Mystique (4 page)

"None." The terse answer seemed
to linger between them. The silence grew heavy.

"At first your bank turned down my
friend's loan application," Misty said, feeling increasingly
uncomfortable. She cleared her throat nervously.

"I know. I saw you at the bank
today."

She stared at him, stunned. He was
looking straight ahead into the mirror. "I had a feeling someone was
watching me," she blurted out.

"I had come out of Lester Damon's
office on the third floor and was waiting for the elevator when I happened to
look down and see you."

"So, you sent Mr. Damon down
to—"

"I called Watson from my office.
Then I told Les to go down and handle it. John Watson is an honest man, but he
would have required too many explanations, and he probably wouldn't have
issued you the check."

"But I had collateral."

"Do you really think that one-fourth
of a brownstone is equal in value to the third floor of the Beadle Building?"

She lifted her chin. "My apartment
is worth a great deal more now than it was when I bought it. The neighborhood
is good and—"

"And the entire building isn't worth
a quarter of the Beadle property." Luc took a swallow of his Irish whisky
and ran a finger slowly up her bare arm.

She stiffened at his touch. "I have
to get back. My break is over," she managed to say. Her body felt both hot
and cold. She felt both threatened and titillated. She had to escape!

Luc took hold of her upper arm and
scrutinized her through narrowed eyes, a hard smile lifting his lips.
"Yes, to your unspoken question, Mystique. I do want something from you in
return for granting you that loan."

Cold dread pierced through to her very
core. She raised stricken eyes to his, then fled as if all the demons of hell
were at her heels.

CHAPTER TWO

When Misty woke up the next morning,
Christmas Eve, the first thing that entered her mind was Luc's statement from
the previous evening:
“I do want something from you..."

Somehow she had managed to return to the
Edwardian Room and continue to play the piano, but she had felt like a whirling
dervish. Her thoughts had flown in all directions, and she hadn't been able to
concentrate. At some point she had become aware that Luc Harrison was no longer
at his table. She hadn't felt relieved or glad, just numb.

Now, the next morning, she wished for the
hundredth time that she didn't have to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas
night. At the time her schedule had been drawn up, she hadn't cared that she
would be working those two nights. But now she was sorely tempted to quit her
job and hide from Luc Harrison.

Stop it, Misty Carver, she told herself
silently. Chances were Luc Harrison wouldn't show up either night. He had a
huge family, and he would spend the holidays with them.

Feeling somewhat mollified, she cleaned
her apartment and began to prepare the buffet supper she would serve that
evening for Dave and Aileen, Mark and Mary, Morey and Zena. Tomorrow she would
join Dave and Aileen for dinner in their apartment.

Several times during the day the twins
came charging up the stairs to look at the gifts under Misty's tree, their
faces alight with excitement. "I like it when Morey and Zena come,"
Mark informed her, "'cause we go to their place for Hanniker, and we get
gifts both times."

"Chanukah," Misty corrected
absently as she arranged gumdrops into an edible wreath for the center of the
table. She would put a fat bayberry candle in the middle. "You're lucky
children to be able to join in both the Jewish and the Christian holidays. You
can learn a lot from both traditions."

"Yes," Mary said solemnly.
"You get the best foods on the holidays."

"Yes, dear," Misty agreed.
"Mark, don't you dare shake one more package." "Awww,
Misty..."

"On your way now the two of you.
Take your baths and get dressed. You'll be going to church with your parents
after we have our supper."

"Why aren't you going to services
with us, Misty?" Mary asked, tearing her gaze from the gumdrop wreath.
"Are you Jewish like Zena and Morey?"

"No, she's working." Mark
tapped his sister on the arm. "Race you downstairs."

"Nooo," Mary said with a moan
as her brother raced out the door. She turned to Misty with a smile. "I
always say no, but he never listens. Now I'll walk down real slow, and he'll
think he's won the race." Mary's curls bobbed as she walked primly out of
the room.

"How did you get to be so wise,
Mary?" Misty asked softly. She was glad the twins had been around to
distract her all day. They had kept her from thinking about Luc Harrison. She
refused to consider what he might want from her. She was pretty sure she
knew... and she was damn sure he wasn't going to get it. ,

Promptly at five, Misty's guests arrived.
After coaxing and cajoling the twins into eating dinner before opening their
presents, they all filled their plates with hot antipasto; cold prawns in hot
sauce; and then pasta shells stuffed with ricotta, parsley, and sausage.

"I'd love to have some of these
make-ahead recipes, Misty," Zena said, closing her eyes in delight as she
tasted a stuffed shell.

"All my recipes are for dishes you
can make ahead," Misty said, laughing. "That's the only kind I have
time to prepare."

They all ate their fill, then settled
down on cushions around the tree and opened their gifts over coffee, a fruit
board, and Christmas cookies. Misty had such a good time that, long after her
guests had departed, she felt as if she were floating on happiness. She hummed
Christmas carols as she got ready for work and ran lightly downstairs and
outside to hail a cab. Christmas Eve had been wonderful. She refused to allow
the fact that she hadn't heard from either of her parents to dull her delight.

At the hotel, Misty passed out the gifts
she had bought for her friends on the staff. She laughed when Willis put on his
Australian wool sweater vest right over his shirt. "You can't wear your
tuxedo jacket over a sweater," she protested, laughing.

"It's Christmas Eve. Of course I
can," he insisted. "Thank you for the sweater, Misty. I love
blue."

"And thank you for the lace hankies,
Willis. Tell your wife they're just perfect to carry with the gowns I wear. My
hands get damp when I play, but I'll look very ladylike using these hankies to
discreetly wipe my palms."

