Scarlet Imperial Read Online Free Page B

he looks like.”
    Richards’ voice disapproved. “He says he’s got to deliver it personally, Miss Eliza. Do you want him to come up?”
    There didn’t seem to be any tactful way to ask a description. If there were she couldn’t think of one this quickly. Her fingertips were cold. She spoke again into the mouthpiece. “Could you tell me what he looks like, Richards?” She elaborated, “Mr. Keane doesn’t want to be bothered unless it’s business.”
    Richards hemmed, “He’s a middling man. Nobody you’d be likely to know, Miss Liza. Not even anybody Miss Clay would. He says he’s got some business with Mr. Keane.”
    She said, “Hold on another minute, Richards.” She said to Gavin Keane, “You ought to speak to Richards yourself. It’s hard to relay. I gather he’s average, not very prosperous. Evidently won’t give his name. A middling man, Richards says.”
    He smiled at that. With his mouth. “Good enough.” He rammed his hands into his pockets. “I’d like to see him. I know it’s an imposition, but unless I can get rid of him—”
    To old Richards’ plaintive, “What about it, Miss Liza?” she said, “Send him up.”
    Keane nodded. “Thanks. What I wanted to say is unless I can be rid of him, I wouldn’t want to walk out of here with the box tonight. And I must. There’s no reason for you to be involved. If you’ll stay in your room—” He pulled off his hat with a sudden gesture. “I forgot. Your date—”
    “I don’t usually entertain dates in negligee.”
    “I’m sorry.” If he was embarrassed, it was covered by an impudent grin. “I thought it was your best dress. I’m not up on society.”
    “I’ll be in the kitchen.” She turned. She had to play it innocent. It was her only hope of sending Gavin Keane away empty-handed. “I haven’t eaten dinner yet.” The buzzer sounded as she entered the kitchen. She didn’t leave the connecting door open. It didn’t matter if it was the pathetic messenger or the man who’d sent him. There was no reason for her to chill when Gavin Keane was present. Keane was big enough to take care of matters. She’d wanted time to think; she had it now.
    She deliberately clattered the cooking utensils and dishes as she took them from the cupboards. There were lamb chops in the ice box. She lighted the broiler, set it. A chop. Coffee. Endive and tomato for a salad. Towner would be surprised how domestic she’d become. She could tell Keane she’d left the box in the office. He wouldn’t believe it; either he’d seen her carry it away or he’d returned to the office, searched. Because he knew. She couldn’t give it to him; she’d have to lie. Even if she said she’d left it in the taxi, even if he knew she lied. Even if she had to pretend that she liked him …
    Think about food although the hunger had worn off long ago. Think about food and then she wouldn’t think about what was going on in Aunt Hortensia’s game room, of what would happen when that business was done. The only evidence of gaming was a dart board over the fireplace. Perhaps the small portable bar. The shelves were lively with books, the couches were deep as tossed hay. The room was a library but Hortensia refused the title as Victorian. Think of anything. Think of Aunt Hortensia bored by anything sporting from tiddledywinks to football; her snobbery of a game room. Anything but the silence of that room where two men conducted dangerous business.
    Towner wouldn’t like it if anything went wrong. Towner liked everything neat, quiet. She didn’t know how she could get rid of Gavin Keane. She was rusty; six months confine in the respectability of a secretary had left her without too much confidence. Where was Towner? He must have known Gavin Keane was delivering the box today; he knew everything. He knew she didn’t plan campaigns; she followed orders.
    The green leaves drifted slowly into the bowl. That sharp report. The heavy thud. She dropped the wooden spoon