Forbidden Fire (21 page)

There was a large building in front of them. One window advertised the telegraph company, another advertised a bank. Between them was a doorway leading to Antoine's. Ian led them in.

A stairway went to an elegant basement dining area. Snowy white cloths adorned the tables, and candles were set in glass and brass holders. There was rich carpeting on the floor, and the aromas that mingled in the air were appealing. The diners were more arresting in their finery than the restaurant. Ladies in silks and taffetas with elegant little feathered hats sat across from men in their business best. A pianist played soft music from a dais, and the black-jacketed waiters were as proper as the clientele.

The maître d' knew Ian well, and led them to a table by a railing overlooking the piano. He greeted Ian by name, and didn't try to hide his excitement at seeing Marissa.

“Madame Tremayne,
je pense, monsieur
?”

“Yes, Jacques, this is my wife. Marissa, Jacques. And Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien. If you're ever wandering around and in need of a meal, come see Jacques. He will see that you are well cared for, whatever the rush. Isn't that right, Jacques?”

“Oh,
mais oui
!” Jacques agreed. The handsome little Frenchman was smiling widely, with a keen sense of humor and excitement about him. As he seated them and handed them menus, he added, “Madame Tremayne is very young, and very beautiful.
Elle est très belle
!”

Marissa felt a soft blush touching her cheeks as Ian looked at her, too, as if debating the Frenchman's words.

“Yes,” he agreed wryly. “She's young.”

Marissa had thought that Jimmy might plunge in with something complimentary in her defense, but Jimmy was still busy staring around the restaurant, while Mary was studying her menu.

“Jacques, what on earth is going on with you today?” Ian demanded, exasperated.

“Nothing, nothing,” Jacques said quickly. “Monsieur Tremayne, Raoul will wait on you today. I shall send the wine steward immediately, also, yes? Raoul!”

The man was quickly at their side, and seemed as fascinated by Ian's wife as Jacques had been. Marissa was wryly glad that she did not seem to disappoint, yet she was truly curious at the air of excitement she was causing.

“May I order for us all?” Ian asked politely. He was impatient, she realized. He had taken her around the city on her first day, and now he was anxious to get lunch over with and move on to business.

“Please, do,” she said, and Ian looked at Jimmy.

“Oh, aye, please do!” Jimmy said quickly, after a moment.

The wine steward poured burgundy into their crystal glasses, which Ian tasted and approved. Marissa noted with a smile that Jimmy had studied his every move, and that Mary watched Jimmy fondly as he sought to learn. Ian ordered and started to tell them about Golden Gate Park, which they had not seen. “A Japanese tea garden was erected there during the Exposition of 1894,” he said. “Perhaps the ladies will want to make an excursion one day—”

He broke off suddenly. Marissa turned to discover why.

A woman was walking toward them. She was tall and slim, with fine, delicate features, large, dark-fringed eyes, and hair so deep and lustrous a brown it was like sable. She smiled, and her chin was held elegantly high. She was dressed in mauve, and a fashionable feathered hat sat jauntily upon her head. She was elegant and sensual, and it was apparent Ian knew her very well.

And it was equally apparent that she was no dance-hall girl.

Ian stood as she approached. He did not seem wary or distressed, and Marissa felt her cheeks burning despite her determination that they should not. Ian had made no promises to her.

“Hello, Grace,” he said as the woman approached.

“Ian, dear!” The woman took his hands and rose on her toes to delicately kiss both his cheeks. Her eyes were warm, and she seemed as gentle and fragile as an angel.

Then she turned to Marissa, and her gaze was deadly.

“You must be the new Mrs. Tremayne … child. What a lovely girl, Ian. My congratulations. Oh, I am sorry. Ian has horrid manners at times, doesn't he? Well, perhaps you don't know him quite as well as I do yet. I'm Grace Leroux. We're old friends.”

The woman at the station had been one thing—this woman was another. Marissa forgot that at one time she couldn't have cared less what Ian Tremayne did with his life. She wasn't anyone's child, and she wasn't about to let this sweet-faced harpy best her in any way.

