Fortune is a Woman (52 page)

Buck turned to watch him, a puzzled look on his face.
"Maryanne?"
he said.

Annie hurried across to him. "Oh, Buck, I'm afraid Mr. Harrison's gone and spoiled your little surprise. Mrs. Wingate told me she thought it would be nice if she joined you. I've transferred you to the Knaresborough Suite on the same floor."

They looked at each other for a moment. Annie had often met Buck with Francie at the ranch. She understood about their affair and she never let the fact that she did not approve affect her liking for him as a man. But they never spoke of it between them.

He nodded as he stepped into the elevator. "Thanks, Annie," he said wearily. It had been a long day and he was too beat to speculate on just why Maryanne had chosen to join him in San Francisco, or what Harry Harrison wanted.

But Annie suspected why Maryanne was there and she was not in the least bit surprised when Francie's houseboy, Ah Fong, arrived a short while later with a note marked "private and personal" to be delivered to Senator Wingate when he was alone.

Annie Aysgarth took the note and called Buck on the phone and asked him to please come downstairs to see her.

He wondered what she wanted, but Maryanne bet she knew why. He didn't come back for hours, and when he did he acted like a crazy man.

She watched him warily as he prowled from room to room; his eyes were blank with pain and she thought, relieved, that she had just been in the nick of time. If only that swine Harry had not seen her, everything would have worked out perfectly. Still, all he wanted was money and her father could always put a good thing or two his way, and Buck need never know. But the look of triumph in his loathsome face had made her uneasy, and with Buck acting like a madman, she had better watch out he didn't do something stupid. Like go back to Francesca Harrison.

Buck stared out the window; San Francisco was wreathed in one of its sudden white fogs but he scarcely noticed. He felt torn apart inside. When he had read the letter Annie gave him he'd said disbelievingly, "No, it can't be true." And then he had looked at Annie's grave face and he had known it was. He'd reread Francie's note again and again. "
I
cannot live like this any longer,"
she said,
"with only half a life—and lately it has been even less. I realize it is wrong to take you away from your own world, from your children, and from your work. I have the right to make this decision, Buck, and it is final. I do not want you to question it or try to see me. All I want is to be left alone to build my own life again. I have loved you and been happy, but now it is over...."

He'd stalked out of Aysgarth's, up Taylor to Nob Hill. He'd pounded on Francie's door until the houseboy answered. He had never been in her home before and he stepped into the hall and stared around looking for her. "Where is she?" he demanded. "I must see her." And when the boy told him she was not there he strode disbelievingly from room to room calling her name.

"Miss Francie's not here," the boy repeated, frightened. "She has gone away, not to the ranch.... away somewhere, for a long time...." He waved his arms vaguely while Buck had stared at him helplessly, then he knew it was true. Francie had written him out of her life forever.

Now he turned from the window and stared suspiciously at his wife. "Why did you come here today, Maryanne?"

"Why, to surprise you, darling." He stepped toward her, his eyes wild with pain and anger and she said nervously, "Is something wrong?"

He stood close to her, his hands clenched at his sides and she saw the effort with which he was controlling himself. His whole body trembled as he said,
"You
did this, didn't you, Maryanne?
You went to see her."

She turned her head away, avoiding his eyes. "I don't know what you mean.

"Yes, you do!"

"You have your children to think of," she retorted defensively. "And everything you've worked for, your future—"

"Is it really
my
future, Maryanne? Or is it yours?"

He took her chin in his hand, tilting her face up, forcing her to look at him. "I won't forget," he said quietly.

She saw the defeat in his eyes and knew she had won and she said solicitously, "It's all for the best, Buck darling. I was only thinking of you. After all, I am your wife."

He let go of her. His marriage was an empty shell. Francie had left him. A glittering future stretched ahead, but he no longer cared.

He looked at Maryanne, elegantly beautiful in clinging blue velvet. She was his wife and the mother of his children, she was protecting her own. But the distance that had always existed between him and Maryanne now lay like a coiled, venomous serpent between them.

"Buck..." she cried as he walked past her to his room and closed the door.

