Family Vault by Charlotte MacLeod Page B

honest food. It was just that she couldn’t make the effort of saying so. She folded her hands on the clean paper place mat the waitress put in front of her, and sat looking at them, wondering why they were so dirty and whether she ought to go and wash them before she ate. She didn’t notice the man who came in until he slid into the bench across from her.
    “Hello, Mrs. Kelling. Mind if I join you?”
    He might as well have hit her over the head. Sarah was so stunned her mind went blank. He noticed.
    “I’m Max Bittersohn. We met at the Lackridges’.”
    “Yes, I—I know. I was just so surprised—”
    “So was I. What brings you so far from home on a lousy night?”
    She tried to force a laugh. It was a pitiable failure. “Oh, I’m not far from home at all. We have a place at Ireson’s Landing, and we’re always running back and forth. I just had to—attend to something.”
    “Where’s your husband?”
    Why did he sound so—was it angry? Scornful? Was he wondering what she’d been up to? Did he already know? Could Bittersohn possibly have been the man on the path?
    He was wearing another plain dark suit tonight. It was perfectly dry, so he must have a better raincoat than she. There was a rack near the door with several wet garments on it, all looking about the same. Some had belts, some didn’t. Why hadn’t she been watching when he came in?
    “Aren’t you afraid someone will take your raincoat if you leave it over there?” she ventured.
    The man shrugged. “That’s how I get all my raincoats.”
    He had a smile that was surprisingly gentle and appealing in that rugged face, yet even while he smiled, his eyes stayed fixed on hers with a sad, thoughtful gaze, as though he somehow felt sorry for her. She must present a woebegone spectacle.
    The waitress came back with Sarah’s order and didn’t seem at all surprised to find a man in the booth. “Want something, mister?”
    “Tea with lemon, if you have any.”
    “Beverage without food is forty cents.”
    “The hell it is. Okay, bring me a muffin or something.”
    “Toasted English is all we got.”
    “Great. Drink your coffee while it’s hot, Mrs. Kelling. You look as though you could use it.”
    “Couldn’t you pretend not to notice?”
    She took a sip to steady herself. “This was house-cleaning day, and I am a bit frazzled around the edges. How is your book coming? You never did tell me how you happened to become involved with jewelry.”
    “Oh, it’s a long story,” he replied vaguely. “This errand of yours must have been pretty urgent.”
    “Not particularly.” Sarah had to set down the cup because her hands were shaking. “My husband managed to pick up a bug of some kind, so I sent him to bed early. Then I got fidgety hanging around by myself, so I decided I might as well come along and get it over with. Alexander doesn’t even know I’m out.”
    She took a bite of her sandwich so that she wouldn’t have to say any more. It was awfully difficult trying to act nonchalant with those oddly compassionate eyes fixed on her. Were they gray or blue?
    Perhaps Bittersohn was feeling sorry for having frightened her and made her fall. If he had, he jolly well ought to be. With some food and a hot drink inside her, Sarah began to get her courage back
    “And what brings you to these parts, may I ask? It’s an incredible coincidence, our bumping into one another like this, don’t you think?”
    “Not specially.”
    The waitress came back with muffins and tea, and he busied himself fishing the teabag out of the sloppy mug. “Once you’ve met a person, you seem to run into him every time you turn around. Lackridge tells me you’re going to do some drawings for my book.”
    “Does he? He hasn’t told me yet. What is it I’m supposed to draw?”
    “Details of settings, things like that.”
    “It sounds rather dull.”
    Sarah rubbed at her hands and lips with a paper napkin, and started to struggle back into her wet coat.