'So she was an actress.'
'Oh, yes. A fine one, I'll grant her that much. You've probably heard of her. She committed suicide only recently.'
A chill swept through Elizabeth-Anne. She fidgeted with her hands and her voice dropped to a whisper. 'It wasn't . . .' she groaned despairingly, 'it couldn't have been - '
'Lola Bori. The one and only.' Robyn shook her head and smiled sadly. Then she clapped her hands together and brightened. 'Well, I think that's enough maudlin gossip for now. It's time we got going. Knowing this house as well as I do, I think dinner's about to be served. Without us, if we don't hurry.'
'You go on ahead,' Elizabeth-Anne said quickly. 'And thank you.'
Robyn looked surprised. 'Whatever for?'
'Telling me what you did.'
'Oh, pooh, that's nothing. If we're to become friends we shouldn't keep too many secrets from each other, should we? I mean, a few always add a little spice, but too many . . . ' Robyn shook her head and rose from the settee. She held out her hand. 'Let's go eat.'
'I can't,' Elizabeth-Anne begged off. 'I-I have to be going.'
'Nonsense. I won't hear of it. You're staying.'
'Don't you see? I can't face him. Not now.'
'Why? Because you're still embarrassed by his childish prank?'
Elizabeth-Anne was silent. How could she explain that her humiliation paled in comparison to what she'd just learned? The fact that Larry Hochstetter had been Lola Bori's husband - the same Lola Bori for whose suicide she herself couldn't help but feel some responsibility - had changed everything. Now she knew she would never be able to face him again, not for as long as she lived. Small wonder he took such obvious delight in putting her down. How he must hate her!
Robyn misread her reluctance. 'Don't hold his jokes against him,' she advised lightly. 'As I told you, he's the same with everyone. He didn't single you out. Besides, sooner or later he'll come around and apologize, and you won't want to miss that. And I'm not supposed to tell you this,' she continued, 'but the reason Larry sent me in here after you is because he doesn't want you to leave.'
'I can believe that,' Elizabeth-Anne said bitterly. 'This way he can torture me some more. And I must say, I deserve it.'
'On the contrary, you little fool,' Robyn said with a bright laugh. 'He's smitten with you. Now out we go.' Robyn pulled Elizabeth-Anne to her feet and smiled. 'A little food never hurt anyone. Nor did a little conversation. You'll learn soon enough. Neither Larry Hochstetter nor Robyn Morgan ever take no for an answer.'
Elizabeth-Anne gazed into Robyn's eyes. 'Please, can't you just leave me be?'
'I'm afraid not.' Robyn propelled her toward the door. 'Oh, and there's one more thing.'
Elizabeth-Anne raised her eyebrows wearily.
'If we're to become friends, which I'm sure we will, you'll have to start trusting me, all right?'
Elizabeth-Anne gave a little nod.
She wouldn't have believed it, but it was the beginning of a friendship that was to last a lifetime.
The rest of the guests were already seated in the dining salon when she and Robyn came in. Elizabeth-Anne glanced around with a none too sanguine confidence. She felt even more embarrassed than she had before. Dinner had obviously been delayed for her and Robyn Morgan.
Robyn turned to her and smiled reassuringly. 'Take heart,' she whispered gleefully. 'We must be important. Had it been anyone else, they would have started already. And for God's sake, slow down. This is our grand entrance.' She held Elizabeth-Anne back, forcing her to walk more slowly, while turning her regal whippet's face toward the guests with a flashing smile that wasn't in the least apologetic.
As they approached the table, Elizabeth-Anne saw there were only two empty places to the left and right of the host. She wasn't going to be let off that easy, she thought with a sinking feeling. Lawrence Hochstetter had made certain she'd be rubbing elbows with him, a sitting target for the butt of his jokes.