Maryanne sank onto the sofa with a little sigh of relief. It was over. She thought of the look of pain in his eyes and told herself it surely couldn't be that bad. Tomorrow, like one of the children with a badly scraped knee, the pain would be gone and he would feel better. And they would just pick up the pieces and life would go on as if nothing had ever happened.

***

Lysandra was born with the dawn on a beautiful spring morning in Dolores de Soto Harrison's lovely old carved bed. Annie was at Francie's side and the Mandarin was also there to share her joy.

He held the infant wrapped in her pretty white shawl and his black eyes shone with happiness because Francie had a new child to give her love to.

"A beautiful little girl," Annie exclaimed joyfully. "Oh Francie, this old ranch will be a happy place again."

"It surely will, Miss Francie," Hattie said, peering at the child's tightly shut little face. "She's like a rosebud in the mornin' before the sun opens her petals." Francie smiled. "I'm afraid I'll never have a whole bouquet though, Hattie," she said. Then she looked wistfully at the Mandarin. "I just wish Buck could see her. I wish she had her father's name."

He placed the baby carefully back into her arms. He bowed and said, "I am an old man. I cannot take the place of her father, but I will guard her as if she were my own grandchild. I will teach her everything I have learned and share your pleasure in watching her grow."

Francie looked at her dearest friend; it was true he was old, even he didn't know his true age. Somehow he seemed smaller, his shoulders were stooped but his face was strong, his eyes still glowed with the same energy and there was a wonderful dignity about him. She thought of all he had done for her throughout her life: everything she was, every triumph large and small was because of him. Lai Tsin had been her only good fortune and now he would be her child's.

She said, "Would you give Lysandra your name? It is an honorable one and it will make me very proud."

The Mandarin's eyes widened, first with astonishment and then with pleasure. He took the baby's tiny, perfect hand in his and he kissed it. "Dearest Francie," he said, his voice charged with emotion, "you have bestowed upon your old friend the greatest honor of his life. I was a worthless peasant, I had nothing, no wealth, no family, and no love. And now I have all three. I have a name to be proud of and a grandchild to bear it. I am the happiest person in the world."

***

The Mandarin was Lysandra's beloved grandfather for seven years and in all that time Francie kept her promise not to see Buck again, though she thought of him every night and followed his career in the newspapers. She didn't see him until after the Mandarin died, in 1937, that same fateful week of Harry's party.

PART V: FRANCIE, 1937

CHAPTER 39

1937

Wednesday, October 4th

Lysandra Lai Tsin leapt out of bed on the stroke of half-past six the morning after the Mandarin's ashes had been scattered on the sea, because even though she was sad, she still could not bear to miss a single minute of the day. She always awoke with the same joyous expectancy that maybe something wonderful would happen and usually it did, whether it was an "A" in math, or sleeping over at her friend Dorothy's house, or even just her favorite chocolate cake after supper. Lysandra enjoyed life and she met it head-on every day, and she never, ever expected anything bad to happen to her.

That was why it had been such a blow when her grandfather had died, because the two of them had been very close and she just never expected anyone she loved ever to go away.

But today was a new day. The sun was shining and she was filled with her old optimism and bounce as she ran to the bathroom and quickly washed her face and brushed her tangled blond hair, braiding it lopsidedly and tying it with a piece of scarlet yarn, Chinese-style. Then she inspected herself in the mirror to see if she looked any different, decided it was just the same old face and the same round blue eyes and she had not turned into a mature raging beauty overnight after all. Slamming the door behind her and whistling cheerily, she ran along the wide semicircular gallery overlooking the big hall to Francie's room.

She tapped on the door, waiting for the usual "Come on in, baby." Ever since she was little, as soon as she had awakened, she had evaded her amah's grasp and run to Francie's room to climb on her bed and share her morning tea and toast. Francie liked her toast simply buttered, but Lysandra always slathered hers with the peach preserves put up every summer by Hattie, the cook-housekeeper at the ranch. Then she and Francie would walk down the street for their usual daily swim in the Fairmont Hotel's pool. Francie said it was the only thing the Fairmont had over the Aysgarth Arms, but personally Lysandra preferred the glossy silver-and-green art deco cocktail bar at Aysgarth's to the Fairmont's canopied swimming pool.

