Gerald N. Lund 4-In-1 Fiction eBook Bundle

by Gerald N. Lund

  She hesitated, obviously groping for the right words. Then suddenly she looked up and past him. Bryce turned and saw that Fowler was coming back toward the table.

  She spoke more quickly now, and softly. “I’m not sure we can leave the other out of it, Bryce.”

  “I know, but I’d like to try.”

  Fowler was nearly on them. She looked away. “Let me think about it,” she murmured. Then she looked up and smiled, a radiant smile meant only for Fowler. “Anything the matter?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “We had a bad connection. Whoever it was finally hung up.”

  The waiters were just clearing the salads away when a deep voice behind Bryce spoke. “This is your table here, sir.”

  Bryce looked up, then nearly dropped his fork. It was the same waiter that had escorted him, but this time the man with him was banker Gorham—three-piece business suit and all. The steel-rimmed glasses were back, and the hair was considerably more gray than maitre d’ Gorham’s.

  Bryce opened his mouth to protest, then clamped it shut again as Gorham sat down and smiled at each of them and Fowler made the introductions. He sat back, face grim. As if it hadn’t been bad enough before.

  All of a sudden Gorham snapped his fingers, pointing to Leslie. “Didn’t I see you on television the other day?”

  Bryce groaned inwardly. That Gorham was up to some mischief, there was no doubt, but Bryce had at least expected a decent interval before he launched into it.

  Leslie seemed pleased as she nodded. Gorham snapped his fingers again. “Let’s see, you’re a volunteer worker with that organization, uh…tell me the name of it again.”

  “The STC. Save the Constitution.”

  “Yes, that’s it. It’s a great work you are doing, young lady. I’m sure the Founding Fathers would be proud of you.”

  Bryce rolled his eyes, then went immediately stone faced as Leslie glanced in his direction. She smiled. “Mr. Sherwood was my opponent in the debate that day.”

  Gorham glanced at him, nodded briefly. “Oh, yes. I remember.” Then instantly he turned to Fowler. “And you, Mr. Fowler. Why does your name ring a bell with me?”

  Leslie answered for him, telling what Daniel did.

  “Of course,” Gorham crowed, “the American Conservative. I’ve read several of your articles. In fact, I thought your recent series on the effect the Constitution has had on other world governments was superb. Just superb.”

  And so it went for the next ten or fifteen minutes. Gorham charmed both Leslie and Fowler, neatly steered the conversation away from himself, and all but virtually ignored Bryce. For the most part Bryce sat quietly and listened, contributing only a polite nod or a strained smile at the appropriate places.

  Finally, the bridgehead had been laid, and Gorham got down to what he was there for, which was, of course, to get in a few more licks at the senior aide to Senator Benjamin Hawkes. He turned the discussion to the subject of Mannington’s upcoming speech and proceeded to batter away at the foolishness of the whole concept of the amendment. Leslie kept glancing in Bryce’s direction, sensing his growing irritation.

  Finally Bryce had had enough. “Just out of curiosity, Mr. Gorham,” he broke in, “your name rings a bell with me. Wasn’t there a man by that same name during the Revolutionary War?”

  Gorham shot him a warning look, which Bryce fielded with bland innocence. “A British spy or something?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Gorham said archly. Then instantly his eyes narrowed as understanding dawned.

  Bryce just put on a more thoughtful look. “I know there was somebody by that name,” he mused. He turned. “Leslie, you’re the American history major; does that name sound familiar to you?”

  She thought for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

  Bryce bit back a smile as he saw the look Gorham flashed her. A couple of more shots like that and Bryce figured he’d be even with Gorham for sending him to this table.

  Gorham drew himself up to full height. “There was a man by that name,” he said archly, “but he was not British. He was a delegate to the Constitutional Convention from Massachusetts.”

  “Really?” Leslie asked in surprise.

  “Yes, really,” Gorham responded, just a bit tartly. “In fact, he’s one of the original signers of the Constitution. His signature is right there on the document.”

