LoveMakers Page 9

  He nodded encouragingly.

  'What I would like is to go into the hotel business. Here in New York.'

  'You would like to buy a hotel?'

  She nodded. 'And it has come to my attention that there are ways I could increase my funds, perhaps enough in order to buy a hotel.'

  'You mean . . . by investing?'

  'I do.' Elizabeth-Anne took a deep breath. 'Mr. Nikolsky was kind enough to refer you to me because you are related to a highly respected investment banker.'

  'Lawrence Hochstetter of Hochstetter Stremmel. Yes, he is my brother-in-law.'

  'Then I should like to meet him. You see, Mr. Lottoman, I'm serious about investing my money. As long as the risk is reasonable.'

  He stared at her thoughtfully, seeing an attractive, obviously intelligent woman who clearly meant business. His brother-in-law could only appreciate making her acquaintance, and Mr. Nikolsky would approve of any help Lester could give his friend.

  'It just so happens that Mr. Hochstetter is giving a party at his townhouse this very evening, Mrs. Hale. I think we should attend.'

  'If you're certain it's not too much trouble,' Elizabeth-Anne said hesitantly. 'I wouldn't want to impose.'

  'And you won't, I assure you.' He smiled suddenly. 'I'll pick you up at eight o'clock.'

  She gave him her address and then they shook hands. As she left, he regarded her with a strangely wistful expression. There was something about her quiet dignity that appealed to him. Lester Lottoman was, perhaps, one of the first to fall under her spell.

  But he wouldn't be the last.

  'Regina? Anybody home?'

  Elizabeth-Anne listened for a moment, then shrugged as she pulled the key out of the lock. She picked up her shopping bags, carried them into the tiny foyer, and returned to make certain the door locked automatically when she closed it.

  She listened to the quiet of the apartment. It had that peculiar, empty-house stillness about it. She suspected that Regina had taken her sisters and brother across the street to the park. She missed the greetings of the children, and their excited accounts of their day. But she was also grateful for the silence.

  After she and Ludmila had left the bank, Ludmila had headed home and she had gone to do some shopping. Now she was exhausted. She'd had to buy an evening gown to wear that night, even though she knew she couldn't hope to compete with the other guests at the Hochstetter townhouse.

  Elizabeth-Anne dropped her keys into the porcelain bowl on the hallway table, took off her hat, and shrugged herself out of her coat. As she hung it on the coat rack she caught a fleeting glimpse of a stranger in the mirror. At first she was startled; then she realized it was her own reflection. She laughed softly to herself. She still hadn't gotten used to the 'new' her, the woman who had emerged from Ludmila's 'doing over'.

  She faced the mirror squarely, studying her reflection. Had she really changed that much, or was it only the new clothes and hair-style, the dim foyer and its tricky shadows?

  She leaned closer into the mirror. No, she really had changed in the three months since she and the children had moved here. She was now beautifully dressed and groomed, thanks to Ludmila. Her friend had been right, Elizabeth-Anne realized. Good clothes and style made life easier. Whether in a store, restaurant, or bank, her appearance insured that everyone worked hard to please her.

  But the change, she realized with a start, went much deeper than just her surface appearance. Her features had gained a maturity they had never had before. She exuded a confidence which, combined with her innate sensuality, had caused her bearing to become almost regal.

  For starters, Ludmila had changed Elizabeth-Anne's hair style. She had insisted they splurge on an expensive, fashionable coiffeur once, explaining they could then keep up the style themselves. Not for her the faddish bobbed hair of the twenties, or the utilitarian style she had favored in Quebeck. She now wore her hair combed down from a central part, though this could not be seen with the velvet, helmet-like cloches she wore out of doors. Her ears were hidden by two short braids on either side of her face which were coiled into small, delicate twin knots, lustrous flaxen jewels the color of Kansas wheat which made earrings obsolete. Her pale eyebrows were no longer light; plucked into fine, pencil-line arches, they were tinted a darker shade so that they were more expressive. Her eyes were deepened with the faintest aquamarine eye shadow possible, and other than a muted shade of lipstick this was the only make-up she wore.

  If part of her newly acquired confidence came from enhancing her physical attributes, then the rest was due to her new clothes, in which she found herself far more comfortable than the plainer outfits she had worn in Texas. Not for Manhattan the long, severely cut skirts and the pale blouses she had always worn. New York was, after all, a cosmopolitan city which demanded chic. She could not hope to afford the clothes she would have liked to buy, but she had managed by emphasizing quality and style, choosing the cut and the colors which suited her best. In short, she dressed elegantly but within budget, thanks to Ludmila.