Reaching the head of the table seemed to take forever. The formal dining salon easily sat thirty-four for a formal sit-down dinner. In a pinch, such as tonight, the dining table accommodated fifty diners, rubbing elbows but eating comfortably. As in the salon, the ceiling soared to a height of twenty feet, but here the dado was painted to resemble carved stone. It reached to waist height, and above it the walls were covered with murals of shepherds and shepherdesses, classical gnarled olive trees, and a cloudy pink sky with plump cherubs cavorting in midair. The rug underfoot was a richly patterned, palace-size Aubusson and hanging from the ceiling above the sixteenth century table were four fragile, Venetian glass chandeliers bristling with lit beeswax tapers. The fifty matched chairs were genuine Louis XIV. The china was antique, floral Meissen rimmed in gold, the crystal was Waterford, and the cutlery was heavy Georgian sterling.
Elizabeth-Anne couldn't help but show her surprise when she noticed Lester Lottoman seated beside Marisol in the least important seats near the foot of the table. He was staring at her in disbelief, but Marisol's face was far more expressive. The beautiful features registered pure envy.
'Ladies,' Larry Hochstetter said loudly enough for the entire company to hear, 'I trust we didn't rush you?'
'You needn't worry, Larry dear,' Robyn assured him lightly. She leaned down, kissed his cheek, and took a seat on his right. 'I'm dreadfully vain, I know. But then, so is Elizabeth-Anne.' She glanced around the table. 'At least our noses don't shine.'
'Indeed they do not,' he replied, 'though ours smell food. Still, I can't imagine you worrying about anything cosmetic, Robyn. The lily needn't always be gilded.'
'As far as I'm concerned it can never take enough gilding,' she retorted and they all laughed politely.
Elizabeth-Anne found herself relaxing. So there would be no mention of her earlier, hurried departure from the salon. Even her and Robyn's late arrival for dinner was excusable.
Larry Hochstetter signaled the majordomo, and then an army of waiters filed in with overloaded trays of food. Dinner began in earnest.
What followed was the longest dinner Elizabeth-Anne had ever sat through. It was also the most elegant, and the most fascinating. Larry Hochstetter was in top form, a solicitous host and a marvelous raconteur, full of charm and humor. Robyn was the perfect foil for his wit, and the two of them got along famously.
But on and off', Elizabeth-Anne found herself feeling sorry for hew new friend. Robyn was obviously in love with Larry, but just as clearly he did not love her, at least not in the intimate sense. Still, they seemed the best of friends, and both of them made an effort to draw Elizabeth-Anne into their conversation. Soon she was glad that she had stayed. She was quickly changing her opinion of her handsome host.
'Larry imported his chefs from Paris,' Robyn confided as the first course arrive, a cold lobster mousseline, served in small porcelain cups decorated with truffles. 'No one in this country can hold a candle to them. Just wait until dessert.'
'Why dessert?'
Robyn smiled secretively. 'You'll see soon enough.'
Elizabeth-Anne found the food not only superb in taste, but beautifully served and garnished. The main course consisted of roast rib of veal. On each tray was a string- bound rib roast for six sitting in a lake of its own juices, each rib end sprouting white paper ruffles. To either side of the roast was a border of scalloped mashed potatoes, executed with a pastry bag and then browned in the oven. These borders kept the veal juices from soaking into the vegetables all around; the inside of each scallop held tiny peas, asparagus tips, and carrots.
But Robyn had been right; the dessert proved to be the piece de resistance.
'Larry sent his dessert chef to Murano to learn the art of glass blowing,' she said from across the table as the perfect spun-sugar apples, filled with apricot mousse, were set in front of each guest. Elizabeth-Anne stared at hers in amazement. The life-size apple had been blown so artfully it looked as though it were made not of sugar, but of delicate glass, and the apricot mousse inside it glowed ri
chly. She hesitated to eat it, it looked so beautiful. But as soon as she had taken her first bite her taste buds burst to vibrant, glorious life.
The two of them were seated in front of the fire in the upstairs study. The guests had long since departed, and the servants were cleaning up downstairs. Robyn had been the last one to leave. Now Elizabeth-Anne and Larry Hochstetter were alone.
'I must say you've chosen the most convoluted method of meeting me,' he said. 'Why didn't you just make an appointment and come by the office?'
'Because I wasn't sure about the minimum amount of investment capital your company would require. And besides . . . ' Elizabeth-Anne permitted herself a smile. 'I'm not interested in your office handling my affairs.' Her aquamarine eyes went steely. 'I want you to do it personally.'