  “Along with George Washington’s and Benjamin Franklin’s?” Bryce breathed in wide-eyed wonder. “And are you related to him in any way, Mr. Gorham?”

  To watch Gorham wiggle out of that one would have been sweet indeed, but unfortunately, at that moment the president of the National League of Women Voters stood up and rapped the microphone sharply. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention please?”

  Though Bryce had been around Elliot Mannington quite a bit, he had never heard him speak. He had expected to be impressed. In actuality, he was totally dazzled. No wonder he was a confidant of presidents. Mannington was poised, witty, extremely articulate, and thoroughly charming. If he had prepared notes, he had memorized them completely. There was no reading, no lecturing. This was a master orator in tune with his subject, and more importantly, completely in touch with his audience. By fifteen minutes into the speech, the crowd had interrupted him five times with warm and enthusiastic applause.

  “I’ll grant you this,” Gorham murmured in an aside to Bryce during a new spate of applause, “he’s good. Too good.”

  Bryce merely nodded. Mannington was a lot more than good. He was superb. The other three at the table became increasingly more grim as the speech continued, and it became painfully obvious that Mannington had the vast majority of the crowd with him.

  After another burst of applause, Bryce leaned slightly to his left. “You think the new amendment is out of touch with the will of people?” he said into Gorham’s ear. “Well, you just take a look at that, Mr. Gorham!”

  Gorham didn’t even look at him, just stared straight ahead.

  Ten minutes later as Mannington finished with a ringing call for change in government, the audience shot to their feet, and the applause was deafening. Bryce came up too, clapping enthusiastically. Slowly, Leslie and Fowler stood too, but Gorham sat stubbornly in his seat, ignoring the angry glances he was getting from those around them.

  When the president of the League of Women Voters had effusively thanked their speaker and all for coming, Gorham excused himself quickly and walked away, face grim. Fowler pushed back his chair, then turned to Bryce. “Is it true that you’ve been asked to chair the national committee for ratification of the amendment?”

  Leslie’s head snapped around like it was on a rubber band.

  “Yes.”

  Fowler stood up. “Congratulations,” he said, his face expressionless.

  Leslie stood quickly.

  Bryce stood too, watching only her. “Leslie, I…”

  She shook her head quickly. “You know that thing we were talking about earlier?”

  He felt his heart sink. “Yes.”

  “All things considered, I don’t think it would be a good idea.”

  He nodded, hardly surprised. “I understand,” he said softly.

  Bryce waited for nearly five minutes, then finally decided there was going to be no chance to get with Mannington tonight. He was still mobbed with some of Washington’s finest. Bryce maneuvered to the point where he could catch his eye. When he looked up, Bryce mouthed, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Flushed with triumph, and obviously enjoying every moment of the results of it, Mannington waved his assent, then turned back to a woman who was heavy with diamonds.

  As Bryce moved into the main lobby of the Marriott, he pulled up in surprise. Most of the crowd had gone now, but Leslie was standing on the far side of the lobby, alone. He changed direction in midstride and came up on her blind side.

  “Hello.”

  She turned around in surprise. “Oh, hello.”

  “I thought you had gone.”r />
  Nodding toward the cloakroom, she shook her head. “That call for Daniel came through again.”

  Bryce nodded, and for a moment considered trying just one more time to pick up the pieces. Then as quickly as the thought had crossed his mind, he dismissed it. The damage from the dinner seemed total. So he just smiled briefly and lifted a hand in farewell. “It was good to see you again, Leslie. Good night.”

  “Good night.”

  He got about five steps, then, “Bryce?”

  He turned back.

  Her voice was soft. “I’m sorry for being so rude in there. Congratulations on the new assignment.” She took a breath. “Even though I deeply disagree with what you’re doing, I have to admit they’ve chosen the best person to head up the campaign for ratification.”

  Why did she do that! Here he was, ready to walk away; then she turned those deep green eyes on him and melted every resolve he had made to put her behind him once and for all. He nodded his thanks. “Coming from you, that means a lot.” Pause. Ideas for prolonging the conversation popped into his head, but Fowler was still just a few feet away on the phone. “Good night, Leslie.”

