Her Foreign Affair (28 page)

“Mr. Fiske, as soon as I get my flight rescheduled, I’ll need a ride to the airport.” She stood and straightened the jacket of her new burgundy suit, which she’d bought with her credit card, not Court’s. His card had never left her purse. At least she’d retained that much of her pride. No more gifts from him, she decided.

Standing straight, eyes forward, the perfect picture of butler efficiency, Fiske answered crisply. “Yes, Ma’am.”

Heart firmly wrapped in a bandage of resolutions, she turned toward the stairs.

By quarter to two, her packed bags stood near the suite door. In her purse, she carried the paperwork for a flight out at seven. The credit cards from Court she’d left in an envelope on the dresser with a note thanking him for the lovely time. Not a lie. She’d had fun. A bit lonely, but then again, the museums she’d visited were better experienced without someone impatiently hovering, wanting to rush on when she wanted to sit and absorb. Next to the note, a wrapped tin of an exotic tea she’d found. With his connections and knowledge, it was one he probably already knew about, but it was new to her. The tea had been horribly expensive, but she’d been assured it was precious and worth the exorbitant price. Since she’d already purchased it for him, she saw no point in not giving it to him. In exchange for her keeping the earrings, although the prices paid weren’t comparable.

In her purse she had small gifts for Birdie and her father. Nothing significant, just mementoes of her trip. Jewelry and cigar scissors, though she really shouldn’t encourage Dad’s bad habit. She hoped Birdie would like the diamond earrings as a graduation gift, and they’d laugh over a few of the tourist items in her suitcase.

After leaving a chaste kiss on Fiske’s cheek, she’d left the hotel without a look back. Now she merely had to drink in the atmosphere of the café not far from the hotel. A place she’d discovered had excellent mochas and acceptable WiFi service, it was a busy, chaotic atmosphere in direct contrast to the quiet elegance of the hotel. The car would pick her up in an hour, more or less. Fiske had promised to call her cell phone when it was ready. She didn’t want to miss her plane due to rush hour traffic.

“Randi?”

Deep in an e-mail from a friend, she didn’t register the male voice directed at her until the chair opposite her moved and Jordan sat down. She glanced at the clock and saw thirty minutes had passed. Not long now until she had to go.

“It is you,” he said and flashed a wide smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Oh, hi.” She gave him what felt like a very weak smile in return. She hadn’t expected Jordan to be the next man to turn up in her life. So be it. She let her smile grow and warm, earning a surprised blink from him and a relaxing of his seemingly forced grin. A date with him would just be the second step easing her back into the singles market. If he came out to California again, she’d find a way to go out with him. Possibly fix him dinner as he’d enjoyed her cooking at Thanksgiving. “No, I don’t suppose you would expect to find me here when I belong on the other coast.”

“What are you doing here? When did you decide to come, where are you staying, and how long are you staying?”

In an effort to enforce her resolve to be friendly, Randi began the shutdown sequence of her computer. Other than Kelly’s groveling over the incident on the steps on Thanksgiving, there were no interesting e-mails anyway. Birdie hadn’t answered, and Dad had declared business dead, as usual, between the holidays.

“I made a snap decision to come right after Thanksgiving. I’ve been staying over there,” she said and vaguely waved toward the tall hotel. “I’m heading home in just a bit. I need to walk back there to catch my ride in about thirty minutes.”

“That’s the Brit hotel.”

It was almost more than she could do to not pat his hand and reward his brilliant deduction with a smile. Instead, she merely nodded.

“You came with Robinson?” Jordan pinned her to the chair with his gaze. “Where is he?”

“In meetings. He really should have headed back to London.” She shrugged. “I’m shopped out, so I’m heading home.”

“No,” Jordan protested. “You just got here. If you’ve only seen Fifth Avenue, then you haven’t seen the best parts of New York. You must stay and let me play tour guide.”

Tempting, but she really did long for home. New York was cold and expensive. Never mind she had no real interest in Jordan—well, that could change, if given a chance. A girl always needed friends, didn’t she?—and she didn’t want to run into Court. It would probably be a repeat of seeing him with his arm around some taller, younger, prettier woman who dressed better than she did.

And didn’t that thought feel like a knife between her ribs. With supreme effort she blinked back the threatening tears.