That night Misty played some of her usual
songs, but she concentrated on playing Christmas carols. She didn't think of
Luc Harrison until she caught sight of his tuxedo-clad form entering the
Edwardian Room. Her fingers faltered momentarily, and she hit a B-flat instead
of an A-natural, but other than that she made no sign that she had noticed him.

During her break, she went directly to
the powder room and stayed there until it was time to return to the piano.

As she sat down again to play, she saw a
hand place a glass on the frame of the piano, where the mahogany surface was
protected by a metal tray.

"Thank you, Willis," she said
without looking up. "I was thirsty."

"I thought you might be," came
Luc Harrison's velvet voice. Her eyes shot up to his granite-hard eyes.

"Merry Christmas," she managed
to say through stiff lips. She watched dumbfounded as he placed a small package
wrapped in silver paper on the piano, then turned and strode from the room
before she could speak again.

Misty looked at the gift as though she
expected it to explode at any moment.

"What's this? A gift from a
fan?" Willis hefted the small package in his palm.

"You could say that." Misty
smiled weakly and bent over the keyboard.

As usual, she was exhausted when she
returned to her apartment very early Christmas morning. Yet, despite her
fatigue, she was too keyed up and apprehensive to sleep. She felt as though she
were carrying a time bomb in her purse instead of a very small package.

She stripped off her clothes, brushed
down the green velvet dress she had worn that evening, and hung it in the
bathroom where it would steam the next time she showered. She had learned to
take good care of her clothing; she couldn't easily afford to replace it.

After putting away her clothes and shoes,
she donned a flannel nightgown and crawled into the middle of the water bed,
where she sat cross-legged and stared at her purse. Swallowing twice, she
unzipped the bag and reached for the gift inside, holding it in her palm for a
moment before inserting a fingernail carefully under the wrapping. That was
another of her economies; she saved paper and bows.

After folding the paper along its crease
lines, she rolled up the ribbon and stared at the box. The name Van Cleef &
Arpels was printed across the top.

No doubt he had a charge account there,
she thought. Calls up and orders a gross of aquamarines and sends them to his
friends. Millimeter by millimeter she lifted the hinged cover. Her eyes grew
wide. "Good God!" she exclaimed softly, blinking at the sight of
emerald earrings arranged on apricot velvet. How dare he give her something so
expensive? Did he think she was too stupid to know he was coming on to her
with jewelry? She scooted back on the bed, putting as much distance as possible
between herself and the exquisite jewels.

It took several minutes to get up the
courage to lean forward and pull the box toward her. With great care she
rewrapped the package and dropped it back into her purse.

Anger made her writhe and turn on her bed
until dawn. Finally she fell into a fitful sleep. Her last thought was that no
man was ever going to take charge of her life again.

Christmas Day brought laughter, good
food, and several more small gifts for the twins, despite their parents' mild
protests. As Misty played Christmas songs on the Collinses' spinet, they all
sang, ate, and laughed.

Afterward, Aileen handed her a glass of
eggnog. "I could swear I heard your phone ringing. You know how the sound
sometimes vibrates in the old dumbwaiter. Even though we can't hear anything
else, I sometimes hear the phone. Do you suppose you should go up and answer
it?"

Misty hesitated. No, it wouldn't be her
parents. They never called her. She would call them before she went to work
that evening. "No, I won't bother," she said. "It's probably a
wrong number."

She returned to her apartment in the
early evening. Morey and Zena would be staying awhile longer with David and
Aileen, and the twins were already in bed sound asleep.

That night the Edwardian Room was full to
capacity with complete families as well as couples. Misty saw a few single
people dining alone, and she tried to play just for them. She could empathize
with their loneliness.

All evening she kept a sharp eye out for
a tall masculine form. Even during her break she searched the corners of the
room that she couldn't see while playing. She was determined to return Lucas
Harrison's gift.

"Looking for someone,
Mystique?" Willis asked with a smile.

"Just checking the numbers,"
she said, hedging.

Luc Harrison never came. Once again,
Misty went home with the expensive emeralds in her purse.

She carried them twice more to the
Terrace Hotel. Then, on the third day, she wrapped the package in brown paper,
put it in a sturdy mailing envelope addressed to the Manhattan Stuyvesant
Bank's main office, and carried it to the post office. Just before mailing it
she wrote Personal on the front.

Since she had to work on New Year's Eve,
she had wrangled special holiday reservations for Morey and Zena, Aileen and
David. Neither of the couples planned to take advantage of the overnight
accommodations or the breakfast, which had cut down on the cost for Misty. It
delighted her to be able to do something extra for her friends, who had done so
much for her, and she refused to take any money from David or Morey when they
tried to press it on her.

How could they know what a relief it
would be to have them with her on what was for her the worst night of the year?
Misty mused when she arrived that evening for work. New Year's Eve was a night
for couples. She was single. It hurt, but she was determined not to show it.

As she changed in her small dressing
room, a niggling thought chased through her mind. Had Luc Harrison received
the emeralds in the mail? She had insured them, but she was certain they were
worth more than the maximum insurance the post office had allowed her. She felt
as though she were waiting for the other shoe to drop. She didn't know what was
worse—not seeing him and not knowing if he had received the jewels, or seeing
him and knowing. She shook her head to clear it of such thoughts and studied
her reflection in the narrow mirror on the back of the door. Morey was right.
Her new silk dress was perfect.

The emerald green fabric was draped
around her like a sari, delineating her lissome form in glittering silkiness as
the faint gold thread caught the light. Her curly red hair was pulled to one
side with an ivory comb, the tousled locks catching gold fire in the light. The
four-inch heels of her pale green peau de soie pumps made her a svelte five
feet eight inches tall.