Authors: Janet Dailey
"I don't mind. Do you remember which room you have?" Her aunt rose and Lisa did likewise.
"Yes, I remember. Turn right at the top of the stairs and it's the second room," she recalled.
"That's it. I'll be turning in now, too. I'll be rising with the sun to work on my novel, but you sleep as late as you wish," her aunt instructed. "Remember, you're on vacation."
"Which means not dashing about to get to work," Lisa smiled. She started toward the foyer and the staircase leading to the second floor. Over her shoulder, she added, "And thanks for letting me spend my vacation here."
"Thanks aren't necessary. I am proud to have you here. Good night."
"Good night, Mitzi," Lisa waved as she rounded the opened double doors into the foyer.
The staircase of heavily carved and polished cypress made a lazy circle to the second floor. Lisa climbed its carpeted steps, a hand sliding along the smooth wood of the carved banister to the top. The plaster walls of the upper-floor hallway were painted a pearl white. The color gave light to the high-ceilinged but narrow corridor.
Turning right, Lisa entered the second room. Her previous inspection of the room had been a cursory one, a hurried tour on her arrival, cut short by her desire to return downstairs to visit with her aunt. Now she let her gaze wander around the room.
Mitzi had said she had specifically chosen that guest room for Lisa because it seemed to be "her." The walls were a rich jade green, accented by woodwork painted ivory. A small alcove held a sofa decorated in vivid greens and golds. The silklike material of the drapes was of ivory to match the bedspread on the canopied bed. The area rug was patterned in an Oriental design that incorporated the green and off-white colors with a vivid yellow.
The sight of her suitcases standing at the foot of the bed reminded Lisa that she hadn't yet unpacked. She sighed tiredly, then noticed her nightgown and robe lying across the bed. She picked up one suitcase. It was light as a feather. Setting it back down, Lisa walked to the closet. All her clothes were there, neatly hung on wire hangers. The rest of her things were in the drawers of a Provençal-styled dresser. The housekeeper had obviously unpacked the suitcases for her.
"Bless her grumbling soul." Lisa repeated her aunt's earlier comment about Mildred, murmuring it in all sincerity.
Kicking off her shoes, she walked to a second ivory-painted door. It opened into a private bathroom where her cosmetics were arranged neatly on the counter in front of a well-lighted vanity mirror. There wasn't anything left for her to do.
Lisa glanced at the large porcelain bathtub with its gold fixtures and green and gold shower curtain, but the bed looked infinitely more inviting at the moment. Closing the bathroom door, she changed into her nightclothes.
Climbing between the clean-scented sheets of the bed, she switched off the light on the stand beside the bed. Lisa stared at the pale silk of the canopy above her head. Tomorrow she would be meeting Slade Blackwell. She wanted to be very well rested for that. She closed her eyes.
As Lisa followed the descending rail of the spiral staircase the next morning, she could hear the staccato tapping of typewriter keys coming from the downstairs study. Smiling to herself, she knew she wouldn't have to make any explanations to Mitzi. Her aunt was hard at work on her new novel.
At the bottom of the stairs, Lisa paused in front of the large oval mirror to make a last-minute inspection of her appearance. The loose-fitting waistcoat-type jacket gave height to her average build, the skirt long enough to be fashionable while revealing the shapely curve of her legs. The waistcoat and skirt were spring green in color over a complementing brightly printed blouse with long sleeves.
Hats had become her passion in the last year and Lisa wore one now, a matching green turban that gave a touch of sophistication to the overall effect. A silkily blond wisp of hair had escaped the hat, trailing the curve of her neck. Lisa tucked it beneath the hat and adjusted the large gold stud of her earring.
Satisfaction sparkled in her eyes, their color enhanced by the green of her outfit. She liked the image of the woman looking back at her, professional yet definitely feminine. Her gaze slid to the bone-colored handbag in her left hand. Inside was a slip of paper with Slade Blackwell's business address.
