Page 51 of A Treasure Worth Seeking

She looked at Lance once again, but he was staring at the floor beneath his shiny shoes. He wasn’t prepared to tell Bart anything. His only intention was to hurl veiled insults at her that mocked Bart, to make her feel humiliated and ashamed over what she had done out of love. His derision announced her betrayal of Bart like blaring trumpets in her head.

Lance raised his head then and looked at her. Her heart twisted with pain as she met the implacable eyes that told her clearly their shared intimacies had meant nothing more to him than a diversion.

She hung her head and mumbled, “I won’t be long,” as she climbed the stairs with leaden legs.

She never remembered packing her bags and checking the guest bedroom for articles left behind. She did recall retrieving her ring from the jewelry case and slipping it on her finger. She hadn’t changed her mind about Bart. She could never marry him, but she would tell him later. Later. Not now. The ring weighed her down like an iron collar around her neck.

Her next conscious thought caught up with her as she stood once again at the front door. Bart was saying, “I took a cab from the airport. We’ll drive your rented car back and turn it in before meeting Jim.”

“Yes,” she said passively, not caring if she had to walk to Houston.

“Here, sugar, let me put these in the car for you.”

He went down the concrete steps with her bags, and she was left alone with Lance and Mike in the entrance hall.

“Good-bye, Mike,” she said, realizing that she had never known his last name.

“Miss O’Shea.” He inclined his head in a brief nod.

Lance came toward her with sauntering grace. He took her hand. His lip was lifted at one corner in a knowing smirk. “Miss O’Shea, I can’t tell you what a pleasure it has been… knowing you.” His eyes sought out the intimate places of her body that his hands and lips had learned so well.

It was the height of insults and she jerked her hand away from his. She glared at him with pure venom before she spun on her heel and marched out the door to the waiting car.

Lance didn’t shut the door right away. He watched until the white Mercedes had disappeared around the corner. Then he collapsed against the wall. His anguished cry came straight from the pit of hell. “God, no, please. No! How can I stand it?”

Mike saw the blue eyes squeezed shut in an expression of incredible agony, the bared teeth, and the balled fists raised to vein-rippled temples. He mistakenly thought his boss was referring to the arrival of Mrs. Lyman’s parents, who were imperiously making their way toward the front door.

* * *

The light on the intercom lit up, and the buzzer sounded. Picking up the receiver, Erin said, “Yes, Betty?”

“That gal from the Boutique Four in Tulsa is on the line again. This is the fourth time this week she’s called asking about the possibility of a trunk show with Bill Blass’s holiday line.”

Erin rubbed her throbbing forehead in agitation. “Then for the fourth time this week tell her that Mr. Blass is in Europe and I can’t talk to him about it until he gets back.”

She was immediately sorry for her nasty retort and, taking a deep breath, said, “I’m sorry, Betty.”

“No need to apologize. Don’t you feel well today?”

“A little weary,” she admitted.

“Why don’t you lie down for a while?”

“No. I have too much to do.”

“Okay,” Betty said without conviction. “While I’ve got you on the line, Lester called and begged that he be able to take someone with him to the show at Walsh’s in Albuquerque. It’s an overnight trip and he says he’ll kill himself if he can’t take his live-in along.”

Lester was one of the male models that Erin frequently used in her style shows. “Is the live-in male or female?”

Betty said, chuckling, “You know Lester.”

“Then tell him he’ll just have to kill himself. The Walshes are very conservative and very straight and very rich, and I need to hold on to that account. We can’t jeopardize it. The live-in, male or female, stays at home.”

“I’d already told him to load the pistol, but I promised to ask.”

Erin laughed, silently thanking Betty for injecting a little levity into this

depressing day. “Thanks, Betty, you’re a real friend.”

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