Fortune is a Woman (40 page)

Francie's eyes grew dark with shock. She stared at Annie and then looked wildly around for an escape.

"You can't," Annie said, reading her thoughts. "You've got to see him. You've got to face him once and for all." She took her by the shoulders. "There's nothing he can do to you, Francie.
Nothing.
Remember what Lai Tsin told you? You are your own woman now. Your brother is not your keeper. You are twenty-five years old. You are
you,
Francie. Face him. And then at last you can get on with your life."

Her round brown eyes pleaded and she gripped her hands tightly together, she wanted Francie to do this so much.

"I can't," Francie said, sounding terrified, and Ollie ran frightened to her side. She flung her arms around him and held him close.

"Yes, you can," Annie insisted. "And you must. Remember Lai Tsin. Remember all the things he's told you. And just think of Ollie, too, think what it would mean for him to be free of the Harrison ghosts."

"What ghosts, Mommy?" Ollie cried, frightened.

Francie looked at her son and knew she finally had to face her past, for his sake. "It's nothing," she said soothingly. "Just grown-up talk, nothing to do with you at all. Go down the back stairs to the kitchen and help yourself to one of Annie's brownies and some milk. There's someone I have to see."

Annie opened the door and Ollie scampered through. Francie glanced down at the ruffled white lawn blouse and gray wool skirt she was wearing, and Annie said reassuringly, "You look fine. There's no need to dress up for the man. Save it for Edward Stratton."

"Show him into your office, Annie," Francie decided quickly. "I'll be down in a minute."

She smoothed back her hair, wishing her hands would stop shaking, but all the old fears had come rushing back. She remembered the loneliness and the pain, the beatings and the barred windows, her father's hatred and Harry's indifference. And then she told herself she was a fool, that Annie was right and that Lai Tsin was right. She was her own woman and to hell with Harry. There was nothing he could do to her. Nevertheless she was still frightened as she walked slowly downstairs and along the black-and-white flagged corridor to Annie's office. Annie was waiting by the door and she looked silently at her, her eyes full of encouragement as Francie went in.

Harry was standing by the desk. He looked just the way he had the night she had seen him at his grand party, tall, handsome, and arrogant, and it didn't take a genius to see that he was simmering with suppressed anger. He glanced contemptuously at her and she lifted her chin, matching his arrogance.

"Why are you here, Harry?" she asked in a calm voice, and Annie, her ear to the door, crossed her fingers and nodded her head encouragingly.

"You may well ask," he retorted, stepping closer to her. "You've finally made your presence felt in San Francisco. What happened to the great death charade, little sister?"

Francie flinched, remembering how Lai Tsin used to call her that. "I think it's better if we forget that we are brother and sister. We have managed to avoid each other all these years, and I have no wish to see you again."

"Nor I you." He grabbed her suddenly by the shoulders, his eyes glaring angrily in hers. "How dare you stand there and coolly say you don't wish to see me?
Me
—Harry Harrison. When you have done nothing but defile our family name. First you run off with a waiter and now you're some goddamn Chinese's concubine—
and
with a bastard son, I hear. What goddamn right do you have to bear the Harrison name, I ask you?"

"I must remind you that I have a legal right to use it. It is my name." His fingers dug deeper into her shoulders and he stared menacingly at her. "I should also remind you, Harry, that acts of violence—even by a Harrison— are not so easy to get away with these days. If you lift a hand to me I shall call the police."

He let go abruptly and stepped back a pace. Francie wanted to rub her bruised shoulders, but she didn't want to give him the pleasure of knowing he had hurt her, and instead she faced him calmly, trying to ignore her racing heart.

"There's one thing I'll never forgive you for," Harry said at last. "You killed Father just as surely as if you'd put a gun to his head. It was you he was coming after, you and your lover. He should have been at home asleep in his own bed, not racing down Pacific Avenue after a whore and her man. And now you've given him an illegitimate grandchild—my God, he must be turning in his grave."

"I hope he is. If ever a man deserved hell, he did."

"I guess the boy is the Chinaman's?" Harry said angrily. She made no reply and his anger boiled over again. "Is he?" he demanded, grabbing her arms again.

"If that is what you choose to think," she said quietly.

