Gold Mountain (30 page)

“No doubt, but I’m not a man.”

Casey gave me an admiring look. “No, ma’am, you aren’t, and you won’t get an argument from me about it, not in that outfit.”

I dipped a quick, teasing curtsy. “The Irish is showing in you today. Thank you.”

I stopped twice as I trudged up the hill toward the office, conscious of an uncomfortable, prickly feeling that made me think I was being watched. When I turned, however, and examined the few pedestrians around me, all of them had an ordinary look about them. I gave a brief thought to Jake’s suggestion that because of my time with Suey Wah, someone might think I possessed information that threatened reputations and incomes. Could I really be in danger? A second look assured me that no menace lurked anywhere in my vicinity, but for all my confidence, the uneasy feeling did not disappear, and I picked up my pace the closer I got to the transport office.

When I pushed open the office door and stepped inside, Jake stood in the doorway at the back of the office with his back to me. He turned at my entrance and without a greeting, said, “I didn’t hear the cab.”

“I had Casey set me down at the foot of the hill. It was too pretty a day to forego a walk.”

“That’s not what I told him to do,” the words said sternly, Casey and I apparently naughty children in need of a reprimand.

“This may come as a shock to you, but not everyone feels obligated to obey your every command.”

The comment made him smile. “No shock at all, Miss Hudson. Trust me. You’ve taught me that lesson often enough.”

He stepped toward me as I came farther into the room so that for a moment we stood very close, a fact that made my pulse take a sudden jerk at the proximity. Really, there was a strong and sensual allure to the man that could make a lesser woman light-headed. I casually stepped away from him and set my small bag down on the empty table where Eddie usually sat.

“All right, Mr. Pandora—”

“Didn’t we decide on Jake?”

“All right, Jake, I’ve had enough mystery over the last few weeks. What have you found out?”

“Patience for just a little longer, Miss Hudson. If you haven’t tired yourself out, are you up for another walk?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Lunch. What do you know about Greek food?”

“Nothing, I’m afraid.” He took my arm and propelled me toward the door.

“Then you’re in for an education and a treat. Come on.”

“We could take Elena with us,” I suggested, holding my ground, suddenly not at all sure I wanted to be alone with the man. I felt like iron filings exposed to a magnet.

“My niece has departed to be with her in-laws. When I broke the news that the dock strike would not allow her beloved’s arrival, she very firmly sent me to the train station to buy a ticket south.”

“And you meekly did what she said? Why do I have a hard time picturing you following a woman’s orders?” Jake took my elbow and moved me along again, reaching for the door with his other hand.

“In my life I have learned never to argue with a woman who thinks she’s in love.”

“I bet you have learned that lesson,” I murmured, stepping into the street. “I’ll just bet you have.” My words or their implication made him chuckle.

“I’m a quick learner, and I rarely forget what I’ve learned.”

“Lucky for you, then.”

“Lucky most of the time, anyway.” He fell into step beside me and changed the subject. “I’m serious about you being on your own. I think you ought to be more careful.”

I didn’t take offense at his words, which were said sincerely and soberly and held a note of honest concern. Two men in a week implying anxiety for my well-being felt more gratifying than a woman with suffragette leanings should admit, so I asked quickly, “Because of something you know?”

“Something I’ve heard. I have my own spies and time on my hands, besides.”

“Are you losing a lot because of the strike?” I detected a certain grim note in his last words.

“I lose money every day my steamers are docked, but I’ve heard the mayor is planning on sending in strike breakers.”

“More violence, then,” I commented sadly.

“Probably, but Phelan has to do something and neither party involved in the strike is willing to sit down and talk about the problems.”

“I understand about that. All the bloodshed in China could have been avoided if only each side would have tried harder to understand the other.” That thought made me remember Alfred Betterman and from there Pandora’s literary advice. “I read that book you recommended,
The Red Badge of Courage
.”

“What did you think?”

“It made me consider courage and cowardice differently, which is what I know you intended.” I added awkwardly, “Thank you for that. It helped.”

I expected to hear a flippant rejoinder of some kind from Pandora, something about how he knew better about a lot of things and I should listen to him more often, a retort I probably would have made under the same circumstances, but he remained quiet. When I looked over at him, I surprised an expression that was clearly, unmistakably tender, the same look he might give an endearing child.

Instead of shifting his glance, he said, “You’re welcome,” his voice low and as smooth as velvet. I felt a flare of warmth somewhere inside my chest, but the mood and wherever the mood might have led disappeared when Jake thrust out an arm to keep me from stepping into the street and the path of a dray wagon.

“Watch your step,” he directed, and I thought to myself, Good advice. With this man, I had better watch my step indeed.

We stopped for lunch at a place so small there was no room for patrons to eat inside. Instead, in an unexpectedly charming way the owner, a man Jake introduced as Spiro, had clustered several small tables on the walk in front of his café, all of them covered with bright cloths and each set with a very small jar of fresh flowers.

“How lovely,” I commented as I sat down and smiled despite the seriousness of the reason for our lunch. The perfect sun, bright colors, and perky flowers defied fear and suspicion. More prosaically, Jake gave his attention to the food.

“I haven’t found anyone outside of my mother’s kitchen that can make moussaka better than Spiro.” In answer to my question, Jake explained, “Sliced eggplant, tomatoes, butter and eggs and cheese and I don’t really know what else because Spiro is not about to give away his secrets”—the man standing next to our table smiled his agreement—“but you’ll see what I mean. In the meanwhile, Spiro, bring us some of your famous dolmades and a bowl of tzatziki to tide us over while we wait for your masterpiece.”

