Sooner or Later Read Online Free

daughter, Lottie, had entertained lavishly, filling the house with what he called “amusing riffraff,” and flamboyant movie stars, as well as “proper” people, meaning California’s tycoons and gentry. But now Miss Lottie, as she was always known affectionately, never entertained.
    Miss Lottie was still in her room, supposedly getting dressed for Ellie’s visit, but instead she was sitting at the antique Venetian desk with the intricate marquetry inlay. An old green celluloid visor that her father used to wear for his poker games shaded her eyes, and she was busy at her personal computer. She had her own Internet address, http://[email protected] , and corresponded with any number of strangers, some of whom seemed to have become friends, especially a Rabbi Altman in England, whom she was particularly fond of. To her delight, she also seemed to have become an Agony Aunt.
    Dear Al
, she typed, quite speedily for someone using only two arthritic fingers.
Thank you for your message on my E-mail. I’m sorry to hear of your problem with your paramour, and this is what I think you should do. Marry her at once. Make an honest woman of her. Settle down, have children. This is what life is for, believe me, I know.
She signed it,
Sincerely, Lottie Parrish
, then added at the end,
Shalom.
    It was a word of peace she’d learned from the Rabbi, and she liked to use it because it expressed her feeling toward the people she never saw, but who confided their innermost secrets to her.
    Maybe it was because she was old, she thought, watching the Opus ‘n’ Bill screensaver cartoon, flickering across the screen, but they seemed to believe she had a special wisdom, when all she was really doing was talking common sense. She thought it surprising how little that was used these days. Now it was all technology and psychology with not much in between.
    She’d bought the computer when her old lawyer died. She just couldn’t get along with the new fellow who’d taken his place, and she’d decided to manage her money herself. A nice, very clever young computer expert had come in for a week to teach her how it all worked, and to her surprise, she loved it. Unfortunately, though, it hadn’t been good for business.
    Miss Lottie’s suite of rooms was at the top of the grand staircase. It had tall double doors and paneling taken from a French château, painted a faded lilac, her favorite color. French windows led out onto a marble balcony, and the green brocade canopied bed was the same one she’d had as a young girl when she’d first come to this house. In fact, nothing much had changed. It was all the same as it had been when her father was here, and when her daughter, Romany, was still alive, and Rory Duveen. Now she supposed it was shabby, but it still pleased her. It was still elegant, still beautiful, still home.
    Sighing for the past, she picked up her cane and went to get dressed.
    •   •   •
    Half an hour later, she was waiting for Ellie on the marble-paved terrace, sitting in a high-backed rattan chair that was probably almost as ancient as she was, with Bruno, the old golden Labrador, dozing beside her. Her back was as straight as the chair’s, her silver hair was immaculately coiffed in a chignon, and her blue silk dress had been carefully chosen to be appropriate for afternoon tea at the Biltmore. The jaunty little silk scarf at her throat disguised, she hoped, a little of the unfortunate sag that no matter what face cream she used, refused to go away.
    “A little vanity is good for a woman,” she’d told her housekeeper and old friend, Maria, when she’d rebuked her for wasting her money on such things. “After all, when you’re my age, it’s about all you’ve got left. Besides, a woman should always try to look her best.”
    Miss Lottie thought it a pity that her mind could no longer keep pace with her body. Sometimes she couldn’t even remember what she had done yesterday, let alone last week,