  Her friend had taken her to the thrift shops of the Lower East Side, which were rife with second-hand bargains. 'Many poor Jewish immigrants have rich uptown relatives,' Ludmila had told her. 'They help poor relations by giving their old clothes.'

  So it was on Orchard Street, among the hubbub and haggling, the pushcart peddlers and sidewalk vendors, that Elizabeth-Anne found Seligman's Second-Hand Store and the outfit she now wore. Perhaps it was second-hand, but the fine quality and aura of sophistication it lent her was first class.

  'Only two buttons are missing,' Marty Seligman, the proprietor of the store, had pointed out when Elizabeth-Anne had inspected the blouse with its collarless neckline and puffed, sheer sleeves that gathered snugly at the wrists. It was otherwise in perfect condition, but she'd hesitated.

  The buttons were unusual, and she knew she couldn't hope to find replacements.

  'For you I throw in these for nothing,' Seligman said shrewdly, showing her and Ludmila a box of tiny seed-pearl buttons.

  Ludmila had insisted upon clinching the deal. Elizabeth-Anne discovered, to her great delight, that when she and Ludmila replaced all the buttons with the pearls, the blouse was even more beautiful. The shimmer of pearls against the cafe au lait net was the perfect foil, and made wearing jewelry unnecessary. Instantly, the blouse became her favorite. Both the front and back panels were embroidered with cafe au lait soutache braid, and the hip-length hem was finished with a border of tiny, pearl-like fringe of crocheted balls, which, coupled with the pearl buttons, gave her an air of refined gentility.

  Any other person might have chosen to wear the blouse with a skirt of matching color, but not Ludmila, and Elizabeth-Anne quickly saw her point. Together they chose an off-white, pleated wool skirt of just over knee length, an original from the House of Worth in Paris. Before Elizabeth-Anne it had graced an ample dowager from Carnegie Hill, but some judicious tucks had made it a perfect fit. For a jacket, Ludmila had once more insisted on contrast and chosen a cerise wool so cherry bright that it could have been picked off a tree.

  Gone forever were Elizabeth-Anne's sturdy, country boots with their myriad eyelets and long laces. She and the girls wore shoes of soft, supple leather now, with modest heels and straps across the ankles. She was, Elizabeth-Anne decided, as well-dressed as many a society matron, and for a fraction of the cost.

  Her inspection of herself over, she picked up the shopping bags and went into the parlor. She set the bags down on the chaise lounge upon which she slept, the foot of which was draped with a beige mohair blanket.

  From out in the foyer came the sound of a key turning in the lock.

  'Mamma? You home?'

  The voice burst forth cheerfully, the way Rebecca always sounded when she came home. As the youngest of the three girls, she was not yet caught up in the shifting moods of her older sisters, who were beset with the magnified worries of adolescence. In character, Rebecca was also the closest to Elizabeth-Anne. She wa
s the most artless of her children, the least prone to tantrums, the most unlikely to talk back, and, above all, the most sensitive. Sometimes, the nagging thought crept into Elizabeth-Anne's mind that Rebecca was her favorite, and whenever it did she would force herself to squelch it.

  I've loved each one of them more than the others at one time or another, she reminded herself firmly. But in truth I love them all equally.

  But these thoughts lasted only an instant and she quickly turned to greet Rebecca with an enveloping hug, 'How are you, darling?'

  Rebecca grinned up at her. 'I'm fine,' she said breathlessly, winded from racing up the stairs. And then the excited sentences tumbled out of her in a rush. 'Regina had us walk all the way to Grand Central Station but Zaccheus got tired and we had to take turns carrying him most of the way and Charlotte-Anne's complaining that she's got blisters on her toes - ' She took a deep gulp of air. 'They're on their way up.' She giggled again. 'Regina and Charlotte-Anne and Zaccheus are on their way up,' she corrected herself, 'not the toes. Well, those too.'

  Elizabeth-Anne laughed and tousled her daughter's hair. 'It sounds like you've had quite an afternoon.'

