Truth - Romig Aleatha - Страница 84
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“Derek, this is my wife Hilary.”
Derek shook her hand and introduced Sophia. “I’m pleased to meet you, Hilary. This is my wife Sophia. Sophia, this is my boss Roger Cunningham and his wife Hilary.”
As the men began to discuss the economy and expectations for the future, Hilary Cunningham pulled Sophia under her wing. Her motherly voice offered more advice than Sophia wanted, “My dear, you look beautiful. I’m so glad to meet you. Roger speaks very highly of Derek. They’re all so happy he agreed to come to Shedis-tics. How do you like Santa Clara? How do you like San Francisco? How about the beach, do you like the beach? Have you two had a chance to drive into the mountains? They are simply beautiful this time of year...”
Although she was trying with all her might, Sophia couldn’t keep up with Hilary’s questions. It was as if the woman never paused to breathe. How was Sophia expected to answer?
Finally Mrs. Cunningham moved them away from their husbands. “Let me introduce you to some of the other wives. Listening to the men talk shop all night can get a little tiresome.”
Sophia looked to Derek who appeared completely engrossed in Mr. Cunningham’s words. Unwittingly, Sophia allowed herself to be directed around the room. Hilary knew many of the people. After introductions and polite chats they would move away and Hilary would whisper sordid tidbits of information about their private lives. Sophia wondered how she possibly knew so much information.
Making their way back toward their husbands, Hilary whispered, “I’m surprised Mr. Rawlings isn’t here yet. I don’t think I’ve ever made it to a function before him. He has a real thing for punctuality, or so Roger says.”
“Do you know him?” Sophia asked, suddenly interested in some of Mrs. Cunningham’s gossip.
“Not really. We’ve been introduced a few times. He doesn’t usually make it to our area. I think Shedis-tics is pretty small on his food chain. That’s why Roger is so excited he’ll be here tonight.”
“Is he married?” Sophia asked.
Hilary’s expression was both surprised and amused. “Oh come on, surely you know his story.”
Embarrassed by her lack of knowledge Sophia apologized, “I’m sorry, I really don’t follow things like that. Why, should I?”
At that moment a waitress passed by with a tray filled with glasses of champagne. Hilary reached for two glasses, handed one to Sophia and said, “Well, let me fill you in!”
*****
With increased concern and anxiety, Claire followed the woman away from the crowds to an elevator. When the doors opened and the woman entered, Claire decided she’d followed long enough.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to get into this elevator without knowing where I’m going.”
It was at that moment she heard determined footsteps approaching from the direction they’d just traveled. Claire turned toward the source and saw a face from her past. The man approached at a steady pace dressed in a very nice suit.
Claire’s mind wheeled with memories. This man had never shown her anything but kindness, except perhaps at their last meeting. Had he purposely left the key cabinet to the cars at Tony’s estate open? Was he part of Tony’s plan? Did his actions lead to her eventual incarceration? Although these questions and many more formed in her head, her lips pressed together in a straight line. This wasn’t the time or place to speak her distress. The only outward signs were the sparks blazing from her eyes toward Tony’s driver.
“Ms. Claire, Mr. Rawlings is upstairs and would like to see you.”
“Eric.” She managed through clenched jaws.
“Yes, now, if you’ll please enter the elevator I’ll gladly escort you to him.” He looked at the woman from the gala, “Thank you, I’ll take Ms. Nichols from here.”
The woman didn’t bother to look back toward Claire for confirmation. She nodded and walked away toward the gala.
While hushed, Claire’s voice sounded strong and resilient, “Eric, please tell Mr. Rawlings I no longer make command performances. If he wants to see me, he can come to me.”
Seizing her elbow, Eric directed her toward the still open elevator. His voice was low, yet determined, “Ms. Claire, there are many people about. Perhaps this time you could make an exception?”
Surprised by his assertiveness and stunned by his touch, her feet moved obediently into the elevator. When the doors closed, she pulled her elbow free from his grasp and felt the floor move upward.
This wasn’t an elevator used by guests, but an industrial lift, presumably used by the staff of the St. Regis. The stainless steel walls marred with fingerprints and floor covered by a large black mat resembled the service elevator at Claire’s condominium.
As the doors opened, Eric gallantly turned and asked, “Ms. Nichols, may I assist you?”
She wondered if that meant: Do you want me to forcibly remove you from this elevator?
Her stoic expression remained while her words were clipped, “Thank you, I believe I’m capable of walking on my own.” She wasn’t happy with this man. Yet, she knew Eric was only doing what everyone did around Anthony Rawlings, following orders. Exiting the elevator, they stepped into a brightly lit, empty hallway. The sound of her heels upon the concrete floor echoed through the passage. “I’ll follow you, as you seem to know where we’re going.”
Eric nodded, “Yes, ma’am, this way please.”
What choice did she have? The elevator was now closed. The sensor near the doors indicated a key was required to regain entry. The hallway had few options for escape. The few doors they passed held name plates indicating the contents beyond: heating/AC, cleaning supplies, and personal supplies. The destination at the end of the passage was not labeled. Eric opened the door and held it for Claire to pass. She did, each step becoming more difficult to endure. More than anything, she wanted to call Harry, but he was busy with problems at SiJo. She squared her shoulders and entered an elegant posh foyer. Claire knew who she’d find at the end of this journey. Before her were two options, an elevator and a set of double doors. This elevator was adorned with golden mirrored doors.
Eric placed a card below an electronic reader near the double doors, and she heard tumblers shift. Anthony Rawlings’ driver and right hand man opened one of the grand doors. Claire obediently entered the threshold of the luxurious penthouse atop the San Francisco St. Regis Hotel. Although every fiber within her body told her to run for the gold elevator, Claire’s Jimmy Choo four and a half inch heels moved forward. She heard the click of each step as she followed Eric through the foyer, complete with a winding staircase, toward a beautiful sitting area. Beyond the elaborately furnished room, with multiple sofas, tables and entries to other rooms were windows covering the wall from the polished floor to the ceiling, at least fifteen feet above.
Claire saw the back of his head, hair gelled perfectly in place and his customary Armani tuxedo slacks and perfectly pressed white silk shirt. She couldn’t remember how many he owned. She knew it was many. Tony’s large form appeared dwarfed against the height of the glass pane. Beyond him the sky filled with color, creating a magnificent vista as an amazing sunset glistened in the western sky, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the foreground.
The anger growing within her chest stilled as she heard his voice. Uncharacteristic anger emanated. He was yelling at some poor soul on the phone he held tightly in his right hand. With his left hand he twisted a cord. It was the tie holding back the drapes at the edge of the amazing view.
“She’s not to be there. He is to remain.” “No, that isn’t acceptable.” “This has been the plan forever. If you aren’t capable, I will find someone who is.” He turned, hearing Eric and Claire enter. His eyes smoldered. Despite the dark blackness of his irises, fire flashed from a deep untouchable abyss. Claire searched his expression for a sign of assurance, finding none; she shivered knowing the depths of this man’s temper.
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