Lisa had no doubt he would see her this morning, regardless of whether or not she had an appointment. He wouldn't turn away the niece of Mitzi Talmadge. Once she was inside the door, he would not find it so easy to be rid of her.
"Would you like breakfast now, miss?"
Glancing toward the sound of the voice, Lisa saw the long-suffering Mildred standing just inside the doorway and smiled. "No, thank you, Mildred. I function much better on an empty stomach."
"Beg pardon?"
"It doesn't matter." Lisa didn't bother with an explanation of her statement and ran a smoothing hand over her hip. "If Mitzi asks where I am, tell her I've gone to see an old friend."
As often as she had heard Blackwell's name in the past twenty-four hours, it did feel as if she had known him a long time and disliked him for an equal length.
"Will you be home for lunch, then?" Mildred inquired in a voice that was wearily patient.
Lisa hesitated. "No," she decided. "I'll be back sometime in the afternoon. What time is Mitzi generally through for the day?"
"It depends, miss. It depends," was the answer, indicating that anything more definite was quite beyond her.
Concealing the amused smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth, Lisa wished the housekeeper a good day and walked out of the ornately carved front door into the midmorning of a March day. The air was balmy, the sun bright, not a hint of a blustery March wind to be found.
The lovely old mansion was narrow and long. The house didn't actually front the narrow street in Old Charleston; its entrance door opened onto the portico running the length of one side. Lisa's heels clicked noisily on the smooth stone as she walked to the false house door opening onto the street from the portico.
Closing it behind her, she heard the rumble of carriage wheels and the steady clop of horses' hooves. Lisa paused to watch a horse-drawn surrey around the narrow street corner, its fringe waving with the motion.
Tourists sat in the seats behind the guide, taking a carriage tour of Old Charleston. They had obviously seen her coming from the mansion, Lisa realized, and they stared openly. She smiled and waved, knowing they believed she was a full-fledged Charlestonian instead of a tourist like themselves.
The carriage ride looked like a fun way to tour Old Charleston, whose history encompassed the Southern manner of gracious living, the sad days of the Civil War, and beyond that, the era of Colonial America. Lisa glanced around the immediate neighborhood. Magnolia trees and massive oaks, with their leaves and branches draped by Spanish moss, towered beside and above fine old homes. The colorful splash of flowers seemed to be in every lawn and garden, creeping along fences and spouting from stone urns.
Lisa squared her shoulders. There would be time enough to do some sight-seeing later on. For the time being; she couldn't be distracted by the beauty around her, not until after she'd had her confrontation with Slade Blackwell. The click of her heels made a purposeful sound as she started out.
It was a short walk along the stagecoach-wide street to Meeting Street, where Lisa was able to obtain directions to the law offices of Courtney Blackwell & Son. Slade Blackwell was, of course, the "Son." The office, too, was located in Old Charleston, in an old merchant building with ornate cornice trim around the roof.
The instant Lisa entered the offices she had the impression of a small, exclusive practice. Richly paneled walls, their wood gleaming with the patina of years, emitted a studious air, while antiques and plush leather furniture added intimacy to the overall atmosphere.
The receptionist was an older woman with sleekly coiffed gray hair. She wore glasses with half lenses which she peered over at Lisa. Yet she managed to exude an attitude of polite deference.
"May I help you?"
"I'm here to see Mr. Slade Blackwell." Lisa didn't bother to inform the woman she didn't have an appointment nor that he didn't know her.
Surprisingly no questions were put to her as the woman nodded her head toward a set of carved oak double doors. "His office is through those doors."
This was going to be easier than she had thought. No preliminary introductions to be forwarded to him. No explanations as to why she was there. Slade Blackwell was proving to be much more accessible than she had believed.
The doors opened to a small office, complete with desk, typewriter and filing cabinets. Obviously it was supposed to be manned by his private secretary, but there was no one in sight to greet Lisa. Closing the doors, she walked into the office, deciding it had been partitioned from a larger room.