  “Good night, Bryce.”

  Just as Bryce turned and started away, there was the sharp sound of a phone being slammed into its cradle. Fowler’s voice burst out, angry and frustrated.

  Not wanting to eavesdrop, but still curious, Bryce moved across the lobby and took up station near a pillar where he could watch. Fowler was in front of her, obviously upset. Leslie kept nodding sympathetically. Then, to Bryce’s surprise, Fowler thrust something into her hand, turned and walked swiftly out of the hotel. Leslie watched him for a moment, then moved toward the desk of the bell captain. Bryce leaped into action. He headed directly for the desk.

  “Leslie?”

  She turned, surprised to hear his voice again.

  “I just saw Daniel go hurrying out. Is everything all right?”

  She sighed, looking toward the door. “There’s some kind of problem at the press that does his magazine. He had to go right over.”

  Bryce shook his head, managing to look appropriately stricken. He hesitated for an appropriate moment, then gave her a tentative smile. “Listen, if you need a ride, I know the way to Arlington.”

  She searched his face, then finally shook her head. “Thank you, but he gave me money for a cab.”

  He grinned. “Washington, D.C., at night is not a safe place for a single young woman.”

  Again those green eyes probed his, unreadable. Then slowly they softened. “That’s what I’ve been told.”

  They were standing at the front entrance to the hotel, in the softness of the night, not talking, content to look at the lights of the city. The red BMW pulled around and stopped directly in front of them. “Here it is,” Bryce said, as the parking attendant started to get out. Bryce leaned down and opened the door for Leslie. She slid in, and as he shut the door, the attendant came around behind him.

  Fishing a dollar from his pocket, Bryce turned. “Thank you very—” He stopped, his eyes widening.

  “Thank you, Sir!” Nathaniel Gorham said, taking the dollar and dropping the keys into his hand. He was now in coveralls and baseball cap and smiling sardonically at him. Gorham glanced at Leslie in the car, and the smile broadened. “Too bad about the young lady’s escort.”

  Bryce gave him a sharp look. “Yes, isn’t it.”

  “Good night, sir.” There was a soft chuckle. “And good luck.”

  On the ride home Bryce drove leisurely. This time he wasn’t about to make the same mistake he had made before. He skirted widely around any talk of the amendment or the Constitution or Elliot Mannington or anything that stood one chance in a million of somehow leading them back into the quicksand again. At first, Leslie was quiet, almost reserved, but when he started telling her some of his experiences in law school, she started to come out of it, and soon they were swapping horror stories about graduate school and she was laughing softly along with him.

  And even more heartening, when he pulled up in front of her house, she wasn’t out the door and into the house before he could shut off the ignition. That was definite progress.

  She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. He watched her for a minute, then asked, “When do you start school?”

  “The week before Labor Day.”

  “Do you look forward to that?”

  She turned her head and nodded. “I know it sounds crazy, but yes, I do. I really do.”

  “I don’t think it sounds crazy at all.”

  “And what about you? You always hear about the Labor Day recess in Congress. Do Senate aides get a recess too?”

  “For the most part.” He chuckled. “Not quite as long as the senators do, but yes. I’m going home to Boston, as a matter of fact. Then down to Cape Cod with my folks.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. I haven’t been home since Christmas. Mom’s threatening to shut down the government if I don’t come.”

  “Cape Cod,” Leslie said dreamily. “You always read about that. Is it as wonderful as they say?”

  “It’s delightful. We’ve been going up there since I was a kid. I love it.”

  She turned back, watching out the window as the leaves rustled with a soft breeze. Finally she straightened. “Well, this seems to be getting to be a habit, but thank you once again for the ride home.”

  “Two times does not a habit make. But you’re welcome.”

  She reached for the door handle.

  “Look, Leslie, I—” He stopped, not sure where to go from there as she turned back to face him.

