Dare to Love (62 page)

“Is taking you out to dinner so much to ask?” he inquired.

“I don't know you, Mr. Wayne.”

“That's the whole point. I want you to know me. I want to know you. That's why I've been sending you gifts.”

“I should think my returning them would tell you something.”

“It told me that you're not the mercenary adventuress the papers have depicted. The Elena Lopez I've read about would have kept everything while conniving for more.”

“The Elena Lopez you've read about doesn't exist, Mr. Wayne. I think you'd better go now.”

“I understand you're very fond of your manager,” he said.

“As a matter of fact, I am. Anthony and I have been together for years.”

“Do you love him?”

“That's none of your business, Mr. Wayne.”

My voice was like ice, but that didn't seem to bother him at all. I was beginning to lose my patience. Nick Wayne looked at me with those calm brown eyes, and then he shook his head and frowned slightly, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket. If he intended to present me with a gift, his timing was definitely wrong. I was on the verge of ordering him out of the suite when he withdrew a sheaf of notes and glanced down at them, his frown deepening.

“You won't accept my diamonds, Miss Lopez. Perhaps you'll accept these instead.”

He handed me the notes. I examined them. Nick Wayne observed my reactions closely. I could feel the color leave my cheeks. The first note was for five thousand dollars credit at The Golden Nugget, signed over to Anthony Duke by the manager. The second note was for two thousand dollars, the third for another three. There were eleven notes in all, and the total amount was well over fifty thousand dollars. Anthony owed The Golden Nugget a small fortune, and there was no way he could pay it without using every penny of profit we would earn in San Francisco. The money was due in four days.

“I would never have allowed it had I known,” Wayne told me. “These notes were brought to my attention only this morning. My man at The Golden Nugget assumed Duke had unlimited funds. He felt it would be all right to keep giving him credit.”

“And he kept gambling it away?” I asked in a hollow voice.

“I'm afraid so.”

“I can't believe it. I can't believe he'd be so foolish. There's no excuse—”

“I'm terribly sorry about this,” Wayne said. “Men are going to gamble. I provide the facilities, but I try to keep a tight rein. I don't like to see anyone break themselves. When someone hits a losing streak and keeps on gambling, I cut off all credit. Your manager was foolhardy, and so was my man. He should never have permitted this to happen.”

As I looked down at the notes in my hand, I felt a terrible sinking sensation. I was angry that Anthony could have done such a thing, but I was sad, too. I knew that this time it would be impossible to forgive him. I wanted to cry. It was all I could do to hold back the tears.

“The notes are yours, Miss Lopez,” Wayne said. “Consider the debts cancelled.”

I folded the notes in the palm of my hand, fighting back the tears. Nick Wayne was silent, and when I looked up he was still frowning, but his deep brown eyes were full of understanding. I knew now why Anthony resented him so intensely. He blamed Wayne for what had happened. Naturally. He hadn't the courage to accept the blame himself.

“I'm sorry,” Wayne repeated. “I'll leave now. I think perhaps you'd like to be alone.”

He left quietly, but I hardly noticed. I stood clutching the notes tightly, trying to decide what to do. The sadness was almost overwhelming, and I knew I had to stem it. Through the windows I could see that the light blue sky was gradually turning gray, clouds forming. At least ten minutes passed before I heard the footsteps in the hall outside. Millie opened the door, a look of alarm in her eyes.

“Goodness, Elena!” she exclaimed. “I thought something had
happened
. James and I have been waiting out front in the buggy forever. You're already late to the theater—”

She cut herself short and studied me closely. “Something's wrong,” she said.

I didn't answer. I knew what I had to do. I drew myself up, my decision made.

“I'm not going to the theater,” I told her. “Have Bradford take you there. Inform them that dress rehearsal is cancelled.”

“But—”

“Do as I say, Millie. When you've finished, ask Bradford to come back here for me. I'll be waiting on the verandah. I'm going to need him this afternoon. I hope you won't mind.”

