anniversaire
… oh, just the happiest of birthdays in every language you can think of.”
“Feliz Navidad,”
Miss Lottie suggested helpfully.
“Happy Christmas, too, Gran, if you like.”
Miss Lottie threw back her head, laughing at her own silly mistake, and for a fraction of second, Ellie saw the girl she must have been.
“I may not always get it right these days”—Miss Lottie smiled—“but it’s close enough.”
“So, why are you wearing the eyeshade? Uh-uh, don’t tell me you’ve been at the computer again, shifting stocks around and losing your shirt.”
“Nothing so vulgar, dear. Besides, I’m not sure I have any stocks to shift around, or a shirt to lose. I just like to play with it. It’s fascinating you know, what you can do on that machine. Why, it even talks back to you, and it leaves little messages. E-mail, they call it. Or maybe it’s the Internet?”
“You’ve been surfing the Internet?” Ellie’s jaw dropped. “How on earth did you learn to do that?”
“The young man showed me. He was very competent, he knew his stuff, all right. I found it quite easy, and it’s so amusing, making new friends, chatting to them on the machine. It’s more amusing than the television programs. All violence and sex.”
“Miss Lottie, you should wash your mouth out with soap at once. That word has never passed your lips before.”
“Oh really? Then how d’you suppose Romany gothere? Via the cabbage patch? Don’t be ridiculous, Ellie, of course I know all about sex. A lady doesn’t talk about it, that’s all.”
Ellie’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Gran, you never fail to surprise me.”
Miss Lottie grasped her silver-topped cane for support as she got slowly to her feet. “Sometimes I surprise myself,” she said with a wicked little sidelong smile. “Now, as ladies together, you can feel free to tell me all about your sex life. Experience counts you know, when you need help.”
Ellie felt herself blushing. “Miss Lottie, I don’t know where you’re getting all this from. And anyhow, I don’t have a sex life.”
“I told you, I get it from my friends on the Internet. I act as their adviser, sort of Ann Landers, or Dear Abby, you know. And at your age, you
should
have one. You can tell me why you don’t, over tea.”
Ramming the green visor firmly over her eyes, she strode through the drawing room and into the hall. “Bye, Maria,” she called. “Bye, Bruno. See you later. And
shalom.”
Ellie laughed, but she made a mental note to check exactly what was going on on Miss Lottie’s Internet.
At the Biltmore, Buck gave the valet his keys. Humming “Dixie” happily, under his breath, he waited under the awning for his car. An old white Cadillac circled into the drive and the valet rushed to open its door, forgetting all about him. Buck watched as everyone fussed around. The manager appeared, waitresses popped their heads round the door and the reception staff thronged round.
Must be a politician, Buck thought, still humming softly. Or a movie star.
The manager was helping an old woman out of the car, smiling at her, shaking her hand. Leaning on her stick, she walked slowly toward Buck. Her faded blue eyes lingered on him.
And time seemed to stop. The blood froze in his veins. He couldn’t breathe, waiting for her to recognize him, to accuse him …
The manager took her arm. She nodded a polite good afternoon and walked slowly past him into the hotel.
Buck’s heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. Fate, efficient as FedEx, had delivered his victim to him on a plate.
He closed his eyes, his strong fingers flexing; he could almost feel her buttery flesh bruising under his grip.
“Excuse me, but are you all right?”
He opened his eyes, and looked at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She was very tall, gracefully elegant in a sunshine-yellow dress and strappy little sandals. Her long legs were tanned and her toenails lacquered a deep coral red.
… oh, just the happiest of birthdays in every language you can think of.”
“Feliz Navidad,”
Miss Lottie suggested helpfully.
“Happy Christmas, too, Gran, if you like.”
Miss Lottie threw back her head, laughing at her own silly mistake, and for a fraction of second, Ellie saw the girl she must have been.
“I may not always get it right these days”—Miss Lottie smiled—“but it’s close enough.”
“So, why are you wearing the eyeshade? Uh-uh, don’t tell me you’ve been at the computer again, shifting stocks around and losing your shirt.”
“Nothing so vulgar, dear. Besides, I’m not sure I have any stocks to shift around, or a shirt to lose. I just like to play with it. It’s fascinating you know, what you can do on that machine. Why, it even talks back to you, and it leaves little messages. E-mail, they call it. Or maybe it’s the Internet?”
“You’ve been surfing the Internet?” Ellie’s jaw dropped. “How on earth did you learn to do that?”
“The young man showed me. He was very competent, he knew his stuff, all right. I found it quite easy, and it’s so amusing, making new friends, chatting to them on the machine. It’s more amusing than the television programs. All violence and sex.”
“Miss Lottie, you should wash your mouth out with soap at once. That word has never passed your lips before.”
“Oh really? Then how d’you suppose Romany gothere? Via the cabbage patch? Don’t be ridiculous, Ellie, of course I know all about sex. A lady doesn’t talk about it, that’s all.”
Ellie’s eyes widened in astonishment. “Gran, you never fail to surprise me.”
Miss Lottie grasped her silver-topped cane for support as she got slowly to her feet. “Sometimes I surprise myself,” she said with a wicked little sidelong smile. “Now, as ladies together, you can feel free to tell me all about your sex life. Experience counts you know, when you need help.”
Ellie felt herself blushing. “Miss Lottie, I don’t know where you’re getting all this from. And anyhow, I don’t have a sex life.”
“I told you, I get it from my friends on the Internet. I act as their adviser, sort of Ann Landers, or Dear Abby, you know. And at your age, you
should
have one. You can tell me why you don’t, over tea.”
Ramming the green visor firmly over her eyes, she strode through the drawing room and into the hall. “Bye, Maria,” she called. “Bye, Bruno. See you later. And
shalom.”
Ellie laughed, but she made a mental note to check exactly what was going on on Miss Lottie’s Internet.
At the Biltmore, Buck gave the valet his keys. Humming “Dixie” happily, under his breath, he waited under the awning for his car. An old white Cadillac circled into the drive and the valet rushed to open its door, forgetting all about him. Buck watched as everyone fussed around. The manager appeared, waitresses popped their heads round the door and the reception staff thronged round.
Must be a politician, Buck thought, still humming softly. Or a movie star.
The manager was helping an old woman out of the car, smiling at her, shaking her hand. Leaning on her stick, she walked slowly toward Buck. Her faded blue eyes lingered on him.
And time seemed to stop. The blood froze in his veins. He couldn’t breathe, waiting for her to recognize him, to accuse him …
The manager took her arm. She nodded a polite good afternoon and walked slowly past him into the hotel.
Buck’s heart was pounding somewhere in his throat. Fate, efficient as FedEx, had delivered his victim to him on a plate.
He closed his eyes, his strong fingers flexing; he could almost feel her buttery flesh bruising under his grip.
“Excuse me, but are you all right?”
He opened his eyes, and looked at the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
She was very tall, gracefully elegant in a sunshine-yellow dress and strappy little sandals. Her long legs were tanned and her toenails lacquered a deep coral red.
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