  “What?”

  “All right, look,” he said, suddenly determined. “I’m going to give this one last shot. Then, I promise, I’m out of your life. No more rides from the bus stop. No more horning in on you and Daniel at dinner.”

  She gave him a mock scowl. “That’s the second time you’ve mentioned Daniel this evening. I told you, he’s a good friend. That’s all.” She let him digest that, then, “And what if I told you that I’m not sure that’s what I want?” she said softly.

  “What?”

  “To have you out of my life.”

  He looked at her closely, his hopes leaping. “Then let’s give it a chance. Let me show you that underneath this bumbling, stick-the-foot-in-the-mouth exterior, there actually lives a halfdecent guy.”

  She smiled, almost shyly. “I’ve known that since that first day on the Capitol steps.”

  Bam! Two in a row. He was really soaring now. But the corners of her mouth pulled down slightly, and he instantly felt that familiar sinking feeling.

  “But that doesn’t change things between us.”

  “So what if we do have a few philosophical differences—”

  She hooted at that.

  “All right, so I’m on Alpha Centauri and you’re on Betelgeuse. I accept that, but I can’t just walk away without giving it one more try.”

  “I don’t want you to just walk away either, and yet—”

  Bryce exploded. “There you go again. ‘And yet,’ ‘but,’ ‘if only.’ I know all of those are there, but I don’t care. I’d like to see what it is that’s clicking between us. Or else let it die once and for all.”

  “But—” She caught herself at his look and laughed, holding up her hands. “Okay, I see what you mean.”

  “All right, Miss Adams, here’s my deal. It’s the sixth of August. Let’s give this thing until the first of September. Until then, no duels. As far as this amendment thing goes, I’ll listen to every argument you can throw at me. I really will listen.”

  She started to answer, but he held up his hand. “I’m not even asking for equal time. I’ll listen to you, that’s all. We’ll start with Saturday night. The New York Philharmonic is in town giving an all-Beethoven concert at the Kennedy Center. Then you can choose the next activity. I’d love to have you take me to some of the historical sites around here. Then I’d like to take you to a great little pizza
place up in Chevy Chase, and then—” He stopped, a little breathless. “And then, come the first of September, if we find we’re still cruising in different star systems, I’ll say thank you very much, it’s been wonderful, and I really will bow out of your life.”

  There was silence in the car for several long seconds, then finally she laughed quietly, but her head was half turned and he couldn’t read the emotion behind it.

  “What?” he asked, holding his breath.

  “No wonder the Hawkes/Larkin bill passed the Senate.”

  He grinned in relief. “That bad, huh?”

  Her hand came over and touched his arm. “Bryce, if I tell you I want to think about it, are you going to throw a hammerlock on me and insist I decide this minute?”

  “Is that what you’re going to tell me?” he shot right back.

  “No hammerlocks?” His expression was so rueful that she laughed aloud. “Promise?”

  “All right, I promise.”

  “Okay, then my answer is yes, I want to think about it.”

  He sighed, so deeply that she laughed and shook her head helplessly. Then she opened the door. “Thank you, Bryce. For the ride.” She paused, her lips softening. “And for not giving up.”

  “On that you do have my promise.”

  Forty-five minutes later, Bryce unlocked the door to his apartment, tossed his suit coat on the couch, and went straight to the phone.

  “Leslie?” he said, when she answered on the other end.

  “Yes?”

  “This is Bryce. Have you thought about it?”

  She laughed, and it was the same delightful sound he was coming to love. “You promised.”

  “It’s been almost an hour. Work on a problem much longer than that and your brain cells turn to rubber.”

  “I can’t believe you!” He could picture her shaking her head.

  “Would you like me to talk to your parents or something? Give references? Send my blood type?”

  Now he really had her laughing. “Thank you, no.”

  “Well,” he said sadly, “I thought it was at least worth a try.”

  “I’ve already talked to my parents.”

  “Good. Listen, I really wasn’t going to bother you tonight. I’ll call—” He stopped. “You what?”