He dropped her arms, watching her from hooded eyes. "When Father was killed I vowed that if it were the last thing I ever did I would see you dead." He walked to the door, then turned to look at her. "This isn't over between you and me," he warned. "Don't ever think it is. I meant what I said, Francesca."

Annie leapt back from the door as he stalked out and strode angrily down the hall and out of the house. She ran quickly to Francie and threw her arms around her. "You were wonderful," she exclaimed. "So strong and courageous. And what's more, you were right."

Francie sank trembling onto a chair, she felt like crying but she had told herself years ago that there would be no more tears, there had been enough in her life already.

"At least it's over with," Annie said encouragingly.

She glanced up at her, her eyes full of the unshed tears. "Oh, I don't think so, Annie," she said. "No, I don't think it's over. This is just the beginning."

***

Lai Tsin listened gravely when Francie told him the story of her encounter with Harry and he knew she was right. It was not over. "It will never be over," he said. "But are you going to let that color your whole life? Are you going to sit and wait for whatever Harry might decide to do? Or do you plan to put your problems aside and go on living like the rest of us? Let me remind you, Francie, it is only the young who think of life as being long. As we grow older we think back with regret to those moments we might have enjoyed and that we threw carelessly away. Such moments add up to minutes, hours... and finally, years.

"You have much to look forward to in life, Francie. I have tried to teach you what I know, little though it is, to help you become strong. And now the moment is at hand for you to use that knowledge. Your life is your own. You are your own woman. Use your life for your own happiness."

Francie thought of Lai Tsin's words a few weeks later when Edward telephoned from New York. The line was crackly and he sounded a million miles away, but it was his voice all right. "I'm catching the train right now to Chicago," he said. "I'll be on tomorrow's Super Chief and with you in a couple of days."

"A couple of days," she gasped.

"On Tuesday at eight o'clock to be precise," he said with a laugh in his voice. "I only wish it were sooner. Francie, do you have any idea how much I've missed you?"

She blushed, holding the receiver closer as though she could get nearer to him. "Really?" she whispered.

"Do you know what you've put me through all these months? Not letting me see you? Well, now you have no choice. I'm stopping at the Fairmont and I'll be at Aysgarth's at eight o'clock. Promise me you'll be there?"

"I'll be waiting for you," she promised.

"You know what I'm going to ask you?" She nodded as though he could see her. "Please let your answer be yes, Francie. The train's about to leave. I must go. See you Tuesday, my darling."

She hooked the phone back on the wall set, dizzy with happiness. Harry had flown from her mind as though he never existed. Edward was on his way to ask her to marry him and she would say yes. She was Edward Stratton's "darling" and all of their life together was ahead of her, and she didn't plan on wasting a single moment of it.

***

Edward settled himself in his suite at the elegantly refurbished Fairmont Hotel, then he strolled across California Street to the Pacific Union Club, where he had a meeting with a business acquaintance. The club, which was housed in the old James Flood mansion, was San Francisco's most elite establishment, and tonight it was crowded.

His business was quickly completed and Edward glanced impatiently at his watch; there was still an hour and a half to go before he saw Francie. He contemplated going to Aysgarth's right away and surprising her, but then he smiled and told himself it would not be fair. In his experience women hated to be surprised; no doubt she would be making herself beautiful for him and he would restrain his impatience in the name of politeness. But he could hardly bear the wait.

He sank into a big leather chair, ordered a Scotch from a passing steward and lit a small cheroot. Staring into space, he contemplated the pleasure ahead of him. He had waited a long time. What difference did another hour or so make? But this time he wasn't going to allow Francie to say no. Since he'd met her she had barely left his mind; she was the perfect woman, beautiful and a lady, and passionate—all the things a man could want in a wife.

The man opposite rustled the pages of his newspaper and then flung it disgustedly onto the table, glaring at it as he downed his drink. "Not bad news, I hope?" Edward asked with a faint smile.

"Bad news?" Harry shrugged. "I own that damned tabloid and it's losing money hand over fist. Don't ask me why. God only knows I put enough time and money into it to float a dozen other companies." He glanced moodily at his interrogator, but didn't recognize him.

"You new around here?"

