Playing for Time

by Bretton, Barbara

  Five minutes later Joanna and Ryder were back on Columbus Avenue.

  "Two clichés in one sentence," Joanna said, remembering to keep her voice in her newly acquired older register. "The boy has a long way to go."

  "The boy's lucky I'm still on crutches," he said as they crossed the street. "I would've flattened him."

  "You young people rely too much on physicality," Joanna said, tugging her shopping cart up onto the curb. "Brains are so much more effective than brawn."

  Balancing precariously on his crutches, Ryder tried to help her but nearly fell flat on his butt in the process.

  "Worry about yourself," Joanna said, touched by his unexpected kindness. "You're the one who's incapacitated."

  He stopped in front of a small boutique. "Chivalry isn't totally dead, madam," he said, executing a clumsy bow. "May I have the honor of escorting you home?"

  Her heart took an unexpected leap and for a moment she forgot she was seventy-seven-year-old Kathryn Hayes and a flash of fire lit up her eyes.

  "You may indeed."

  Regal in grey wig and spectacles, Joanna and her shopping cart marched up Columbus Avenue toward the Carillon with a very confused Ryder O'Neal bringing up the rear.

  #

  He was in big trouble.

  Kathryn Hayes had the sexiest walk he'd ever seen in his entire life.

  On second thought, maybe that trip to St. George wasn't such a bad idea at that.

  Chapter Five

  "Kathryn! Slow down!"

  For a second the words didn't register. Then Joanna remembered her disguise and the fact that very few seventy-seven-year-old women power-walked while pulling a loaded shopping cart.

  She stopped abruptly and watched as he maneuvered himself through the pedestrian traffic. No man had the right to look that good – or be that nice. There had to be a flaw somewhere, but she'd be damned if she'd been able to find it.

  "If you can't keep up with an old lady, you're in sorry shape, my boy," she said as he came even with her., "Maybe you should consider a few trips to the gym."

  "You're a cruel woman, Kathryn." His smile crinkled the outer corners of his hazel eyes. Joanna had always been partial to men with hazel eyes.

  "Not cruel," she said. "Blunt. Maybe you should give up that fancy limo Rosie told me about and worry about aerobic conditioning."

  His laughter mingled with the sounds of the city street. "Now if Rosie Callahan had set you up as my date last night instead of Joanna Somebody-or-other I might have given it a shot."

  For the second time Joanna screeched to a halt. Ryder stumbled and just missed falling over the shopping cart.

  "Joanna Somebody-or-other happens to be my granddaughter and I'll have you know she was relieved when you didn't show up." Who knew she was such a good liar?

  "What do you mean, she was relieved?"

  "Joanna isn't the kind of woman who needs a blind date." This whole situation as becoming more ridiculous by the second, but, if she was going to be outrageous, why not go all in? "Her date book is so filled these days, she doesn't have a moment to spare."

  They walked another ten feet. This time Ryder was the one who stopped.

  "She had time for dinner with Rosie last night."

  "And how do you know that?"

  "Rosie told me."

  "I'm going to have to have a talk with Rosie," Joanna mumbled.

  "What was that?"

  Great. Even his hearing was better than average.

  "I said, Joanna will have to have a talk with Rosie."

  "Why? Was dinner a state secret?"

  "I doubt she'd like her dinner visit discussed with the man who stood her up." Cool down, Joanna warned herself. Too much righteous indignation. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself challenging him to a duel to protect her own honor.

  "And I'm supposed to be happy she was glad she didn't have to meet me?" Ryder asked.

  "No happier than she was when you decided Star Wars would be more fun."

  The look of embarrassment on his face was priceless. "How in hell do you know about that?"

  Joanna smiled. "Rosie."

  "I didn't realize you knew Rosie."

  "Everyone at the Carillon knows Rosie Callahan,."

  He probably figured Joanna was part of the Coalition of Tenants for a Fair Deal that Rosie was trying to get established.

  They waited at the corner for the red light to change.

  "Do you think your granddaughter would give me a second chance?"