Millie hesitated a moment, clearly disturbed and eager to question me, but she could tell that I was in no mood to explain. She gave me a nod and left. I went back into the bedroom, picked up my reticule and stuffed the notes into it, then went downstairs to the lobby to find the manager. He hurried over to me, all smiles, anxious to please.

“I'd like to have my jewelry box,” I said. “It was placed in the hotel safe the night I arrived.”

“Of course, Miss Lopez. Glad to be of service.”

In his plush office, I tapped my foot impatiently while he knelt in front of the huge iron safe and began to twirl the dials, eventually swinging the heavy door open. He stood up and handed me the jewelry box. I thanked him politely and went on out onto the verandah to wait for Bradford. The sky had turned a brooding gray. The sunlight was a thin, pale white. A light wind caused my skirts to flutter. Rain was in the air.

Bradford pulled up in front of the hotel a few minutes later. The buggy was black, a two-seater with a black accordion top that could be drawn up in case of inclement weather. A sturdy dappled gray stood in harness, clopping his heavy hooves up and down impatiently. Bradford climbed down and informed me that he'd left Millie at the theater.

“I kinda thought you might not want her along,” he drawled. “She said you needed my help.”

“I do. I have to sell my jewelry, and I have to sell it this afternoon. Since you've spent a lot of time in San Francisco and know the city well, I thought you might have some idea where—”

“You want cash?” he asked.

“I must have cash.”

“I reckon I know a place. It's not in the greatest neighborhood.”

“That doesn't matter,” I told him.

After Bradford helped me up onto the seat, he pulled the accordion top over the buggy and fastened it. The horse stamped restlessly. Bradford climbed up beside me and took the reins, snapping them to urge the horse on. Casually dressed as usual, Bradford wore scuffed black boots, a pair of faded gray cord breeches and a faded cotton shirt. His sun-streaked sandy hair flopped over his brow, and his expression was impassive as the buggy moved down the street, jolting and creaking with each turn of the wheels.

Because of the number of vehicles crowding the street, we had to move at a crawl. Drunks lurched in and out of the traffic, ignoring the rain. A bearded giant stumbled against the buggy and caught hold of the harness to keep from falling. He looked up with bleary eyes and saw me and let out a whoop, reaching his hand up to touch my skirts. I drew back, and Bradford calmly leveled his gun at the giant's forehead. The man whooped again and stumbled away, almost falling in front of a wagon loaded with large wooden barrels. Bradford kept his gun out, his face as impassive as ever.

We turned a corner. I could smell fish and tar and rotting nets as we passed a row of stalls. The rain was heavy now and the street had turned into a thick black mire. Bradford pulled up in front of a decrepit building that looked like a warehouse. Handing me the gun, he told me to fire it if anyone approached the buggy. Then he alighted and dashed inside the building. I waited nervously, the gun in my hand, rain pelting on the accordion top and blowing in to splatter my skirts. The dappled gray stood patiently, his coat wet and sleek.

Ten minutes must have passed before Bradford returned carrying a large umbrella. He took the gun, placed it back in his holster and helped me down, leading me inside the vast, dimly lighted building filled with crates and barrels and smelling of sawdust. There was an office in the rear, and a heavy-set man in a dingy black suit stepped out to greet us. His face was fleshy, his dark eyes greedy, his bald dome fringed with thin hair. His name was Sykes, and he reeked of alcohol and damp talcum powder.

“I understand you want to sell some jewels,” he said.

I nodded curtly, following him and Bradford into the small, cluttered office. Bradford took the jewelry box from me. He did all the bargaining, stern, tough, insistent, never once raising his voice, even though Sykes yelled and gave a convincing impression of apoplexy as Bradford turned down bid after bid, insisting on more money. They finally agreed on a figure approximately one twentieth the value of the jewelry. It was just enough to pay off Anthony's debts. Bradford looked at me to see if I was satisfied, and I nodded again. Sykes repeated his apoplexy routine when Bradford told him we had to have cash.