  'Oh, we did! And we were careful, we really were. Regina saw to that. We didn't talk to any strangers. And we saw the most marvelous clothes in a shop window. A sweater Charlotte-Anne said she'd die for! But it's so expensive.' She sighed dramatically. 'But it would look so good on her, Mamma, really it would,' she finished with a knowing glint in her eye that made Elizabeth-Anne smile inwardly.

  'Well, maybe you can point it out to me soon,' Elizabeth-Anne suggested, thinking that if Charlotte-Anne wanted it so badly, perhaps she would buy it for her and hide it away until Christmas. The holiday season was only a little more than a month away.

  Elizabeth-Anne turned as she heard the others come trooping in. Regina was carrying Zaccheus, who was fast asleep. 'Hi, Mamma,' she called out softly for fear of waking him.

  'Hello, darling.'

  Charlotte-Anne walked by glumly, her head held low. 'Hi,' she mumbled under her breath, making a bee-line for the bedroom.

  Elizabeth-Anne gazed after her in silence. Days had passed since their argument, but Charlotte-Anne still behaved as though it had occurred only hours ago. She had been morose ever since, never saying more than a few perfunctory words.

  Well, a few more days would heal their rift, of that Elizabeth-Anne was certain. But even that thought gave her little comfort. She despised dragged-out fights; they took altogether too much out of you. And she hated Charlotte-Anne's silent treatment even more.

  They're only growing pains, she told herself, not for the first time. That's all that's the matter with Charlotte-Anne.

  Rebecca spied the shopping bags on the chaise.

  'Oh Mamma,' she cried excitedly. 'You've been shopping!'

  'Yes, I have to go to a dinner party tonight.'

  Rebecca seized the bags and rummaged through them. She let out an awe-struck whistle as she held up the gown Elizabeth-Anne had bought at Seligman's. It was made of beige crepe roma, and had a deep jabot which fell in a V from the shoulders to the hem. The sleeves were long, with flaring cuffs, and at the ankles the double skirt ended in an inverted pleat. The gown was feather light and classical in its very simplicity, and fell in beautiful, luxuriantly loose folds. Best yet, it needed no time-consuming alterations. She would be able to wear it that night. Only a spot near the neckline, which could easily be hidden with a brooch, gave away the fact that it was second-hand.

  'It's beautiful,' Rebecca whispered in awe. Then her voice grew pensive. 'What party are you going to, Mamma?'

  'It's really for business,' Elizabeth-Anne explained. 'A gentleman from the bank is going to take me to meet an investment banker. That's why I'm going. I'm not deserting you all just to have fun,' she finished teasingly.

  Rebecca let the gown drop on the chaise. 'This gentleman . . . is he handsome?'

  Elizabeth-Anne gazed at her with a startled expression. 'Why do you ask that?'

  Rebecca shrugged. 'Is he?'

  'I don't know. I haven't even thought about it.'

  'Mamma?'

  'Yes, dear?'

  'It's been years since we've seen Daddy.'

  'I know that, darling,' Elizabeth-Anne replied softly.

  'Are we . . . are we ever going to see him again?'

  'I hope so,' Elizabeth-Anne replied quietly, feeling tears spring to her eyes.

  'I hope so, too.' Rebecca paused. 'You know what's the worst thing of all?' she whispered.

  Elizabeth-Anne shook her head.

  'I . . . I can't even remember what he looks like.' Rebecca turned her tear-streaked face up at Elizabeth- Anne. 'You remember, don't you, Mamma?'

  Elizabeth-Anne forced a smile, but she felt a trembling inside herself 'Of course I do, darling,' she said. 'Of course I do.'

  But as she held her daughter tightly against her and closed her eyes, no matter how hard she tried, Elizabeth-Anne could not conjure up a clear vision of Zaccheus Hale.

  As Ludmila walked slow circles around Elizabeth-Anne, her sharp, piercing gray eyes were lost in thought. 'The gown is fine,' she said at long last. 'But be careful with the safety pins or you will stick yourself,' she cautioned with an admonishing wag of her finger.

  'I'll be careful,' Elizabeth-Anne promised her, grateful for her friend's advice. Trust Ludmila, she thought, to notice where the soft, smooth fabric bunched just ever so slightly, or where it did not quite fall the way it should. She knew the slight alteration was invisible to a less scrutinous eye.

  'The shoes, they are so-so. But they will do,' Ludmila said slowly to herself. 'But the jewelry . . . ' Her face wore an expression of disgust as she flapped one hand back and forth in the air. 'That brooch will not do at all.'