"Just visiting actually. The name's Stratton. Edward Stratton."

"Harry Harrison." He held out his hand and the other man shook it firmly.

"Let me get you another drink?" Harry said, summoning a steward, but Edward shook his head. "Bourbon and branch water," Harry ordered, his eyes restlessly scanning the gloomy, dark-paneled room to see who was around. His nerves were on edge; he was getting bored with his newspaper, bored with San Francisco and the same old faces. He was beginning to think people he knew were looking oddly at him. He suspected they were talking about him behind his back, that rumors were already circulating about his goddamn sister and her son-of-a-bitch Chinese lover. He needed to get away from here for a while, he needed the bright lights and razzmatazz and urban pleasures of Manhattan to set him back on an even keel.

"You're not from New York?" he asked the stranger, and Edward laughed.

"London and Scotland, though I was just in New York on business."

"It's business that brings you to San Francisco, I suppose?" Harry was making polite conversation and he gulped his bourbon, scarcely listening to the man's reply.

"Not really. As a matter of fact, I'm here to get married. That is, if she'll have me. She's turned me down so many times already, I can never be sure."

Harry laughed. "You're lucky. The woman I asked accepted and it cost me a fortune.
And
she was an Englishwoman." He glanced interestedly at Edward. "Is this a San Francisco lady you're marrying?"

Edward beamed. "Oddly enough, she has the same name as you. Maybe you know her? Francesca Harrison?"

Harry stared silently at him. He put his empty glass carefully on the table. He smiled the wide self-satisfied smile of the Cheshire cat and said, "That's not surprising at all, Stratton, since the woman in question happens to be my sister." Edward's expression changed to surprise as Harry continued. "I think perhaps you had better tell me what you know about her, and then allow me to tell you the truth."

"The truth?"

Harry lifted a warning hand. "Believe me, Stratton, there are things about Francesca you may never have suspected. Let me fill you in on a few facts."

Edward sat silently while Harry talked; at first he thought he'd met a crazy man, but looking at him—a handsome, well set-up, prosperous fellow, he knew it wasn't so. What Harrison was saying sounded plausible, yet he still could not believe he was talking about Francesca.

Edward stared numbly as Harry concluded triumphantly, "It's the truth, Stratton. Ask anyone in this club what they know of my sister—they'll only confirm what I say. My father kept her locked up when she was a child because even then she did crazy things. She was uncontrollable, but he couldn't bear to send her away to the state asylum. And she repaid him by flaunting her lover in front of him—and now this bastard child." He leaned closer to Edward, staring into his eyes. "Believe me, you are better off without her. She'll ruin you
and
your family, Stratton, mark my words."

A vision of Francesca's innocent blue eyes swam in Edward's mind and he asked himself despairingly if they could mask the wickedness he had just heard described. He thought of his innocent children, home at Strattons. He was a conservative man and he knew he could never risk their happiness and security for his own desires. Disillusioned, he pushed back his chair and stood up. He looked sadly at Harry and said, "Thank you, sir, for your information." And then he turned and walked to the door.

Harry watched him go, still wearing his Cheshire cat smile, savoring his first sweet taste of revenge. He was looking at a broken man.

***

Francie knew she was looking her best. It wasn't just her wonderful trailing midnight-blue velvet dress, nor the rose in her pale shining hair, it was the inner happy glow that lit her heart-shaped face. She seemed to bubble with suppressed excitement as she nervously checked and rechecked the elegantly set table for two in her sitting room, smoothing the damask cloth yet again, straightening the silverware and adjusting the full-blown cream roses in the crystal bowl at the center. A fire hummed and crackled in the grate, the tall candles were lit in the fluted silver candlesticks, adding their own soft glow and deepening the color of her eyes until they almost seemed to match her velvet dress.

Everything was going as planned; Ollie was in bed, Annie was out, and Lai Tsin was at his office. It was five minutes to eight and in a little while Edward would be here. She ran to the window, peeking through the curtain and laughing at her own eagerness. After all these months of putting him off it was ridiculous that she couldn't bear to wait another five minutes to see him. She walked back to the fire and stood with her back to it, unwilling to sit down lest she crease her dress. She wanted to look perfect for him.