We left the building ten minutes later, Bradford retaining the umbrella, my reticule filled with money. As he helped me back up onto the seat, I realized I hadn't said a word since we'd left the hotel. Bradford climbed up beside me and took the reins in his hands. He didn't ask me any questions, didn't deem it necessary to discuss what had taken place, figuring I must have a good reason for doing what I had done. Millie was getting a remarkable man, I decided. Strong, capable, sure of himself in any situation, Bradford would always be calm and dependable.

“Where do you want to go now?” he inquired.

“Does Nick Wayne maintain an office?”

Bradford nodded, brushing a damp lock from his brow. “He has an office in one of the buildings on Sansome and California.”

“I'd like to go there.”

Our progress was slow, for the streets had become treacherously muddy and almost impossible to navigate. Several vehicles had bogged down in the mire, horses thrashing, men shouting. The rain continued in a steady downpour, but the dappled gray plodded along, unperturbed by rain and mud, Bradford calmly guiding it around obstacles. It took us an hour to reach the building that housed Wayne's office, and by then the rain had slackened to a light drizzle.

“Want me to go in with you?” Bradford asked.

“I don't think it's necessary,” I told him. “I'll be back out in a few minutes.”

The building was new. Most of the area had been destroyed in the fire of '51, and new, sturdier structures had been erected. The lower floor housed a bank. A weary-looking clerk behind one of the mahogany desks pointed to the staircase and told me I'd find Wayne's office on the second floor. My skirt was spotted by raindrops, my hair damp and all atumble. I brushed it back from my eyes before knocking on the impressive door that had his name printed in neat gold letters on it.

A male secretary opened the door and showed me inside. The office was very large, panelled in dark oak, the carpet a golden brown. Prints of sailing vessels hung on the walls, and there was a leather sofa, a portable bar laden with crystal decanters, tall lamps with green glass shades. Wayne sat behind a beautiful Sheraton desk littered with papers. When he saw me he stood up immediately, pulling on the jacket that had hung on the back of his chair.

“Miss Lopez,” he said, looking completely surprised.

He glanced at the secretary and indicated the door with a quick tilt of the head. The secretary left, pulling the door shut behind him.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” Wayne said.

“I've come on business, Mr. Wayne.” I opened my reticule and took out the money. He watched as I counted it, his right eyebrow arched, a displeased look in his eyes. When I had the exact amount Anthony owed, I folded the bills and held them out toward him. Wayne shook his head.

“I won't take your money,” he told me. “I gave you the notes. The debts are already marked off the books.”

“I must insist, Mr. Wayne.”

He could tell by my tone of voice that I meant what I said. Frowning, he took the bills from me and dropped them on top of the desk. He studied me with puzzled brown eyes.

“What an unusual woman you are,” he remarked.

“I believe the money is all there. You might count it.”

“I don't care about the money.”

“I thought you were a businessman. You've just made an enormous profit.”

“Might I ask where you obtained the money?”

“From a Mister Sykes,” I retorted.

“Sykes! You had dealings with a man like that?”

“I needed money quickly.”

“What did you sell him? Your jewelry? You did, didn't you?”

“That's none of your business, Mr. Wayne. The only thing that need concern you is the money on the desk. Anthony's gambling debts have been paid in full. I'd like a receipt to that effect, if you don't mind.”

Wayne frowned again and stepped behind his desk. He wrote out the receipt, tore it out of the book and handed it to me.

“You must love him very much to have done a thing like this,” he said quietly.

“I do love him, Mr. Wayne. That's why I had to do it. I don't expect you to understand.”

“Your jewelry was world famous.”

“It was of no use to me whatsoever. It was merely a symbol—a symbol of a past I'm trying very hard to forget.”

My voice was like steel, reflecting the cold tightness I felt inside. I clung to it. I had to. If I gave way now, I would never be able to get through the evening. Nick Wayne seemed to understand and his manner was warm and sympathetic.

“I feel responsible for this,” he said.

“It isn't your fault,” I replied, bending a little. “As you said earlier, you merely provide the facilities. I must go now, Mr. Wayne.”

“Let me take you back to the hotel.”

“Someone's waiting out front.”

“I see. At least I can walk you to the front door.”

“If you wish.”