Page 19 of Kiss Me at Christmas
She pressed end call and took a deep breath. She was ready.
Eight
Harriet stood outside the theaterwondering if Ms. Winter was already inside. The front doors were still boarded shut, and she couldn’t imagine someone of Evaline’s age and social stature squeezing past the corrugated iron covering the backstage entrance.
Behind her, she heard the whine of an electric window motor and turned to see a white-gloved hand with gray fur trim reach languidly through the limousine window and beckon her over. Harriet bent to look inside. Evaline Winter was sat back in her seat, making no effort to lean forward. There was an empty seat beside the elderly woman, which seemed to be reserved for a cream beaded minaudière bag with a gold chain, and on the seat next to that was another figure, too shrouded in darkness for Harriet to see more than a pair of long, slender legs clad in expensive suit trousers and the same oxblood brogues she had admired yesterday morning in James’s apartment. Her stomach gave a yip of excitement despite her better judgment and Pete’s warnings.
“Miss Smith, I presume?”
The woman’s voice was icy and aristocratic, and it snapped Harriet out of her thoughts.
“Ms.,” Harriet replied automatically.
“Please be so kind as to join me in the car so that we can talk.”
“Oh, okay. I thought we’d be meeting in the theater.”
“Don’t make me keep this window open any longer than I need to. I am not in good health.”
“Right, sorry, yes. Shall I get in this side?” She gestured to the door, but the hand flicked her away.
“Other side!” the woman snapped.
Harriet jumped to attention. As she dashed around the front of the car to reach the other side, her boots slipped on a patch of dusty snow on top of an ice puddle and with a most unladylike exclamation of “Son of a cluck bucket!” she was sent sprawling across the long bonnet of the limo, emitting a guttural “Oof!” sound. She peeled her cheek from the polished paintwork and looked in through the windscreen to see a chauffeur staring back at her with one brow arched quizzically but no other signs that this wasn’t an everyday occurrence for him. He wound his window down.
“Would you like some help, madam?” he asked politely.
“No, thank you. I can take it from here.”
“As you wish.”
Pushing up with her palms, she gingerly maneuvered herself off the bonnet, hoping that her coat buttons wouldn’t scratch the paintwork. When her boots were back on the ground, she bent over, keeping her hands flat on the bonnet, and crab-stepped her way around to the door on the far side. Before she opened it, she straightened up and pulled her shoulders back.Maybe they didn’t see me slip?Grateful that the interior was dark enough to hide her blushing cheeks, she climbed into the car, taking one of the seats opposite Ms. Winter and James, and pulled the door shut behind her.
James’s lips were compressed to invisibility and hiseyes squinted with the effort of not laughing. He sat rigid, looking everywhere but at her. Clearly, they had seen her splat over the bonnet.
Ms. Winter, however, was less amused. She wore a gray fur ushanka hat that matched the trim of her gloves, the ends of her short white hair curling around the brim. Intelligent, beady eyes glared out at Harriet from beneath it.
“Is this your first time getting into a car, Ms. Smith?” she inquired coldly. “You appeared to struggle with the concept.”
James stifled a squeak that sounded like someone letting the air slowly out of the neck of a balloon. His compressed giggle was infectious, and she wanted more.
She lifted her chin. “No, Ms. Winter. I was practicing my Bo Duke bonnet slide technique.”
James turned pointedly to the window, his eyes squeezed shut, his shoulders shaking. Harriet had to bite down on her own lip to stop herself from joining him. Evaline Winter’s visage remained glacial.
“Mr. Knight, kindly contain yourself. Ms. Smith, do not be facetious,” Evaline snapped, and just like that all good humor was sucked out of the car. She left a beat—presumably for them to think about what they’d done—before saying, “You broke into my property.”
“Well, I mean, technically—” Harriet began.
“That wasn’t a question.”
“Oh, right.”
“I would be quite within my rights to charge you. But my legal counsel rightly advised that this would only hit your pocket.”
Harriet glared at James, but he was busy rifling through papers in the briefcase open on his lap. His glee had dissipated completely. Ms. Winter continued.
“And I have always found that people acknowledge the consequences of their failings, or in this case misdemeanors, best if they are forced to atone for them. It seems only fitting that you clean up your own mess.”
