Chapter 2
Jed had trouble getting to sleep that night. Many problems swarmed around in his head like restless hummingbees. When he finally drifted off to sleep, he slept heavily and long.
He awakened at noon, and lay in bed, half-groggy, for another hour before he got up. He drank some orange juice, made coffee. He would stay in the apartment today and work on the campaign for Ransom and Young.
He dressed in gray slacks and a black turtleneck sweater. The apartment was chilly. It was cold weather for April, with snow and icy rains. He thought fondly of the spring he had spent in Rome, sitting on the Spanish Steps in the sparkling sunlight, watching the coltish legs of young girls as they leaped past him down the steps.
Ah, those were the days. Spring, and sunshine, and sweet, saucy girls.
It was hard to concentrate on work. He spread out his business papers on the coffee table and sprawled out on the couch to consider the Ransom and Young campaign. It would be tough to sell Mr. Young on this. He was ultra-conservative. What would appeal to him that would also appeal to his customers?
Jed lay motionless on his side, gazing absently out over the city, trying to grab and hold a new, fresh, wonderful, scintillating idea that would convince an elderly, hide-bound, tough, narrow-minded fogey.
Oh, to be in Italy, now that April's here ... No. That wasn't the right quote. How did it go? Oh, yes, England. Kew Gardens after a rain. The lilacs dripping with perfume. The tulips glowing with color, and shy purple pansies peeping up from the beds of yellow tulips. And that huge tree with branches spreading out over the ground, and the children creeping in and out, having a marvelous time.
Jed writhed. Were his young gay days gone completely? He longed to pitch everything overboard, give up all he had, and take off for Europe with a single suitcase the way he had done at twenty-four. But he was thirty now, and a partner in a business firm. He had duties, responsibilities, and a fiancee.
Firmly he shoved away the thoughts of Lorna of London, Mimi of Paris, Anna of Rome. He had to think of some fresh, new, different idea for Mr. Young.
In the office file, he had put some notes. Maybe something there would help.
He swung his long legs to the floor and sat up, reaching for the phone. He dialed, gazing out at the cold gray sky, the determined battering of the rain on the wide picture windows.
"Mr. Kingsley's office," said the soft contralto voice.
"Bess, this is Jed. What's new?"
"Oh, Jed! I wondered if you would call. You have several messages."
"Okay, shoot." He frowned, scribbled on a pad as his secretary relayed the messages.
"And also Edythe Westfall phoned, several times. She wouldn't say what she wanted. She sounded rather cross, I'd say."
Jed turned alert and wary. "Yeah? Did she give her number?" He wouldn't mind a little sparring engagement with his beautiful enemy.
"No. She said she would call again."
"If she does, tell her-" Jed paused, grinned devilishly. "Tell her I'm working at home today. If she wants to come up and talk to me, I'm available."
"All right," said Bess, her tone slightly chilled. "I'll tell her."
"Something else I want, Bess," he added. "Will you get out the Ransom and Young file, and read me the notes on the small pages I stuck in there."
"Okay."
She got the file, read the notes to him. He copied what he wanted, but his mind was more preoccupied with thoughts of Edythe Westfall. What did she want? To tell him to leave her precious brother alone? To sue him for malicious attack? He was curious about her.
After he had hung up, he read over his notes, mulled the campaign over in his mind, between questioning fragments of other thoughts. The campaign should be a million-dollar one. Big incentives. Edythe was a beautiful and wealthy woman, so why wasn't she married?
Mr. Young was partial to the color pink. Something pink ... Edythe's eyes were dark blue, her hair a sunny blonde. Was she a frustrated spinster? Was she cold-blooded and masculine in nature? Or hadn't she found the right man?
Less than an hour later, the doorbell rang. He jumped up and ran across to the door. He unlocked it, opened it, stared delightedly at the gorgeous object of his thoughts: Edythe Westfall, tall, haughty, and dripping wet.
"Come in, Miss Westfall," he said, holding the door wide open.
"I'm soaked," she announced curtly, as though it were somehow his fault. "This umbrella-" She held it out and away from her smart powder-blue knit dress an silver-blue fur jacket.
"I'll put it in the kitchen," he said, and took the wet umbrella from her. "Come on in. Nasty day," he added helpfully.
"Horrid!"