He took a sip of his cognac. 'You've thought it all out carefully, haven't you?'
'Not really. I'm still very new at this. I just try to be cautious, that's all.'
'And if I decide not to handle your affairs personally? Then what?'
She smoothed her gown over her knees. 'I don't know,' she said alter a moment. She looked over at him. 'There are others, I'm sure.'
'There are.' He nodded. 'Investment bankers are a dime a dozen in this town. But they're not Hochstetter-Stremmel.'
She inclined her head. 'And I know that for a company like Hochstetter-Stremmel, thirty thousand dollars isn't a lot of money.' Elizabeth-Anne paused. 'But to me it is.'
He grinned. 'Don't let anyone try to tell you otherwise. It's a lot of money any way you look at it.'
She glanced at him in surprise. He wasn't as conceited about business as he could be in his personal life. 'Spoken like a true banker.'
'Which I'm not,' he pointed out. 'I simply invest money for people. Based on educated guesses, economic forecasts, past performances of companies and gut instinct.'
'Do you think . . . ' she began slowly. Then she laughed chidingly at herself. 'I know it's an unfair question, but do you think I would be able to multiply my money enough eventually to buy a hotel?'
'Given the right investments and a good economic climate, I don't see why you couldn't. Once you've gotten a hundred thousand dollars together, we can start playing little games that can help speed up the process.'
'Games?' she paused and frowned. 'What kind of games?'
'Taking bigger risks. Buying on margin. Buying a hotel by getting a mortgage. That sort of thing. But what we have to do first is invest your money simply and cautiously. Money makes money. The first hundred thousand is always the hardest. The same goes for your first million.'
'And it's relatively . . . safe?'
'Safe enough. But everything in life is risky. There is no such thing as a hundred percent sure-fire bet. I'd be lying if I didn't tell you that.'
'And if you were in my shoes? What would you do?'
He grinned. 'Exactly what you're doing. That is, if I had the good sense to seek out someone like myself.'
'Fair enough.' She nodded. 'I'll bring a cashier's check for thirty thousand to your office tomorrow.'
'I'll go one better than that,' he said, raising his glass. 'I'll have my car pick you up and we'll have lunch. You can hand over the check and we'll celebrate.'
She smiled. 'You do have your own way of doing things, Mr. Hochstetter.'
'Larry,' he said with soft intensity. 'If we're to enjoy a profitable business relationship, then you must call me Larry.'
'Larry, then.' She got to her feet. 'Until tomorrow,' she said, holding out her hand in a businesslike manner.
He shook it. 'Until tomorrow. Bevin will see to it that Max drives you home.' It was a long moment before he let go of her hand.
She went downstairs, humming to herself.
He went into the master bedroom suite, whistling softly.
Neither of them could know that in only three hundred and sixty two days, on October 29, 1929, the worst stock market crash in history would bring the world to its knees.
9
Elizabeth-Anne's gaze wandered past Larry Hochstetter to the windows and out on to the conical roofs and needle-spired tops of the buildings beyond.
Until she and Larry had begun having their bi-weekly luncheons here in the private dining room of Hochstetter- Stremmel, thirty-eight floors atop 70 Pine Street in the heart of the financial district, she had often enough glanced wonderingly at the banking temples of Lower Manhattan. She had tried on countless occasions to imagine what it would be like to look out at the world from so high a vantage point, but imagination had failed her. Now she experienced the soaring elevation first-hand, and often, but it still had lost none of its magic. She felt she could reach out and touch the tops of the surrounding buildings with her fingertips, and she had learned to appreciate just why the crowns of these stone monoliths were so ornate. Not for the people on the ground, who couldn't see them anyway; no, they were meant to be appreciated from atop similar buildings. This lofty world was truly more than physically distant from the street far below and ordinary men. From up here, ships entering or leaving the harbor were tiny and insignificant, people were ants, and their problems were nonexistent. Only her own business interests were of importance.
For over ten months, these luncheon meetings had been a tradition. They had only missed two or three in all that time.