But today there was no reply from Francie's room and she opened the door and peeked in. With an "oh" of alarm she saw the towering four-poster had not been slept in. The blue brocade curtains were still drawn, the lamp still burned and the Morisot portrait of the little girl on the gilt easel on the bedside table glowed like an icon in the soft light.

Lysandra glanced around, calling Francie's name as she inspected the dressing room with its crowded closets, and the mirrored bathroom with its shelves of scented powders and lotions. But Francie wasn't there and she felt a sudden misgiving. She had lost her beloved grandfather and now she had lost Francie too.

She ran along to the end of the long galleried hallway to the Mandarin's room, hesitating before opening the door and going in.

Lai Tsin's were the only Chinese rooms in the big house, and Francie, who understood these things, had supervised their decoration herself. The first room was his study. Its walls and ceiling were lacquered a beautiful glossy red. Two walls held rows of heavy leather-bound books and a simply carved blackwood altar table stood against the wall nearest the door. The white azaleas he had favored bloomed in a pot near the window and a filigree iron lantern decorated with scarlet tassels hung over the low central table, around which were grouped the big square-backed slippery wooden chairs Lysandra had always complained were so uncomfortable.

She ran to his bedroom and peered in, but the austere white room looked as it always had. There was just a low Chinese wooden bed with a padded bedmat, a little charcoal brazier in the fireplace and tall windows with pierced Chinese screens and plain rice-paper shades. The Mandarin's bedroom was bare of all decoration and it was empty.

Lysandra ran back along the gallery, down the stairs and across the hall, slipping and sliding on the polished wooden floorboards as she flung open the door to Francie's sitting room. She heaved a great sigh of relief. Francie was curled up on the sofa fast asleep. "Oh," she exclaimed, "there you are after all."

Francie opened her eyes and stared bewilderedly at her. She glanced around the little sitting room, at the dead ashes in the fireplace and the lighted lamp and drawn curtains, as though she were reseeing them after a long journey and she shook her head wearily. She supposed she must have fallen asleep but her dreams of the past had been so troubled she still felt exhausted.

"It's after six," Lysandra said impatiently. "And you're still dressed from yesterday. Didn't you go to bed at all?"

Francie stretched her arms over her head, smiling. Lysandra still looked such a baby with her hair braided all wrong and her sweater on inside-out. She was always in such a hurry, she never had time to bother with boring things like dressing properly.

"Did you brush your teeth?" she asked automatically as she did every morning, and Lysandra shook her head guiltily.

"I forgot. I'll do it after breakfast." She ran to Francie and gave her a hug. "I couldn't find you. I was frightened," she whispered. "I thought maybe you'd gone away too."

Francie hugged her back. "I'd never go away without telling you." Then she smiled and said, "I've got a great idea. Why don't you and I go to the ranch? I dreamed about it last night, about picking grapes for the new wine, and riding the horses for miles and miles and making pancakes. I think we need a little holiday and I'll just bet Cookie and Mousie will be real happy to see you. If we leave right away we could be there in a couple of hours."

Lysandra's face lit up as she thought of the ranch and the dog and the cat—and her pony. She clapped her hands together, whirling delightedly around and around the room. "I just knew something nice would happen today," she cried.

Watching her, Francie smiled. She was just a little girl and it was so easy to make her happy. But she wondered worriedly what would happen as she grew up and realized she was pretty Lysandra Lai Tsin, maybe the richest girl in the world with power over a business empire that employed thousands and earned millions of dollars. She sighed; it was not going to be easy. Lysandra was rarely still, she enjoyed life and action and the idea of her presiding over a boardroom table was remote. But the Mandarin had chosen her and he had never been wrong.

***

The de Soto Ranch and Winery was a lot different from the tumbledown clapboard buildings scattered over a few humble acres that it had been the first time Francie had gone there with her mother. Over the years, she had purchased all the tracts around until now it covered four hundred acres. The old wooden ranch house was still at the core, but it had been expanded and two new wings formed a courtyard, with a long galleried porch running all around. There were three big barns next to the graceful arched stucco buildings of the winery, and beyond were the workers' dormitories and cookroom. To the right of the house lay the new stables and next to that was the cottage where Zocco, the Mexican ranch-hand, lived with his wife.