. Although she smiled at him, there was tension in her face.

“Mr. Redmond, I am sorry to interrupt your workday.”

He took her slender hand in his and pressed a light kiss on the back of it. “I couldn’t think of a more pleasant interruption. You’ve never been here before, have you? Tell me, are you beginning the practice of delivering your articles in person?”

“Well, no, I . . .” She looked up at him and laughed. “You weren’t supposed to know I was the one writing them. Did Heath tell you?”

“Of course not. But I knew right away—I could almost hear your voice out loud as I read them. You have a marvelous talent with words. Now, before I begin to shower you with further compliments, tell me how I can help you.”

“I would like to speak with my husband.”

“Unfortunately, he’s not in the office at the moment.”

“Where is he?”

“Out and around, tying up loose ends, keeping an eye out for news . . .” Damon’s voice trailed off into silence as Lucy bent her head and gripped her tiny handbag tightly. “Is there trouble?” he asked softly.

She lifted her head and smiled uncomfortably. “No, I don’t think so. I’m probably upset over nothing. I’m certain it’s nothing, but . . . but I heard a rumor at my current events club today, and I had to ask my husband about it. Do you know when he’ll be back? I know this is all probably very silly, but I felt I had to find him immediately. To me it’s very important—”

“What rumor?” Damon cut through her nervous chatter patiently. She hesitated, opening her mouth and then closing it abruptly. “Mrs. Rayne . . . if it bothered you enough to cause you to come here, then it’s something that needs to be addressed immediately. It might be something I can clear up right away.”

“You’ll think it’s ridiculous—”

“Nothing that disturbs you is ridiculous. Please tell me about it.”

“It was so surprising—I didn’t know what to say when someone told me—I think I must have made a fool of myself, because I mumbled something, I don’t even know what, and then I left, right in the middle of the meeting—”

“What did this ‘someone’ tell you?”

“You must be aware that Heath’s sister-in-law, Mrs. Laraine Price, was staying with us a few days last week—”

“Yes,” Damon said dryly, “I heard a little about it.”

“She left for England two days ago. She’s not in Boston any longer. But Mrs. Cummings, one of the women in my club, said that someone had seen Raine yesterday—”

“But that doesn’t make sense. No one knows Mrs. Price. How would someone be able to recognize her?”

“There was a day last week when she went shopping with Heath’s younger sister and me. I introduced them to a few people—you know how you always see a familiar face at C. F. Hovey? So whoever it was that thought she saw Raine yesterday must have been one of those people . . . oh, it’s all ridiculous, just like I said. There’s no reason for Raine to be here, and I don’t believe a word of it, because Heath wouldn’t lie to me, but . . . but . . .”