She drew her gaze back to Larry and smiled across the table at him. If anyone had told her the night of the dinner at the Hochstetter mansion that her interests would mushroom the way they had in such a short period of time, she would have laughed aloud. But it was no laughing matter.
Larry pushed away his dessert plate and slid the report across the white tablecloth. With her hand she pulled it closer and turned it around to face her. It consisted of four pages. The first was the tide page, and it was neatly typed and centered:
CONFIDENTIAL
Breakdown of Securities
and Investments
of
Elizabeth-Anne Hale
as of Oct. 28, 1929
She smiled to herself in anticipation as she turned to the first page. Then the smile froze on her face. For an instant, she wasn't sure if she were seeing a typographical error. She glanced sharply across the table at Larry.
His expression was inscrutable.
She consulted the page again. The same figure seemed to jump off it. In less than a year her thirty thousand dollar investment had been parlayed into . . . was it possible? She didn't dare think so.
She gazed down at the figure numbly.
'One hundred and sixty-seven thousand, three hundred and forty-three dollars and ninety-two cents,' she murmured slowly.
No, she decided, there had to be a mistake.
She flipped the pages and ran her index finger along the rows of numbers breaking down the individual investments, dividends and, in one case, a stock which had split. There was also a new mining company stock. Horseshoe Investments of North Dakota, which had struck a minor vein of ore a week previously.
Finally she let out a deep breath and closed the report. For a moment she couldn't trust herself to speak.
'I'm impressed,' she said in a soft voice. 'It's almost . . . frightening.'
'If it seems to have grown a little faster than we anticipated,' Larry explained, 'it's only because you gave me carte blanche to do as I saw fit. Once in a while a little bird whispers a hot tip in my ear. Not that it happens often, mind you, but if it sounds good, and not too good to be true, then I follow my intuition. Still, it was ultimately your decision to stay out of everything and let me handle it the way I saw fit that made it possible.'
She chuckled. 'Well, I'm certainly glad I did.'
'So am I.'
'Larry . . . ' she began tentatively. She glanced up and waited as Berty, the Hochstetter-Stremmel cook-butler, cleared away their plates. He was a pale, ghost of a man, but he cooked like an angel. 'It was delicious,' she told him with a smile.
He bowed his head gravely. 'Thank you, madam. Coffee?'
'Please.'
He poured it from a silver pot on the sideboard and brought the cups over to the table. The coffee was black and steaming, served in translucent English bone china.
Once Berty was gone, Elizabeth-Anne toyed with her cup. Her face was expressionless. 'I feel a little guilty, Larry.'
'Guilty?' he grinned suddenly. 'Why on earth should you feel guilty? Because you've come by a little honest money?'
'You know better than that.' She frowned again. 'It's you, Larry.'
'Your ever faithful servant, m'am.' He bowed his head gallantly.
She was not amused. 'It isn't fair,' she argued. 'The only reason my money has increased this much is because you've been giving my account your undivided attention. Far more than it warrants.'
'Guilty, m'am.'
She steepled her fingers and rested them thoughtfully against her lips. Over the past ten months, she and Larry had grown very close. From the beginning, there had been that intense physical attraction between them, but she had suppressed it, confused by her memories of Zaccheus. So, in his own fashion, Larry had doted upon her. Oh, the sparks hadn't stopped flying, but they had had to grow beyond that. They had gained a healthy respect for one another until one day they realized the friendship they had built had blossomed into something more: he loved her, and she him.
It had been slow in coming, especially on her part, but once the realization dawned it had hit her squarely, knocking her senseless. He had begun asking her up to the house for dinner, or out to restaurants and the theater. And for the first time since Zaccheus had left, she had invited a man into her own home, wondering how the girls would take to him. They all did, although they were uneasy at first. In fact, it had been Charlotte-Anne whose reaction had surprised her the most. On the one hand, Charlotte-Anne was delighted to make the acquaintance of a true society celebrity, rumored to be one of the five richest men in New York. On the other hand, when Larry left to go back home she had turned to Elizabeth-Anne and snapped, 'He's nice enough, Mamma. I like him. But nobody can take Daddy's place. Not ever.'
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