For the first time, she truly understood Dorothy’s desire to get herself and Toto home to Kansas, and had to remind herself she’d chosen to go home and really was fine with ending her affair with Court. “Thanks, but I want to be there for Birdie as she finishes up the semester. I shouldn’t have left her at this time.”

Jordan stared at her for a long moment, and she wondered how much Dad had told him. Who ever said men didn’t gossip? “You really want to go?”

“Yes, I really want to go.” No doubts there. Home was exactly where she wanted to be.

“He treated you so poorly?”

Randi forced her laugh. “No, not at all. I’ve had run of the city. I’m just pining for sunshine.” She pulled the collar of her new leather coat up around her ears. The faux fur collar was soft and helped minimize the chill blasting into the café each time someone opened the door.

“You’ve been abandoned to your own devices by a man too callous to realize how lonely you are.”

Who knew the man she’d considered self-absorbed could be so perceptive? So, she wouldn’t go out with him after all. She just needed to date, not see an analyst. “Jordan, it’s not your concern. There are times when business simply must come first. Timing was off, that’s all.” Randi shrugged and looked out the window as a sleek town car in the hotel’s signature silver and blue pulled up in front of the hotel across the street. “And there’s my ride.” She slipped her laptop into its case as her phone began to ring. She grabbed it and made note of Fiske’s number. Since she’d seen the car, she felt no compunction to answer and slipped it into her purse.

Jordan stood and took the computer bag from her. “Let me walk you out and try to convince you to change your mind.”

The warm smile he gave her conveyed appreciation. Randi slung her purse strap over her shoulder and slipped her arm through his. “You can try.”

* * * *

“Larry, if you do this to me next year, I’ll never do business with you again.” Court tapped on the window separating them from the cab driver. Still a full block and a half from the hotel, traffic stood still, and he was restless anyway. “We’ll climb out here. How much?” He peeled off some bills, probably over-tipping by two hundred percent.

Brisk air slapped him in the face as Larry followed him onto the curb.

“Are you crazy? I swear it’s cold enough to drop a foot of snow.”

Court didn’t care if Larry froze solid. All he wanted was Randi in his arms, and if it meant trekking through six feet of snow, it didn’t matter. The next three days, and nights—especially the nights—were hers, and he’d tag along wherever she wanted to go. He’d promised her shopping, dining, and touring. The business demands of this week had been unusually cruel, and he’d felt like a cad sending her out the door each day with only cold plastic and a driver for company. So much for seducing her into his plan to never be apart. Falling asleep during the first half of the boisterous musical hadn’t been especially swift, either. Or in the bath afterward. Instead of clocking him, she’d been sweet, making him feel all the more guilty for not living up to the promises he’d made. But enough of that. He’d work double time to make it up to her.

“Not a cloud in the sky, Larry. Anyhow, as I was saying, you get your Christmas orders in by the end of October next year. September would be better, but I know you too well for that. I won’t do business this way again when it can be handled in a reasonable manner long before the holidays hit. Now, I promised Randi that I’d ordered you and Martha to go home and I mean it. I want you two out of our hair.”

People carrying bags and packages jostled for space on the sidewalk. In the distance, under the hotel portico, a stray beam of sunlight hit the hair of a woman. Red hair. Sparkling golden auburn. Court stretched to see if it was Randi. More than half a block away, there were enough people in the way he couldn’t be sure, but it looked like her new coat. The woman stood beside a much taller man and hotel staff loaded luggage into a car just like the one he and Randi had used all week, with the exception of the cabs today.

He hadn’t wanted to tie up their car and driver, and had left them for Randi to use. Though he wasn’t sure why, as she hadn’t stumbled through the door with armloads of bags each day. He’d seen a few, but if she’d bought more than three outfits and a few pieces of lingerie, he’d be surprised. Frowning over the thought—he should check the cards to see what she’d spent, if she’d used his cards at all—he kept his eye on the woman. The man turned just enough for Court to recognize him as soon as the bellman’s cart shuttled away.

Doyle? What the hell was he doing at the hotel? The woman next to him stood about shoulder high, like Randi. She turned to face the car, her profile clear for an instant as she bent to climb in. It was Randi, he was sure…and Doyle followed? What the hell?

He tried to speed up, but the crowds on the sidewalks closed in, hampering his progress, earning him more than a few curses.

“Court, what’s going on? Slow down,” Larry complained.

