Chapter 7
Diane Wilson fumed as the TWA jetliner began its approach to Los Angeles Airport. She glared at the pretty, slim auburn-haired stewardess who was walking down the aisle to make certain that all the passengers had fastened their safety belts. As soon as she got off, she was going to report that little bitch for rudeness. Imagine, denying a first-class passenger another drink, when the fare paid was certainly enough to give the airline a very tidy profit! She had two dry Martinis and then decided on the third after she had finished the meal, but the stewardness had politely told her that it was against company policy, though she might have more wine if she wished. And then she had wanted to know just how far the Ambassador Hotel was from the airport, and the dumb little bitch said that she didn't actually know but she would be glad to find out from the service representative as soon as they landed. It was really insufferable!
But her illogical anger at the unoffending stewardess was put aside when, emerging out of the landing ramp into the building of the airport, she looked around to find that Gregson Torrance wasn't-anywhere in sight. How dared he leave her here without meeting her? She was his client, and an important one too, because he had charge of all that money. Well, never mind, in six more months when she came into the trust fund and all the rest of her parents' estate, she'd soon find someone else to replace him.
Glaring, after having waited fully ten minutes for him to show up, she uttered a most unlady-like swearword under her breath and then strode off toward the baggage ramp, arrogantly beckoning to a Negro redcap to be on hand to pick up her one suitcase and find her a cab. As she waited for the baggage to come along on the conveyor belt, she heard her name being called through the public address system and that she was to report to the TWA reservations counter out in the main lobby. The Negro redcap deferentially suggested that she pick up one of the wall-airport phones and identify herself and perhaps she could be given the message then and there. Without so much as a nod of thanks, she walked across the large room to one of the wall-phones and was soon connected to the reservations desk.
"Oh yes, Miss Wilson, we've a message for you from a Mr. Gregson Torrance," a friendly female voice explained. "He says for you to go to your hotel and he'll call you this evening."
Diane Wilson slammed down the phone and, her eyes blazing with anger, walked back to the waiting redcap who by now had her suitcase in tow. "Get me a cab for the Ambassador Hotel!" she snapped.
And when she was inside the cab, she was still furious. Just wait until she heard from him-she'd give him a piece of her mind, she would!
She was somewhat mollified when, upon arrival at the swanky Hotel on Wilshire Boulevard, the front-desk deck received her with almost fawning respect. "Oh yes, Miss Wilson, we have your reservation. May I, on behalf of the hotel, wish you a very pleasant stay with us. If there is anything you need, please don't hesitate to call." That was at least the courtesy due her, she reflected, and so she tipped the bellboy rather more than she nominally would have done, '-m
It was about three in the afternoon when the phone rang, and impatiently she sprang up from the upholstered couch and answered it with angry "Hello!"
"Gregson Torrance here, Diane."
"It's about time!" she snapped. "Why the devil didn't you meet me at the airport? Here I am flying into a strange town and I have to find my own redcap just like one of the masses. I don't really appreciate that, Mr. Torrance!"
"It couldn't be helped, my dear. Now then, why don't you get a little nap and then I'll take you out to dinner. Say about seven o'clock?"
"All right. When do I see the house? I don't really care for Los Angeles and I'd like to get back Sunday sure."
"You can see the house tonight, after dinner," he said blindly.
"That's good. In that case maybe I can even get back tomorrow night. I'd really like to have dinner at the Forum of the Twelve Caesars and maybe meet some of my friends."
Gregson Torrance was thinking to himself that Diane's friends were-likely to be sycophants, probably as shallow and brittle as she herself was. "I'll try my best to get the legal documents taking care of so you can make your plans accordingly," was all he said.
Diane slammed down the phone with an imprecation, and then flung herself back down on the couch and drowsed. It was about quarter of six when she woke up, and she promptly went to the bathroom to freshen up. She saw no need for putting on an elegant costume, because what she had wore on the plane was quite good enough. It was a pleated skirt, a classic white acetate, with a matching suit-coat, under which she wore a pretty peach-colored nylon blouse, a half-slip and a bra and panty set of white nylon, with a snug narrow nylon elastic garter belt whose tabs clung lovingly to the tops of her charcoal-brown nylon hose. Her blue suede open-toe pumps were quite chic and new.
The telephone rang telling her that Gregson Torrance was in the lobby waiting for her. There wasn't any need to take a coat, she reasoned, for the weather was quite warm and sultry. In her purse, besides she had a plastic raincoat in a neat little compact packet.
Gregson Torrance came forward with a smile and extended his hand. Diane Wilson shook it disdainfully, giving him a" frosty stare as she remarked, "I see you're on time for this, at any rate. Are you sure you brought along the papers?"
"Quite sure, Diane. Relax. There are some nice things in Los Angeles, even if you don't approve of the city. I will admit our public transportation is pretty bad, but then I've heard tall tales about New York, too."
"I really don't care about any of these cities, if you want to know something," she said snippily as he courteously held the cab door open for her and she clambered in," and when I get all my money settled, I might just pick up and move to Switzerland. There wouldn't be any tax there for one thing, And I could choose my own friends."
"You can do that here too. But I'll admit that Switzerland is a sane, reasonably secure country. I wouldn't recommend the rest of Europe. Now then, let's forget such mundane things and have a good dinner. Do you like French food?"
"If you can find anything comparable to Quo Vadis or the Baroque, by all means."
Half an hour later, they were dining in an elegant French restaurant on La Cienega Boulevard, and Diane Wilson began to feel more her own important self. The courtesy of the captain and the waiter was impeccable, and the chef really seemed to have outdone himself. Her canard a I 'orange was as good as any she had ever had in New York, and Gregson Torrance had ordered a vintage bottle of Puligny-Montrachet which was really a memorable gustatory experience.
After crepes Suzette, flamed with Grand Marnier, and strong black coffee, she was actually smiling at the gray-haired, suave voluptuary across the table from her. "This really isn't too bad, you know," she drawled as she put a cigarette to her arrogant red lips. He leaned forward across the table with a silver, monogrammed lighter for her. "At least it's better than the meal I had on the plane and that miserable stewardess, telling me how many drinks I could-when I get back home, I'm going to write a letter to the chairman of the board of that airline, you just wait and see!"
"I'm sure she didn't mean anything personal. It's probably the airline policy,"
"Now don't you go start in telling me what that little bitch told me," she said fiercely, crushing out her cigarette and glaring at him again. "Let's get that house-seeing over with, shall we?"
"By all means, let's," he said. The smile on his face was mocking, but Diane Wilson didn't notice. She was too busy preening herself and making sure that people in the restaurant were observing her classic beauty. Gregson Torrance paid the check, added a handsome tip, and then took her by the arm and escorted her out of the restaurant to a waiting cab which he had had the busboy call for him at the time desert had been served.
He helped her in, and then told the driver the address in the North Hollywood hills.
Then, seated beside her, he lit a cigarette and eyed her meditatively. She had a sulky frown on her face, and she was staring straight ahead. She was impatient to get this over with, he knew. He wondered if she would be quite so impatient if she knew what really awaited her.