False Pretenses by Catherine Coulter Page B

ever see you again.”
    â€œElaine, it wasn’t Elizabeth’s fault!”
    She shook off her husband’s hand and marched down the street.
    Elizabeth sagged against the brick wall behind her. She saw that Adrian didn’t know what to do. Which one of them to leave?
    She started laughing. “Let’s go, Adrian. Find me a taxi, then see to Elaine.”
    She laughed until Adrian assisted her into a taxi and gave the driver her address.
    â€œHey, lady, you all right?”
    The driver was a middle-aged man with a beer belly and a Bronx accent.
    â€œYes,” she said. “I’m just ducky.”
    She didn’t leave the house for three days.
    The appalling scene made all the papers, of course, but Elizabeth didn’t see them. Kogi told Gallagher to keep out all newspapers and all reporters. Kogi turned on the answering machine, reviewed all the messages himself, and passed only those from people he trusted.
    Rowe returned from San Francisco the following Tuesday and immediately went to Elizabeth’s house. Gallagher looked at him like he was the savior of the world.
    Rowe thought Elizabeth looked like hell. Like she’d been through hell, and wished she hadn’t come out.
    He held her, saying nothing. She didn’t cry. She didn’t say anything. Rowe dismissed Kogi and Mrs. Jeffers, the maid, and took Elizabeth to bed. He didn’t make love to her, merely held her, stroking her back. God, she felt as though she’d lost twenty pounds. Thin and white and nearly boneless. Her pain was palpable.
    Finally he said, “All right, Elizabeth, that’s enough. It’s Catherine we’re talking about, Catherine, who is twisted and sick, not you. You’ve got to pull yourself together now. I’m certain you’ve ignored all the business, including your Noble Six. You’re needed, sweetheart. Now, you’re going to put your face on and we’re going out. To Elizabeth, New Jersey, if you like. But we’re going out.”
    â€œI want to go to Hoboken,” she said, and it was there they went, to a small Italian restaurant that was surprisingly good.
    Elizabeth received an apology from Elaine Marsh, delivered by an embarrassed Adrian.
    â€œTell Elaine to forget it,” Elizabeth said, patting his massive shoulder. “I don’t blame her, not a bit. It was just as awful for her, I know.” She drew a deep breath and forced a smile. “Now, what’s going on?”
    Â 
    Jonathan Harley knew he was going to lose controlling interest. And he didn’t have enough money to buy back the stocks to make the difference. He was broke in terms of ready cash. His plans for expansion were down the tubes. Rose had walked out, and the Pillsons had risen against him, all their power focused on him, one man who only wanted to be left alone.
    He’d lost weight, and his secretary, Midge, Sweet-Talkin’ Midge, as he sarcastically called her, said to him, “You look like a railroad track, like you could lie down and have Amtrak run over you. What do you weigh, anyway?”
    He didn’t know.
    â€œI’d say one-seventy, and you at least six feet, twoinches. Idiot. Here, eat!” And she plied him with cartons of Chinese food. Then she spoke to his cook, Mrs. Mallson, and enough food for a battalion appeared on his table every evening.
    He went to Boston to visit his cousin and family. He had sense enough to realize that he was in bad shape, and not knowing what else to do, found himself three different willing women and made love to all of them on successive nights until he was insensate.
    But then he’d wake up in the morning and wonder where the hell he was and who the woman was who was lying beside him.
    One woman, he thought her name was Nancy, said to him when she saw him come out of the bathroom naked, “You’re a handsome man, Jonathan. You’re a very nice man and an excellent lover. But you’re