False Pretenses by Catherine Coulter Page A

barely finished their entrée, Adrian said pleasantly, “Why don’t we get out of here now. There’s this special place I want to take you gorgeous women to, for a brandy.”
    He knows, Elizabeth thought, and gave him a grateful smile. She grabbed her purse and started to rise. The waiter saw her motion and rushed to the table to assist her.
    Catherine was drunk. And furious. Chad Walters was a bastard, and demanding more money from her. Or he wouldn’t provide her with the cocaine she wanted so desperately. It was top-grade. She had no other contacts. Then she saw the waiter from the corner of her eye, and then Elizabeth. She saw red.
    She felt a wave of dizziness as she jumped to her feet and shook her head. “You god-awful lying bitch,” she said. She thought she’d whispered it, but she heard Chad say sharply, “Shut up, Cathy, and sit down! God, everyone is staring!”
    But she didn’t. She was out of control and couldn’t seem to stop herself. She’d said it aloud and she wasn’t about to stop now. She strode to Elizabeth’s table. She saw Elizabeth’s face, utterly devoid of color, and knew that she’d heard what she’d said.
    â€œI mean it,” she said, her voice shrill. “You bribed that man, and you got away with murder. You did it, I know you did. You killed my father.”
    The restaurant was deadly silent. It was like a tableau, Elizabeth thought vaguely. Everyone had struck an attitude.
    â€œCatherine,” she said very clearly, “you’re not well. Go home.”
    â€œWhat, dear stepmother? Leave you in peace? Are you sleeping with him too?” She sent a mocking glance at Adrian. “Perhaps a little ménage a` trois?” Then she was trembling, knowing she’d gone too far, but the rage, the anger, propelled her. “I know, I know you did it. I’ll see you—” She got no further.
    Adrian leapt from his chair, grabbed Catherine, one huge hand covering her mouth, and dragged her through the restaurant and out the door. Chad Walters tossed Elizabeth a mock salute, which she didn’t see, and strolled through the restaurant after Adrian.
    â€œNo, Elizabeth, don’t say anything. Let’s get out of here.”
    Elizabeth felt Elaine’s hand on her arm and followed her out like a witless child. She heard the building sea of conversation in their wake. It would never stop, never. She wanted to die. Once they were outside, she looked blankly upon a scene that would have made for an excellent Hollywood set.
    Adrian was shaking Catherine like a dog. Chad Walters merely stood by watching, a mocking smile on his lips. And a group of people was gathering to watch.
    The police would come quickly, Elizabeth thought, and the ever-lurking paparazzi, and the media. Oh, God.
    She heard herself shout, “Come along, Adrian. Now, quickly. Let her go.”
    Adrian released Catherine and felt her long nails score down his cheek. “You damned bitch,” he said, turned on his heel, and walked quickly to Elizabeth and Elaine.
    â€œPlease take me home,” Elizabeth said, surprised that this sorry excuse for a voice was hers.
    â€œYes, I think we can get out of here now,” Adrian said. He was holding both women very close. “You all right, Elizabeth?’
    â€œYes. Elaine,” she began, turning to Adrian’s white-faced wife, “I’m so sorry. Please . . .”
    Elaine didn’t say anything. Nothing like this had ever happened in her life. For God’s sake, she’d grown up in Fort Worth, Texas, her father was a math professor at TCU. Her only publicity was Girl of the Month in high school, and she hadn’t even made that during the school year, but during August. She felt strangely disembodied. She heard Adrian talking, heard Elizabeth. She raised her head, looked directly into Elizabeth’s eyes, and said, “I don’t want to