I was busy dipping torn pieces of heavy flatbread into the bowl of creamy tzatziki when Spiro delivered the dolmades to our table. When I tasted that dish—delectable vine leaves stuffed with rice that offered a delicate lemon flavor—I pronounced, “We can stop right here. I can’t imagine anything more delicious than this.”

“Just wait for the moussaka, and be sure to leave room for karidopita and coffee at the end of the meal or Spiro will consider it a personal insult.”

I recall the afternoon and the time spent at a small table on the walk outside a tiny restaurant as one of the happiest interludes of that period of my life. How much was the food and how much my companion, I couldn’t say, but I ate my way through lunch with abandon under Spiro’s benevolent smile and Jake’s smile that was something far different than benevolent but even more agreeable.

When Spiro set a small, long-handled brass pot on our table, I looked up at him with a faint feeling of shame and the need for an apology. “I don’t usually eat as if I were starving,” I explained, “but everything was just so—” I couldn’t find the right word and had to settle for the commonplace“—just so delicious that I couldn’t help myself.” Spiro’s mustache quivered over his smile.

“This humble fare? It was nothing. You are too kind, Miss,” but I could tell he was pleased with the compliment. As he swept up the empty plates, he added, “I am going to bring you fresh karidopita, which to truly appreciate you must taste along with the coffee.” To Jake, he said, “I brought it plain, the way you like it, but perhaps the lady would prefer something sweeter.”

“No,” I interjected. “Mr. Pandora’s recommendations have been perfect so far, and I wouldn’t think of disagreeing with his preferences.” When Spiro left, I said to Jake, “Don’t let that go to your head. I was talking only about the food.” I spoke with a smile, however, feeling in perfect charity with a man who could introduce me to the kind of food in which I’d just indulged.

“I never dared to hope for anything else, Miss Hudson.”

“Oh, stop calling me Miss Hudson. I’m not some ancient schoolteacher doddering out of the classroom. I thought we decided
Dinah
was fine.”

Jake grinned at that and would have made a flippant retort, but Spiro reappeared with slices of extraordinary cake, each piece rich with the flavor of walnuts, cinnamon, and cloves. Spiro was right about the coffee, too—its almost bitter flavor was the perfect complement to the flavorful pastry.

Finally, with both hands wrapped around a small cup of thick coffee and every last cake crumb devoured, I said with regret, “As much as I thoroughly enjoyed this meal, Jake, we did meet for a reason. You said you had some information, and it’s probably time you satisfied my curiosity.”

“I suppose, but I’m still absorbing the fact that a woman as slender as you can eat as much as a Greek regiment.”

“Unkind and unfair. It was the attraction of novelty.”

“So you think the next time we visit Spiro’s you’ll just pick at your food?”

I tried not to dwell on his assumption that there would be a next time and answered with a laugh, “No, of course, you’re right. I’ll probably shovel it in again, and I won’t apologize then, either.”

“Good. You’re not at your best when you apologize. It doesn’t seem to come easily or naturally to you.”

“You should talk! I can’t recall you making the effort.”

“I can think of one or two times, but if I’ve overlooked an occasion, tell me what it is and I’ll express my sincere regret for whatever offense I committed.”

He had me there because at the moment I couldn’t think of one single thing he should regret, not his handsome face, not his attitude, not the natural grace of his gestures, not the tone of his voice, not one single thing.

“I couldn’t do that after this wonderful meal. All is forgiven.”

“Really?” A seriousness to his tone that made my own smile fade.

I met his look with one of my own that did not falter and after a brief pause responded, “Yes. Really.” The odd still moment passed when he leaned back in his chair.

“Good. I’m glad to hear it. Now, what do you know about Ralph Gallagher?”

I’m sure that for a moment I must have sat with my mouth literally and unbecomingly open until I found breath to reply, “My brother-in-law works at one of his banks. I met him the night of the cotillion. Why? What are you suggesting?”

Pandora chose his words carefully. “Gallagher’s name has come up often enough in my inquiries that I’ve begun to wonder if he’s quite as respectable as he pretends to be.”

“That’s a serious allegation, Jake.” I pictured Gallagher the way I recalled him from the evening of the city’s summer gala: confident, solid, pompous, and slightly flirtatious. I couldn’t picture the man involved in anything the least bit shady. Abe Ruef, Eugene Schmitz, Justice Mackiver, and their compatriots fit my notion of degenerate scoundrels just fine but Ralph Gallagher— I shook my head at the idea. “I can’t believe it. Martin always speaks of Mr. Gallagher very highly and my sister sits on a charity board with his wife. In fact, Martin, Ruth, and I have been invited to attend a small gathering at the Gallaghers’ new home next week.”

“A gathering you’re planning to attend, right?” At my nod, he went on, “Then pay attention when you’re there. See if anything curious develops. You’re an intelligent woman.”

“How kind of you to admit that fact. I feel like I’ve made real progress,” I murmured, then asked, “Have you done business with Mr. Gallagher?”

“Nothing significant.” Something about my tone made him ask, “Why do you ask?”

“I once saw you coming out of his house on Nob Hill.”

“Did you?” He didn’t explain his presence there. “You just happened to be strolling past the mansions on Nob Hill and spotted me? Quite a coincidence that we would both be there at the same time. Do you often spend your afternoons spying on the rich?”

“I wasn’t spying! I was new to the city and a friend was showing me the sights.”

I recalled Colin’s attentions that day, my attraction to him, and that pleasant first kiss in the cab. In the intervening weeks, my feelings for Colin had subtly altered and while I didn’t know exactly why and when, I realized the man sitting across the table from me had something—maybe everything—to do with the change. Pandora pulled me back from my musings.

“Your policeman?”

“Not mine.”

“That’s not what he’d say.”

“How can you presume to know that? You met Colin once and briefly.”

Jake smiled but without humor. “I know how he looked at you that day at the Cliff House.”