He took the umbrella to the kitchen and opened it to drip op the floor. As he came back, she sneezed, three times, violently.
"Hey, you're cold." He took the wet fur jacket and draped it over a chair. "Kick off your shoes. Stand near the radiator and get dry."
She did not look so aloof and haughty as she stood shivering in her stocking feet near the radiator. She rubbed her hands together and blew on them.
"How about some coffee?" he suggested.
"F-fine. I'm f-frozen! I never dreamed it could be so cold in April."
He brought back the coffee pot and cups from the kitchen.
"Would you like a bit of brandy in it? Warm you up," he said. He wasn't sure how she would take that kind of suggestion.
"Oh, l-lovely," she moaned, her teeth chattering. "Oooh, this heat feels good."
He poured a shot of brandy into her cup, added the coffee, and gave it to her. By the time she had swallowed it, and walked back to a chair in her stocking feet, he felt he knew a lot more about Edythe Westfall. For one thing, she was a human being, not a machine.
He brought a blanket and tucked it around her as she sat down. She promptly curled up in the chair, her feet under her, shivering. He took the opportunity to observe at closer range the perfection of her creamy pink and white skin, the blondeness of her upswept hair (no rinse, no betraying dark roots), the wideness of the dark blue eyes, the fringe of her brown eyelashes, the fullness of her well-developed bustline, the curve of her hips and waist emphasized by the knit dress.
"Is that better?" he asked solicitously as he tucked the blanket again, unnecessarily, around her feet and thighs.
"Fine. Thanks very much. I can manage. Don't bother." She took the top edge of the blanket out of his hands and tucked it around her shoulders.
Reluctantly he retreated to the couch. For the first time, he remembered the campaign pages laid out, all his notes and files. He gathered them up and put them neatly in a pile. He did not believe she had looked at them, though he had been out of the room several times. "Homework?" she asked.
He glanced at her suspiciously. "That's right. I can think better when I'm alone."
"I'm sorry I bothered you-"
"I didn't-mean that! I'm glad you came up."
"I hate to bother you ... but...." She was biting her red lips. His gaze caressed those lips. She had a perfect mouth, the lower lip rather wide and bowed, the upper lip curved and sensitive.
"A matter of business?" he asked helpfully. "Is the Perkins campaign too much for you? Sorry you stole them from us?"
Her eyes sparked with fire at his unexpected taunt. "Not at all. We are quite capable of managing that!" She was back to normal.
"You haven't had any trouble with Perkins, then? He hasn't okayed an idea, then backed out on it after the work has gotten a good start?"
Her dark blue eyes met his. Hers were blazing, but wary.
"I didn't come up here to discuss our business rivalry, Mr. Kingsley."
"Oh?" So it was about Larry. "Call me Jed," he said, "since we're going to be friends."
"I didn't say-"
Deliberately he provoked her further. "If we aren't going to be friends, give me back my blanket."
She stared at him. Then she flung back her head and laughed, a youthful peal of gaiety. "Oh, you're a devil," she said, relaxing. She laid her head back comfortably on the chair as he grinned at her.
"That's better. If you had glared at me one more minute, I'd be frozen into a poor, thin icicle."
Her nose wrinkled into a tiny grimace, which smoothed away in a moment. He watched her face alertly for the quick changes of expression which betrayed her feelings. She was a fascinating woman, and he wanted to know her better.
"We can't very well be friends, Mr. Kingsley, but I-"
"Call me Jed."
She hesitated, then went on, "All right, Jed. But I wanted to ask you about-about my brother Larry. I understand you two had a fight last night."
"Hardly a fight. He was drunk and insulting. I knocked him down."
"What did he say exactly?" Lashes shadowed the dark blue eyes.
"I don't recall the exact words," he evaded. "He was drunk, and prodded me about women."
"Do you mind that much being prodded about women? I thought you were-famous-for your interest in women." Her voice was more than a little sarcastic.
"I'm interested in women, sure." Jed leaned back and appraised what he could see of her more boldly. She flushed, and drew the blanket around her shoulders where it had slipped down.
"Did he say anything about business?"
"Nothing special." He wanted to think over privately what Larry had said about keeping one eye on business. "Do you know Russell Thorpe, my partner?"
She jerked noticeably. Her flushed face paled to creamy white. Her wide blue eyes stared in alarm.