She rose, offering Grace Leroux her hand, and smiling serenely. “Very, very old friends, I can see,” she said sweetly. “And indeed, my husband's manners can be quite atrocious.” She flashed Ian what she hoped was an adoring and intimate smile. She gritted her teeth, hoping he would not step in and make a fool of her.

He did not. His brows rose, his lip curled and he watched her with growing amusement as she continued.

“Mrs. Leroux—or is it Miss?”

“Mrs.,” said the woman, her dark eyes narrowing, the hint of a hiss in the word.

“Mrs. Leroux, my friends, Mr. and Mrs. James O'Brien. Mary, Jimmy, Ian's very old friend, Mrs. Leroux.”

Jimmy was already on his feet. Mary smiled demurely. Marissa cast a quick glance at Ian, and discovered that he seemed annoyed with the situation.

“Grace, are you staying? Would you like a chair brought?”

“Yes, what a lovely idea,” Grace agreed. Ian motioned to their waiter, who quickly brought a fifth chair and seated Grace. She nodded across the table. “Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien,” she acknowledged with little interest. She turned her back on Marissa. “Ian, the picnic for the Orphan's Fund is next week, or have you forgotten? Our most influential businessmen will be coming during the day. I do hope that we can count on you to attend.” She turned to Marissa. “Oh, dear, it really isn't for wives. Ian, you will be there, I hope?”

“I always support the Orphan's Fund,” Ian said with a sigh of impatience. “Of course I'll be there.”

“Why isn't it for wives?” Marissa asked with a mock innocence.

“I'm curious myself,” Ian murmured, crossing his arms idly over his chest as he watched Grace.

“Well, it's rather a workaday thing, dear. Boring, if you're not involved. And it's a traditional thing, really. Ian has been very involved. He usually escorts me. I am so sorry, dear,” Grace purred to Marissa. “You will forgive me for stealing your husband?”

“If I allowed you to steal my husband, I would have to forgive you,” Marissa said pleasantly. She folded her hands on the snowy white tablecloth and smiled at Mary. “Mary and I were longing to see the park, so I imagine that we'll explore it on the same day. That way you won't have to feel guilty about my husband, and we won't disturb your tradition.”

Grace was still smiling, but the effort seemed to be growing difficult. She stood swiftly. “Well, we shall see,” she murmured. “Ian, dear, we'll speak later. It was such a—surprise, meeting you,” she told Marissa. Then she waved elegantly and left the table. Marissa noted that she turned and stared at Ian moments later, and that there was cold fury in her eyes. But Ian was not paying any heed, for the waiter had brought their food.

Marissa found herself very quiet during the meal, until the subject of the picnic came up again. Mary asked about the Orphan's Fund. Marissa watched Ian, and was startled when he suddenly turned his head and caught her in the act.

“Should we see the Golden Gate Park that day?” she asked him.

He shrugged, but didn't look away. “If you choose. I've no idea what Grace's tradition is. There is no reason you shouldn't both attend, you and Mary. I plan to have Jimmy busy at the emporium by then.”

Marissa lowered her eyes quickly, not wanting him to see that she was inordinately pleased with his words.

Yet when they left the restaurant and Jimmy and Mary preceded them down the street, she could not help but challenge him again.

“You mentioned to the maître d' that you were married. Yet I had the feeling that Mrs. Leroux had no knowledge of me until we met.”

He shrugged. “I made luncheon reservations for myself, my wife and friends. I had no reason to inform Grace.”

“Yet you almost defended me against her.”

He case her a long, dry look. “You seemed to be defending yourself, my love. I've acquired a cat with claws, so it seems.”

Marissa stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, and Ian turned impatiently. “I've an appointment this afternoon—”

“She is your mistress, isn't she?”

“Marissa, I told you—”

“You didn't bother to tell your mistress that you'd acquired a wife?”

“It's really none of her business, is it?” he asked her smoothly.

“But it is. I like to be aware of the situations I find myself cast into.”

“She's an old friend.” He grinned. “Very old, as you were so quick to tell her.”

Marissa flushed, but she felt her temper growing. “I don't care to have lunch with your intimate old friends.”

“I didn't invite her. Now, would you please come on?”

She didn't move, and he suddenly caught her arm. “Come on!”

She had little choice, for he was nearly dragging her down the street. And when she would have balked again, he paused and turned to her in a sudden fury. “Damn you, girl, you're the one determined on your private quarters!”