  Elizabeth-Anne gazed down with dismay at the brooch she had pinned over the spot near the neckline. She had inherited the cameo from her aunt and always treasured it, but she knew that Ludmila was right. 'It's the only brooch I own,' she said slowly. 'I have to hide this spot somehow.'

  'Do not worry. I will lend you one.' Ludmila nodded to herself. 'Now, what coat you wear?'

  Elizabeth-Anne motioned over to the chair.

  'That?' Ludmila looked horrified. 'No, no, no, no. Never.'

  'But it's all I have for this weather.' Elizabeth-Anne protested. 'I have to wear it.'

  'I lend you one.'

  'Surely it won't fit.'

  'Why? Because of my size?' Ludmila looked hurt. 'The coat I give you, it is made for Russian winters. It is long, on me to the ground. Even the sleeves are too long. It will fit. Now, what time is it?'

  Elizabeth-Anne glanced up at the clock ticking on the mantel. 'He'll pick me up in less than fifteen minutes.'

  'Fifteen!' Ludmila cried. 'Then we have not a moment to lose. I be right back.'

  Elizabeth-Anne shook her head as the diminutive older woman rushed out. She wondered in all earnestness what she would do without her Russian friend.

  A few minutes later a breathless Ludmila came charging back up the stairs. She carried two large, burled wood jewelry cases in her arms, and towed an enormous coat of pure white Russian lynx bellies across the floor.

  'Ludmila!' Elizabeth-Anne was aghast when she saw the coat. 'I couldn't possibly!'

  'You must.'

  'Not that coat. It must be worth - '

  'Much money, I know.' Impatiently Ludmila shrugged aside Elizabeth-Anne's protest. 'You just keep quiet.'

  'But. . . what if I should lose it?'

  'Lose it?' Ludmila narrowed her eyes. 'No woman I ever know lose her fur. Now - ' She deposited the boxes on the table.

  'Now,' Ludmila said, 'we choose the jewels.' She bent over the boxes, lifted the lids and began rummaging through them. Elizabeth-Anne let out an exclamation of surprise. Ludmila was always complaining about not having enough money, and if a tenant couldn't come up with the rent on the precise day it was due she threatened to suffer heart attacks. Yet these boxes held what
must surely be a king's ransom! Diamond tiaras, belts of rubies, pearls of all sizes and shapes, rings, earrings, bracelets and brooches - all gifts from the admiral. It was all stuffed so haphazardly into the boxes that the ropes of pearls were knotted, and no single earring was with its match.

  'Yes,' Ludmila cried suddenly. 'This - this is the piece.' She held up a brooch. 'Is beautiful, no?' she asked, not bothering to mask her own pleasure. 'It was created in St. Petersburg by Edward Vilhelm Schramm, who worked for Faberge. Is a masterpiece, no?'

  Elizabeth-Anne could only nod speechlessly.

  'Well? Hold it! Do not be afraid to touch it.' She thrust it into Elizabeth-Anne's hand.

  Slowly Elizabeth-Anne lifted the brooch. It measured three inches in length and two inches in width, an enamel elipse set with rubies and diamonds and crisscrossed by a ruby-and-diamond Byzantine-style cross. 'Words cannot describe it,' she said.

  'So? Put it on. No, here, let me.' Ludmila unpinned the cameo and attached the Russian brooch precisely so that it hung gracefully where the cameo had been. Then she stood back and clapped her hands together. 'Is marvelous,' she pronounced. 'Now. Into the coat.' She lifted it and waited for Elizabeth-Anne to duck down and slip it on.

  Ludmila was right, Elizabeth-Anne noticed. The coat, which was oversized on her diminutive friend, fell neatly just below her knees while the lynx hairs at the edge of the sleeves just brushed the backs of her hands.

  'My God.' Ludmila let out a deep breath. 'You are stunning.'

  Elizabeth-Anne turned to the mirror and couldn't believe the vision of elegance that greeted her eyes. 'I can't thank you enough,' she told Ludmila warmly. 'You're my . . . my fairy godmother.'

  'We all need godmothers sometimes - ' Ludmila glanced behind her at the door as the bells chimed. 'Now off with you before your troika turns back into a pumpkin!'

  Elizabeth-Anne bent down and hugged Ludmila warmly. The tiny Russian exile returned the embrace Russian fashion, kissing both cheeks and then depositing one last kiss directly on her lips.

  8