"Who?"
"Russell Thorpe. Do you know him?"
"I've met him, yes."
He was puzzling over her intense reaction. "I saw Russell come out of the same room that Larry was in. Do they play poker together a great deal?"
"Poker?" she asked, as though in a daze.
"Yeah. Poker."
"I-didn't realize-maybe that's-" She bit her lower lip. Her lashes lowered over the betraying blue eyes. She was silent for a few minutes. He did not interrupt her thoughts. Evidently she had received a shock.
She sighed, stretched, sat up and swung her feet to the floor.
"Are you warmer now?" he asked.
"All except my feet. They are ice-cold." She leaned over to rub them.
Daringly, he came over to sit on the floor beside her chair. He took one long, slender, stockinged foot in his hands. "I'll rub them for you," he said, as though he did this every day. "Say, your foot is cold. And your stockings are wet. Want to take them off?" He rubbed her foot briskly, with a masseur's impersonal touch.
"Oh, no, it's all right. I really ought to go." She tried to pull the foot away.
His mind buzzed quickly for some idea to keep her here. She was a darned attractive woman, and he wondered how far she would let him go with her. Unmarried, about twenty-six, beautiful, and immersed in the business world, Edythe probably had plenty of passion in cold storage.
"This weather is awful. I've been wishing I could hop off to Italy," he said, rubbing her slender foot with both hands.
"Italy. Have you been in Italy?" She stopped pulling at her foot.
"Yes, one winter. I lived in a pension near the Spanish Steps. Used to sit there and try to sketch. I was no good, but that sunshine felt wonderful."
"I was there once," she said slowly. She leaned back in the chair, her head against the tall, cushioned back. "Oh, it was heavenly."
That was all the cue he needed. "Tell me about it," he encouraged. "When were you there?" He took the other foot in his hands and started rubbing that one.
"Four years ago. I was twenty-two," she said. "I had wanted to spend my junior year abroad. College, you know. But father wouldn't hear of it. Oh, how he raged. Called me a beatnik and an adventuress-" She laughed a little, sadly. "Father was the only person who ever thought I had any sense of adventure in me. And he didn't like that at all."
"How did you get to Europe, then?"
A smile curved her lips, a mischievous, musing grin, that soon flickered away. "After I had graduated, several of the girls decided to go abroad for the summer. Our parents had collective fits. Oh-my mother died when I was ten. Larry was seven. But we girls were determined to go with or without permission, and threatened to get jobs abroad. So finally the parents let us go
-with one chaperon apiece. Horrors."
He laughed, looking up at her as she grimaced daintily. "I'll bet you got away from yours."
"No. Not at first, that is," she said. "The girls were furious. Finally we arrived in Rome. I loved it. I wandered off alone, shook off my jailer, and got off by myself. Oh, I loved that week. When the time came to go, I sat on my suitcase and refused to get on the plane. Dreadful scene at the Rome airport." She chuckled wickedly. "I had a little money, and I told them to go ahead. I would follow in a few days. Finally they left, weeping. I think the other girls wept because they were jealous."
"Wow. So you stayed on in Rome alone." His hands swept slowly over the warming foot, up to the knee, casually, then down again.
"Yes. Dad was enraged. He wrote. Then he sent wires. Then he phoned. I refused to return. I had found a little job, doing some typing for a professor, and it was just enough to pay for my room and food. Each day, after I finished work, I walked back to the Spanish Steps and sat there, and dreamed...." She sighed, deeply, staring out the windows. She scarcely seemed to remember he was there.
"I was crazy about Rome," he encouraged softly. His hand caressed her knee under the woolen dress. "I used to walk all around those streets out from the Spanish Steps, over to the Via del Corso and the river, the Piazza del Popolo. Do you know that coffee shop on the corner-"
"Oh, yes-yes-all around there. I walked and walked. And I met a man-" She paused, her dark eyes dreamy. "An Italian. An artist. Someone like I'd never known before." She glanced down at him. Her face was suddenly wary, cautious. "But everyone meets someone in Rome, isn't that right?" she finished flippantly.
He was fascinated. So she had had an Italian lover.