Ignoring his friend, Court reached for his phone as it started to vibrate with an incoming call.

“Randi?” he answered without looking at the ID.

“Sir? Is this Courtland Robinson?”

It sure didn’t sound like Randi, and it took a moment to place the accented male voice as belonging to his butler. The one in England. “Martin? Is that you?” From clear across the ocean. “Look, I’m sorry to be rude, but I don’t have time—”

“Thank God I’ve reached you, sir. I’m sorry to call like this, but your mother took a fall and broke her hip.” The urgency in Martin’s voice began to catch Court’s attention. “She’s asking for you and refuses to have surgery until she talks to you. Your sister can’t get her to see reason. They say she needs a hip replacement, and only you can reassure her on this point.”

Court stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Still twenty yards away, a doorman closed the door, and the car pulled away from the curb into traffic. Even if he had a clear shot and could break into a run, he’d never catch her. “Martin, can this wait? I’ve got—”

“Court!” Martin shouted, shocking him into listening, really listening. “Didn’t you hear anything I said? Your sixty eight-year-old mother fell down and broke her hip! She’s in pain and needs surgery.”

“Surgery?” The word broke through the last of his distraction, and Court shook his head to clear it. “New hip?”

“Yes,” Martin said in obvious relief. “You were listening. I’ve contacted Martha, and she’s getting you a plane home. I’ll meet you at the airport as soon as you arrive.”

“Right.” Court closed his eyes and felt Larry’s hand come to rest on his shoulder, offering silent support. “Home. Hip surgery. Tell her I’ll be there as soon as I can. Which hospital? I’ll get the number as soon as I make it back to the suite.”

Court disconnected after Martin assured him Martha had all the information he needed. Maybe she could explain about Randi driving off with Doyle.

“Court?” Larry squeezed his shoulder. “What’s up? Your mum?”

“Fell. Broken hip. Larry, wasn’t that Randi climbing into the hotel car?” He surged forward into the crowd. “Where do you think Randi would go with Doyle?”

“Randi? Doyle? Who’s Doyle, and what does it have to do with your mum? Or Randi for that matter?”

Court flung out his arm in frustration, meaning to point after the disappearing car. His cell phone flew from his hand and landed in the street. Cursing, he started to follow, but a yellow cab, horn blaring, sped past him forcing him back onto the sidewalk where a horrible crunching noise reached his ears.

“Dammit!”

Larry echoed the curses streaming from his mouth and held up a hand to stop further traffic from rolling over Court. He quickly picked up the pieces he could, and for the first time in many years, a sense of doom settled over him.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Larry said as he pulled Court back onto the sidewalk, completely ignoring the hand gestures aimed in their direction.

Court could only stare down at the mashed and broken pieces in his hands. “Randi.”

“What’s her number, mate? You can use my phone.” Larry whipped it out. “Come on, tell me. We’ll have her in a jiff, and you’ll see that wasn’t her.”

From the ruined pieces of his phone, he tried to extract the SIM card, but it was cracked beyond repair. Of all the idiotic things to happen.

“Number, old man?”

“Don’t know it off the top of my head. That’s what phone memories are for.” Court flung the remains into the nearest trash bin and resumed pushing through the crowd to the hotel. “Martha will know. Fiske has her number as well. Gotta get back to the room. She’s probably there anyway.”

He’d had to have Fiske call Martha’s room and drag her up to the penthouse while he used the butler’s phone to try and reach Randi. Unsuccessful—her phone rolled immediately to voicemail—he stared at his assistant as her lips pressed into a thin line and she glowered at him. In the bedroom, Fiske was taking care of the last of the packing, and Martha flipped through a stack of the necessary paperwork between frowns.

“Court, we have one hour to get to the airport for check in. We’ll be ready to go in just a minute or two. My bags are already with the bellhops.” Martha tapped a blunt nail on her leather folder. Just one of the details he’d noticed over the last few days. Her hands lacked the grace of motion Randi had in spades. Although she was fifteen years younger than Randi, she seemed older, her youthful skin covered up with heavy cosmetics. She lacked Randi’s relaxed, West Coast, sun-kissed complexion. The curse of the English in winter, skin as pale as a whitefish belly. The long hours Martha worked to keep him organized were showing. At least she was well paid to put up with him, unlike Randi.