“Which you ignored!”

“Ask me in, then.” His eyes burned, seeming to bore into her and sweep away the rest of the busy world around them. “I told you, my love, I want you. It was a wretched discovery, but a damned true one. So my affairs, or lack of them, are quite up to you.”

“It's not enough!” she cried, trying to shake free of him.

“What?”

“I want—” she began. “I want more than just to be wanted!” she cried out in a rush. She jerked free and hurried ahead, leaving him standing on the sidewalk, reflective, furious.

Then a slow smile crossed his face, and finally he laughed out loud.

Chapter Eleven

T
hat night Marissa sat at the dining table alone. She picked at an expertly prepared duck à l'orange, and wondered if it was true that Ian had been detained on business.

He had been quick to desert them that afternoon. Well, perhaps he hadn't deserted them. He had turned Mary and Marissa over to one of his clerks, a freckle-faced girl named Sandy O'Halloran, and he had disappeared with Jimmy. Sandy had a natural friendliness and enthusiasm that was instantly endearing, and Marissa felt immediately comfortable with her.

She was the first woman Marissa had met in San Francisco who seemed honestly pleased to meet Ian's wife.

And she obviously loved the emporium. She spent the first hour dragging them from department to department. The emporium seemed to sell absolutely everything from furnishings to garden tools, foodstuffs to recreational paraphernalia. There were bicycles and baseballs, canned goods, the latest in chemises and nightwear, spades and hoes, fine English Chesterfields.

And in the basement there was a cafeteria where the employees had their meals. Though they had already had lunch, Marissa and Mary had tea with Sandy and watched as the employees went through the line for their meals. The cafeteria seemed busy and productive, and the employees were relaxed, talking among themselves as they ate. Marissa caught the occasional covert glance at herself, but she felt that the interest was friendly and open enough, and she smiled in return when she could.

“What do you think?” Sandy asked, seeing Marissa's interest as she surveyed the area.

“I think it's very active!” Marissa laughed.

“Oh, well, then, you should see it on Sunday mornings!” Sandy told her.

“Why?”

“The children from St. Kevin's have their breakfast here after church.”

“What is St. Kevin's?” Marissa asked.

“Well, St. Kevin's is the Catholic church, and there is an orphanage, too. Sundays are wonderful.”

“You work on Sundays?”

“Oh, no. It's strictly volunteer service, but I do love the children. There are about fifty of the little hooligans. I'm the oldest of twelve, you see, but my sisters and brothers are all back in Ireland. I miss them, and I make up for it on Sundays. Mr. Tremayne supplies all the food, and whoever cares to shows up to help see that it's all ladled out. The children love it. There are griddle cakes and ham and huge sausages and fish—it's a wonder for the children, it is, all the jelly and sweet maple syrup they can eat!”

“Is it in connection with the Orphan's Fund?” Marissa asked her suspiciously.

Sandy gave a little sniff. “No. Mr. Tremayne started his Sunday breakfast long ago. Her Highness Leroux just started with her charity appeals after she learned that Mr. Tremayne—”

She broke off in distress, her eyes very wide as she realized that she was gossiping about her employer's mistress to her employer's wife.

“It's quite all right, Sandy,” Marissa said smoothly. “I'm anxious to see this Sunday breakfast. We'll meet you again, I'm certain.”

Marissa realized soon after that Mary was wan and exhausted. John Kwan had come for them. Jimmy was busy in the offices, they learned, and Ian had gone to his afternoon meeting.

Marissa accompanied John to see Mary home, but she was determined to explore more of the city herself.

“If you'll bring me downtown, John, I can take a cable car,” she told him.

He seemed uncomfortable. “May I show you some of the homes on our hill, Mrs. Tremayne? It will grow dark soon today. Tomorrow you could explore in the morning.”

“And you've been told not to let me out of your sight, right?” she asked him wryly.

She could see no reason to cause John distress, so she smiled and agreed to see more of the hill. And after they drove down the hill, where he showed her the magnificent Fairmont Hotel, not yet completed, on the brink of Nob Hill, overlooking the Bay. She was surprised to have thoroughly enjoyed both the impromptu tour and John.