An overstuffed leather armchair was in a corner with an old wooden magazine rack and smokestand beside it, but Lisa didn't take its invitation to sit and wait. Instead she walked to the vacant secretary's desk. Except for an opened appointment book, it was tidily swept clean of any papers.
She glanced cautiously toward the door leading to Slade Blackwell's private office. There were no sounds coming from it, but the walls of the building were thick. Carefully she slid the appointment book around to peep at his day's agenda.
Without warning the door was opened, and Lisa nearly jumped out of her shoes. She quickly concealed her start of guilty surprise to inspect the man confronting her. His tall, leanly muscled build was clothed in an impeccably tailored suit of oyster gray, complete with waistcoat.
There the lawyer image ended and the man began. And he made an immediate physical impact on Lisa. The breath she had been holding she released slowly, then seemed unable to take another. Every nerve in her body quivered with the alertness of an animal scenting danger.
This was Slade Blackwell. Lisa needed no introduction. If she had expected the suave image of a Southern gentleman, chivalrous and courtly, charming a rich widow with his pearly smile, she would have needed to make an immediate reassessment. Somehow, though, Lisa hadn't got as far as picturing her opponent.
Strong and masterful, Mitzi had described him. Meek words, Lisa concluded silently. Belligerently male, he was as hard as a piece of granite that had somehow managed to come to life. He exuded an air of vitality that seemed to smother, a sensual power that was overwhelming. At least, Lisa felt its suffocating force.
Raven-black hair grew thickly away from his forehead, seeming to appear waywardly casual in its style. His eyes were the color of his hair, burning like black coals yet possessing the sharpness of an eagle. No gentle spaniel-brown eyes for Slade Blackwell.
Tanned lean cheeks, faintly hollowed, accented the angular slant of his jaw to a thrusting chin. There was an unyielding firmness to his mouth that seemed to suggest a latent ruthlessness in getting what he
wanted. Dark, thick brows managed to appear finely drawn. One was arched slightly higher than the other now in arrogant censure.
"It's about time you arrived." His voice was low pitched. It might have been pleasant had his tone not been sharpened by tightly leashed impatience. "The agency had assured me they would have someone here by nine-thirty. It is now half past ten. There are some important letters that need to be out right away. They're on the dictaphone. I presume you do know how to operate a dictaphone?"
On the last dryly sarcastic note, he pivoted on his heel and reentered his private office.
Chapter Two
THE SHARP CLICK of the closing door snapped Lisa out of her daze. Her mouth opened. The words formed to call him back, her hand raised uselessly. Then she hesitated, her hand coming back to her mouth as she began to thoughtfully nibble a fingernail.
Why not? a mischievous little voice inside her demanded.
Obviously Slade Blackwell was expecting a replacement for his regular secretary and had mistaken Lisa for that replacement. Why should she bother to tell him differently? A private secretary would have access to all the files. If she wanted proof to confirm or denounce her suspicions, what better way than through his own records?
It was a heaven-sent opportunity. She would be a fool not to take advantage of it. True, Lisa admitted, she wasn't trained as a secretary, but she could type, not very speedily, but at least it wasn't the hunt-and-peck method. She knew the rudiments of dictaphone use. With any luck she could bluff her way through what other skills might be necessary.
With the decision made, Lisa quickly stepped behind the desk, slipping her bag into a lower drawer. The first thing she had to do was cancel the order for a secretary. She had no idea which agency had been contacted and couldn't very well ask. That meant going down the list of agencies in the telephone book and calling every one until she found the right one. Luckily, she reached the right agency on the third call.
One more phone call. She looked the number up in the directory and dialed it quickly. Her fingers drummed the desktop impatiently as she listened to the ring on the other end.
Finally it was answered. "Talmadge residence," came the world-weary voice of the housekeeper.