Before she had returned the receiver to its cradle, the door to her private office was opened and Fan came sweeping in, exuding energy and bright efficiency. A smile beamed from her friend’s face, but there was a critical look in her assessing glance.
“Sorry, Fan, but I can’t have lunch with you today,” Rachel said and began to write her signature on the letters she should have already signed.
“I know I’m not down on your appointment book, but I thought I’d steal you away from the office.” Fan crossed to the desk, undeterred by the refusal. “I’ve only seen you once since you came back from the cruise—and every time I phone you, we never talk more than five minutes because you’re expecting some ‘important call.’”
“I had a lot of catching up to do when I came back.” It was a vague explanation, accompanied by an equally vague smile in her friend’s direction.
“You look awful,” Fan announced.
“Thanks.” Rachel laughed without amusement.
“You’re lucky you got some sun on that cruise.
Without the tan those circles under your eyes would really be noticeable.” Fan pulled a side chair closer to the desk and sat in it, leaning forward in an attitude that invited confidence. “You might as well tell me, Rachel. Hasn’t he called?”
The “he” was Gard, of course. When she had returned from vacation and seen the Kempers, Rachel had mentioned him. Fan, being Fan, had read through the lines and knew instinctively that the relationship hadn’t been as casual as Rachel had tried to imply.
“No, he hasn’t called,” she admitted, grimly concealing the hurt.
“It’s possible he lost your number,” Fan reasoned. “And unless he knows you
r company is called the Country House, he won’t be able to find you, since your home number is unlisted.”
“I know.”
During the last two weeks she’d had countless arguments with herself. She’d come up with all sorts of reasons to explain why Gard hadn’t called her as he’d promised, but she could never forget the possibility that he wasn’t interested in seeing her again.
True, he’d said a lot of things to lead her to believe otherwise. But men often said things in the heat of passion that meant nothing on reexamination. Pride insisted it had just been a holiday affair, intense while it lasted, but best forgotten by her.
“Rachel, how long are you going to eat your heart out over him before you do something about it?” Fan wanted to know.
“About twenty more minutes,” Rachel replied calmly with a glance at her watch.
“What?” Fan sat up straight and blinked at her.
There was a dry curve to Rachel’s mouth as she met her friend’s puzzled gaze. “That’s why I can’t go to lunch with you. I’m going to his office this afternoon.” She had looked up his name in the telephone directory so many times that she knew his address and phone number by heart. “I have to know where I stand once and for all.”
Fan leaned back in her chair and released a sighing breath of satisfaction. “I’m so glad to hear you say that. Would you like me to come with you and lend a little moral support?”
“No. I have to do this on my own,” Rachel stated.
“Have you called?” Fan wondered. “Did you make an appointment to see him?”
“No. I thought about it,” she admitted. “But if he doesn’t want to see me anymore, I didn’t want to be pawned off by his secretary or have some impersonal conversation with him on the phone. When I talk to him, I want to be able to see his face.” She slashed her name across the last letter. “So I’m just going over to his office and take the chance that he’ll be in.”
“If he isn’t?” Fan studied her with gentle sympathy.
“I don’t know.” Rachel sighed heavily. “Then I guess it’s back to square one.”
“John knows him—or at least they’ve met before,” Fan reminded her. “I could always have him come up with some excuse to call him and mention in passing that you are one of John’s clients—use the name coincidence that started this whole thing. At least John could find out what his reaction is.”
“Thanks.” She appreciated her friend’s offer to help, but she didn’t feel it was right to have them solve her problems. “I’d rather do this without involving you and John.”
“If you change your mind, just tell me,” Fan insisted, standing up to leave. “And you’d better call me later, because I’ll be the one sitting by the phone on pins and needles.”
“I will,” Rachel promised with a more natural smile curving her mouth and watched her friend leave, spending an idle minute reminding herself how lucky she was to have a friend like Fan Kemper.
At half past one that afternoon Rachel stood outside the entrance to the suite of offices in the posh Wilshire Boulevard address and had cause to wish for the moral support Fan had offered. Her knees felt shaky and her stomach was emptily churning.