Another Kind of Love by Paula Christian Page A

at her with love in her eyes across a public dining table, never do any of the little things that people in love do.
    Well, she barely whispered, that’s why you’re here, old girl, and not with her. . . .
    She stopped at room 1107. Her knock sounded loud enough in the silence to wake the whole floor. No answer. Suddenly she was very impatient. The clerk had said Walter was in—why didn’t he answer? Where else could he be at this ungodly hour?
    â€œLaura!” The door opened, and Walter stood there, smiling broadly. He put his arms around her and hugged her fraternally. No kiss.
    He has company, she guessed. She could feel it in his reception. Besides, he never played a radio when he was alone—always said it made him nervous.
    â€œCome in, Laura. Come in.” Walter helped her off with her coat swiftly.
    He gave her another little affectionate hug, then whispered in her ear, “We have a guest . . .” and led her into the suite.
    â€œMadeline,” Walter said enthusiastically, “I want you to meet the best little feature writer this side of Hedda Hopper.” He grinned. “Madeline Van Norden. Laura Garraway.”
    Laura saw a strikingly handsome woman seated on the divan. Her clothes were exquisitely simple. Her poised, easy manner, her pleasantly attentive glance—everything about her suggested wealth . . . and taste. Intelligence, too. Laura guessed her to be in her mid-thirties.
    So this is our backer, she mused. Our gay divorcée. Even sight unseen Walter could pick’em.
    â€œWelcome to New York, Laura.” Madeline raised a half-empty cocktail glass in salute. The soft, cultivated tones were exactly what Laura expected. “I can see you’ll get along well here.”
    She smiled and winked at Walter with a sort of mutual-appreciation expression.
    Shades of Saundra Simons, Laura thought.
    But she managed a polite smile and mumbled acknowledgment.
    Walter fussed over her and praised her to Madeline.
    â€œIf you’re going to talk about me as if I weren’t here, Walter,” Laura said dryly but keeping a twinkle in her eyes, “I’ll need a drink.”
    Madeline laughed heartily. “Get the poor girl a drink!” The explosiveness of her laugh struck Laura as oddly out of keeping with the rest of her. Walter walked over to the small improvised bar on the writing desk.
    â€œScotch, Laura?”
    â€œFine. I haven’t checked in yet. My baggage is in the lobby; wanted to be sure you were still here and”—Laura glanced confidentially at Madeline, “that you hadn’t made reservations for me at some hotel on the other side of town.”
    Walter brought her the drink and sat down on the arm of her chair. “No, I didn’t register you anywhere, but getting a room at this time of the year isn’t any problem. I thought it would be easier for you if you stayed in this hotel, but decided to consult you first.” His tone was elaborately businesslike, but Laura could sense an undercurrent of uneasiness in his manner.
    Laura watched him with amusement. She was thoroughly enjoying his predicament: he wanted to keep his tomcat privacy for himself, play the faithful lover for her, and yet hide all this from Madeline.
    As always, Walter’s juggling was very adept, but this time he had failed. She had the feeling that Madeline was not missing a thing.
    Laura feigned a look of indecision.
    â€œWell . . .” she began.
    â€œHad you any special hotel in mind?” he asked hesitantly.
    Laura grinned mischievously. “Expense account?”
    Walter stood up and laughed. “If you’re a good girl.”
    He reached over and took Madeline’s glass. “Freshener?”
    â€œPlease.” Madeline reached across the small round table between their chairs and took out a cigarette, then handed the pack to Laura.
    â€œThis hotel would be convenient for you, Laura,” she said