"How long were you in Rome?" he asked, his hand caressing her knee, and up above it to a warm, pliant thigh. He was a lucky guy. In less than an hour he had figured out the cue to this girl who had puzzled him. If he could just work on her, get her to remember her lover, get her warmed up and eager and passionate....
"Five weeks. Then father sent Larry to get me." Unexpectedly she bubbled with laughter. "Oh, that was so-so funny-Father never dreamed-Larry. I had written to him, what a marvelous time-Well, Larry flew to Paris. He met a girl there, and phoned me that he had a room on the Left Bank with this girl. I howled! It was so funny."
"It didn't take him long to get settled," said Jed. His hand roamed daringly, a little higher. Her thighs were warm, and she moved her legs a bit to let his hand go up farther. He had the impression that she was not consciously aware of what he was doing to her.
"So Father flew over to get both of us. He picked up Larry in Paris, came down to Rome for me, tucked us both under his arms and flew us back home. Oh, he was so mad. He told us over and over what we had cost him. Not just money, he said. We had ruined a deal he was working on. Interfered with his work. That was always the cardinal sin. To interfere with Father's work." Her tone was cold and bitter now.
Jed leaned his head against the blanket that still covered her knees. His fingers were working cunningly closer.
"So what did he do with you?"
"Larry was late going back to college. So to punish him, Father made him work in the office till February, when the next semester began. I was punished with a year of solid boredom. He put me under a woman who specialized in debutantes, and I went to one coming-out party after another. It was so dull, so horrible. When it was over, and I was still not engaged to anyone, father put me in the office and began teaching me the business. A year later, he died in the crash of the company plane, and the business was left to me, and to Larry, of course."
"Larry isn't much help, I gather."
She stirred restlessly, as though the touch of his fingers was beginning to rouse her. "Not much at present. Oh, he makes contacts. He knows people," she said vaguely.
"He's a bit wild now," said Jed, to comfort her. "But he'll settle down and take over some of the work one day. He has good stuff in him."
"Yes. I suppose so." Unexpectedly she stood up. He fell back, intensely disappointed, and watched her as she shed the blanket and straightened her dress. She stepped into her shoes.
"They're still wet," he said, hopefully. She had been softening, warming to his hands. A few more minutes-
"I must go," she said. "But I want to ask a favor of you, Jed."
So that was why she had let him go that far. He sighed, and marked her down as a little smarter than he had calculated. "What favor, Edythe?"
She looked down at him thoughtfully as he sat on the floor. His gaze traveled appreciatively over the long, smooth legs, the slim thighs and rounded waist, the full bust neatly outlined by the powder-blue knit dress. It was a lovely view, culminating in her pretty face and smooth blonde hair.
"I wish you would be nice to Larry. He wants to break out now and then. I can't blame him. But when he's drinking, will you ignore him? Don't pay any attention to what he says."
"You mean, not slug him?" Jed stood up lazily. He was six feet tall. In her heels, she was just a couple of inches shorter than he. They would make a nice couple in bed, he thought hopefully. He could imagine her long slender legs pressed close to his body, the swing of her hips under his, the soft tender touch of her naked-
"Not just that," said Edythe. "I mean, avoid him when he's drunk. He's unhappy. He says things he doesn't mean."
"I'll try." He wondered what it was she did not want him to discuss with Larry. His keen curiosity was aroused. "I'll give it a try."
"Thank you." She smiled, and reached for her fur jacket. He took it, wrapped it around her lingeringly.
"When will I see you again?" he asked. "We have a lot in common, you know. Italy, and all that."
"Oh, I should forget Italy," she said lightly. "It makes me dissatisfied and restless. I keep wanting to hop a ship or a plane. No, I'd better forget about Italy."
"You can't bottle yourself up forever," he said.
"You can't forget to live. You can't ignore love and dreams. They are too important."
She moved to the door. "So is business," she said, curtly.
"Don't forget your umbrella," he said. He went to the kitchen for it, brought it back to her. "Come up again sometime, or better yet why don't we-"
"I must go," she interrupted him hastily. "I hadn't realized it was so late. Thanks for everything. Good-by." She snatched the umbrella from him, dashed out the door and over to the elevator.
He watched her go, feeling frustrated, curious and elated all at once. He knew her better. He wanted to know more. A lot more. If he could arouse her, break down the ice barrier around her, she would be a woman to love and remember, he felt sure of that.