Moonlight Over Paris(87)

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No, I’m afraid not. I only just arrived—”

“Mr. Howard is in meetings all day. I can’t possibly interrupt him.”

“But I’ve come so far . . .” Helena offered, knowing it sounded pathetic but bereft of anything better to say.

“Yes. I imagine you have.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Daisy interjected. “Here’s my card. Lady Helena and I are at the Plaza. I’m sure you can contrive to put this in his hands the next time you see him. Come on, Helena.”

They scurried back to the elevators, and by the time they were on solid ground again Helena’s confidence of that morning had evaporated entirely.

“I had no idea it would be so difficult to see him,” she said as they got into Daisy’s car yet again.

“Everything is different now. He’s the heir to Howard Steel. Imagine what sort of people that brings out of the woodwork.”

“What should we do next?”

“Let’s go to my hotel. The Plaza isn’t much more than a mile away from the Howard mansion. We’ll have a late breakfast, since I have a feeling you haven’t eaten a thing so far today, and we’ll make plans. He may be at the office all day, but he’s got to go home at some point. If worst comes to worst, we’ll sit in the car outside his house and wait for him.”

The latter part of Daisy’s plan seemed rather desperate, but what else could she do? And she was feeling quite hungry. Once she’d eaten, and had a chance to think, she would probably feel better. If only she could be sure of getting a decent cup of tea.

The Plaza hotel was terribly grand, the sort of place that she was certain Agnes would adore, and Daisy’s suite of rooms was positively baroque in its splendor.

“Make yourself at home—there’s a second bedroom I haven’t even looked at, so you must stay. Do you want to eat in the restaurant, or would you rather have our breakfast sent up?”

“If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to eat here. That way I can kick off my shoes and relax.”

With breakfast ordered, they both collapsed onto the sitting room sofa, and after a moment’s silence, Daisy began to laugh and Helena, unable to resist her friend’s infectious giggles, joined in.

“Who would have thought chasing down my one true love would be so difficult? I mean, the woman at his office was awful. She looked at your card as if it were made out of loo paper!”

“Let’s just hope she didn’t flush it down the nearest lavatory. I wouldn’t put it past—”

A loud knock sounded at the door, startling them out of their laughter.

“My goodness,” said Helena. “The kitchen here is efficient.”

“It can’t be our food. I just put down the telephone. They’re good, but not that good.”

The knock sounded again.

“Hello?” Daisy called out. “Who is it?”

“It’s Sam Howard, Miss Fields. I’m looking for Ellie.”





Chapter 31


It was Sam. Somehow he had learned she was here and he had come for her. If he were done with her, he wouldn’t have come, would he? It would have been so much easier just to—

“Helena! What do you want me to do?” Daisy hissed.

Helena stood, smoothed an imaginary wrinkle from her frock, and nodded. Daisy opened the door.

It was Sam, wearing a ridiculously formal pinstriped suit, which she didn’t care for at all, and his hair was cut short and smoothed down and he wasn’t the man she remembered but was still, all the same, the man she loved.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Daisy whispered, “I’ll be in the Palm Court downstairs.”

The door closed behind her. They were alone.

He took one step forward, then another. He was still so far away, but she hadn’t the courage to cross the room and finish her journey.

“I can’t believe it,” he said.

“How did you . . . ?”

“Miss Thorpe, at my office—was she rude to you?”

“Not precisely. I suspect I’m not the first young woman to try to talk her way in to see you.”

“Yes, unfortunately. You must have made an impression on her, though, because she gave me this.” He held out Daisy’s card, and Helena stepped forward, just to the length their outstretched arms could reach, and took it.

She’s here, her friend had written.

“Will you sit down? Have something to drink?”

“Not just yet. I need to explain.”

“So do I.”

“I wasn’t honest with you. Not completely. I didn’t lie, but I left a lot out.”

“Go on,” she said, suddenly apprehensive.

“I made my parents a promise when I left, just as you had done with your family. I promised that I would return in five years. In fact, I all but swore an oath on the family Bible. Father wanted to retire long ago, but he gave me those years, and I didn’t feel I could refuse him. There was no one else, after all.”

He began to pace back and forth, fretful as a zoo-bound tiger, pausing only to loosen his tie and unbutton his high, starched collar. “I knew the day was coming. I only had six months left. And then I had a letter from Mother. She said Father’s health was failing. That he needed to retire for the sake of his health. When I came to your aunt’s the morning after your vernissage it was to tell you everything. I was going to explain why I had to return home. But then we quarreled, and I was so angry I more or less packed my bags and left.”