Sinclair Justice (Texas Rangers #2)(61)
Emm smelled appetizing aromas. She knew José must be cooking a huge breakfast spread, probably had been since well before dawn. Ross had told her something of his family retainer, that he insisted on doing most of the cooking himself with catering to fill in. He worried José was getting too old for such a task, but the old buzzard, as he affectionately called his friend, was adamant.
Emm heard voices coming from the study, but the heavy door was closed and the gender was indistinct, though she could tell that at least some of the voices were raised in anger. Feeling like the famous Roman messenger, the bearer of bad news to the emperor, Emm stifled her urge to barge into the study and salute with one hand raised, palm out, and declaim, “We who are about to die salute you!”
Smiling wryly at her own quirky sense of humor, which tended to surface at inappropriate times, Emm set her file and computer down and went in search of José. He’d know the agenda and where to direct her. She’d only been in the kitchen once, however, and she took a wrong turn and ended up in the luxurious secondary master suite downstairs. She peeked inside the room and did a double take at its occupant.
A statuesque brunette stood next to the bed in a silk wrap that barely came to her knees. She was unpacking the open Louis Vuitton suitcase on the silk spread.
Muttering a “sorry,” she was about to retrace her steps when a feminine voice said, “Why, hello; you must be Mercy Magdalena Rothschild. A lovely name, by the way.”
Politeness forced Emm to pause. “I’m sorry; I’m not very familiar with the house and I wasn’t sure where to go because it sounds like R—Mr. Sinclair is busy.”
The woman turned from the bed, holding a very expensive set of scanty black lace matching lingerie—Emm could just see the La Perla tag in the bra—and a bustier, garter belt, and black stockings. Not the attire for a family reunion , Emm thought with a sinking heart. And hadn’t Ross told her all the family but his mom and dad and aunt stayed in the outbuildings he’d had constructed for these visits? She’d wanted a tangible sign of his affections or lack thereof... well, here it was.
She’d obviously made the right choice in packing without even telling him.
Emm forced a smile. “Sorry again. I’ll just wait next to the fire. I’m a bit early.”
Again the woman spoke as she tried to turn away. “Oh, please, stay. I’m an old friend of Ross’s from Yale. Elaine Gottlieb.” She nodded at the chair across from the bed. “Eugenie and Clara have invited me to hear your presentation, and I was just changing for it. Won’t you visit with me while I dress?” She took out a pair of jeans sewn with diamantés and added a shirt—Emm had to gawk a bit in disbelief—with pockets and pearl snaps. By the looks of them, real pearl snaps. Oh, dear lord, if the woman pulled out fur chaps, Emm knew she’d gag. Still, half-rapt, half-repelled, Emm sank into the chair as instructed.
Luckily, her coffee stayed down, because Elaine turned aside to pull the jeans up very long, perfect legs that made Emm cross her own stumps in self-defense. Even if Elaine did look a bit too shiny and new in the clothes, she was a gorgeous woman without a wrinkle in her skin. She looked more like thirty than her late forties, and her long dark hair had the shine of a seal.
Elaine said, “We have some buildings in Baltimore we’ve been thinking of renovating. My dad wanted to tear them down, but I talked him out of it. I really respect what you do.”
“Thanks,” Emm managed.
“Would you be willing to take a look at them next time you’re in town and give us your professional opinion?”
“It would only be a guess. The tax credit process is quite involved, and the buildings have to meet a detailed checklist of criteria to warrant inclusion in the National Register.”
“So I’ve heard, but you can smooth the way a bit, can’t you?” Elaine buttoned her shirt. “My father is friends with half the senators and congressmen in DC, so I’m sure we could help your career.”
Emm realized this woman had, from the first taste of her baby bottle, been fed a steady diet of cream of the crop. She literally knew no other way to operate but by asking for, and granting, favors. Emm’s coffee threatened to come back up as she wondered how Ross could make such sweet, soulful love to her one day and invite this snob into his home the next. An old lover to boot; Ross had let her first name drop during their cuddling when she’d tentatively asked about his previous lovers.
And based on the clothes Elaine had packed, she was an old lover who expected to take up where they’d left off years ago.
Unable to even pretend politeness anymore, Emm rose. “R—Mr. Sinclair has my e-mail address. Feel free to e-mail me particulars and I’ll see what I can do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to review my notes.” Emm fled.
Elaine called after her, “You will come to our wedding, won’t you?”
She was half-expecting the catty invitation, but when it came, Emm bit her lip so savagely she tasted blood. She went into the guest bath she’d used a couple of times before and did what she could with her puffy lip by applying more lipstick. She heard Ross’s voice calling her. She wiped a tiny dot of mascara from her eyelid, a remnant of the single tear she couldn’t control, took a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door. At least one thing was settled: One way or another, she’d be leaving Amarillo. Today.