Two Down Read Online Free Page B

lady’s uneven playing field.
    As a uniformed valet opened the passenger-seat door, Sara suddenly seemed to remember Belle’s presence. “Rosco must be quite smitten with you, Miss Graham,” she murmured in a stage whisper. “He usually doesn’t wear socks, you know.”
    Belle forced a smile. “Call me Belle . . . please . . .” then added a determined: “I’m sure Rosco’s choice of footwear is your influence, Mrs. Briephs.”
    Sara laughed as she took Rosco’s arm. “We must have tea one of these afternoons, dear girl . . .” She paused for a moment to consider the invitation. Belle could see years of female machinations spinning across a seemingly serene face. “On second thought, I’m free Monday. Shall we say four o’clock?”
    Belle groaned inwardly, but a glance at Rosco revealed the importance he placed on her friendship with this fierce old woman. “That will be very nice, Mrs. Briephs.”
    “Good. Now, Rosco, let us brave the beasts . . . one of them being my brother, Hal.”
    “I didn’t know the senator would be here this evening,” Rosco answered while giving Belle a clandestine nod of gratitude and encouragement. “I’ll make it up to you,” he mouthed. “I promise.”
    “Oh, my dear! He wouldn’t miss this party on a dare! There are more votes in this building than you can shake a stick at—to say nothing of campaign funding in this all-important year. I may insist that my brother is a traitor to his class, but, liberal though he may be, he remains a Crane in a city where ancestry counts.”
    With that, Sara swept through the club’s entrance as two doormen snapped to attention. Naturally, Sara knew their names—and the names of their offspring. And, naturally, her brief queries on everyone’s health were treated like pearls of wisdom.
    “Quite a performance,” Belle whispered to Rosco.
    “She’s all right,” Rosco answered. “It just takes her a while to warm up.”
    “Are we talking geological ages? Or human years?”
     
    The club’s foyer was awash with people and noise. The multicolored marble floor inlaid with a polished brass compass rose did nothing to diminish the clamor; neither did the domed ceiling, which Belle decided resembled a smaller version of the Capitol’s rotunda in Washington. Men in full evening regalia and women with meticulously coiffed and lacquered hair were everywhere; all seemed to be talking at once. Those who weren’t already in animated conversation were busy greeting friends; the air was full of ancient, prep-school nicknames and kisses that brushed past powdered cheeks.
    “We’ll head for the club room,” Sara commanded in a stentorian tone. “It’s a mostly male enclave, and Hal will be working the crowd. I want him to meet you, Rosco . . . at long last.” She smiled glowingly, although the expression was not intended for her brother.
    As the three pushed their way through the jostling throng, a voice with a curiously mannered British accent assailed them: “Mrs. Briephs! Such an inestimable pleasure! An event such as this would never be complete without your gilded presence!” The speaker was a diminutive man with a nearly bald head across which a few wispy strands of parchment-colored hair drifted in the breeze. Everything about him was small, almost preposterously frail, but the most outstanding feature of his appearance was a pair of horn-rim glasses so large and prominent they made his eyes look like those of a mutant insect. Six weeks prior, amid great hoopla—and a lucrative new contract—Bartholomew Kerr had been lured from his position as society-page editor of the Newcastle Herald to create a gossip column at the Evening Crier : a column known as Biz-y Buzz that was already the rage of the city’s socialites.
    A notepad seemed permanently affixed to Kerr’s tiny left hand while a pencil paused doggedly in his right and a battered camera drooped from a strap around his neck. “You know who’s