  Here it was: the perfect moment to reveal her identity, to whip into the nearest phone booth as Kathryn Hayes and pop out as Joanna Stratton. However, the light changed, the crowd swept them forward and Joanna lost her nerve.

  "She's a fair-minded woman," Joanna said. "You should ask her yourself."

  "I intend to," Ryder said. "First chance I get."

  A blast of wind knocked them back a step and Joanna's grey wig slipped down over her left ear. She tugged it back in place and glanced up at him. One more gust like that and Ryder O'Neal would have his chance sooner than he expected.

  #

  If there was one thing Holland Masters hated, it was being kept waiting. She'd been sitting in the outer lobby of the venerable Carillon Arms for twenty minutes, trying to ignore the lascivious looks from those two young and scruffy workmen, and roundly cursing Joanna for not being home.

  No matter that the dinner appointment was for seven and it was only quarter after four. Details like that rarely bothered the sometimes imperious Holland.

  The doorman ushered an elderly couple, who were decked out in matching mink coats, into the lobby, bowing and scraping and nearly licking their boots for a tip. The way he kept his head tucked into his chest, his eyes downcast, the image of obsequious servility – those mannerisms would be perfect when she auditioned tomorrow for the role of the older daughter in that off-off-off Broadway production she'd been coveting.

  She closed her eyes and concentrated, committing his movements to memory the same way she did the words in a script.

  "Are you all right, miss?"

  Who would have expected the doorman to sound so British and urbane?

  "I'm fine." Her concentration wavered. Damn! She couldn't quite reconstruct the angle of his smile when he pocketed his tip. The left side of his mouth tilted up a little more than –

  "I hardly think my concern merits a sneer."

  "I said I'm fine. What more proof do you need?" She opened her eyes, ready to argue, then promptly wished she could reach out and pull her words back. Standing before her was the most impeccably groomed, perfectly tailored vision of male pulchritude she'd seen in a many a moon. She crossed her legs, her best feature, and smiled up at him. "Would you kindly forget I said that?"

  "As you wish." He sat down next to her on the marble bench. "My memory is short."

  He had that tweedy, outdoorsy smell Holland associated with British suits and unimpeachable pedigrees. His face was tanned and a network of lines surrounded his bright blue eyes. Obviously he was a man who'd lived – and lived well.

  "Alistair Chambers," he said, extending a hand.

  "Holland Masters."

  Alistair Chambers gestured toward the doorman who was fawning over a young model who lived in the building. "Some men should never be given uniforms." His tone was wry and wicked. "Gives them delusions of grandeur."

  Holland laughed. "Next thing you know, he'll make us march back to Columbus Avenue on our knees."

  "He won't let you past security either?"

  "I look untrustworthy." She made a show of looking him over. "You seem respectable enough."

  "Don't let appearances fool you, my dear Ms. Masters. I can be a dangerous man."

  "Why is it I believe you, Mr. Chambers?"

  "You shouldn't." He smiled and she felt it all the way to the soles of her feet. "I'm also an outrageous liar."

  "Then we're even," Holland said, struggling to regain her equilibrium before the onslaught of charm.
"So am I."

  He reached into the pocket of his Burberry raincoat and pulled out a pack of Player's cigarettes. "Care for one?"

  "How wonderful!" She took a cigarette and waited while he produced a discreet elegant silver light and touched it to the tip. "A man who understands the pleasures of good, old-fashioned vices."

  "Ah, yes," Alistair said, inhaling deeply of his own cigarette. "Fine tobacco, good brandy –"

  "Juicy sirloin steaks, baked potatoes with sour cream –"

  "A blissful life of indolence and indulgence with words like cholesterol and calories struck forever from our personal lexicon."

  The man should be declared an international treasure. "Are all Englishmen as wonderfully decadent as you are, Mr. Chambers?" Maybe she'd been looking for Mr. Right on the wrong side of the Atlantic Ocean.

  "But of course." Alistair inhaled deeply on his imported cigarette. "Since we lost all of our colonies, we have time to devote ourselves to the more important things in life."

  "Such as sitting in the lobby of the Carillon?"

  The twinkle in his eyes as his gaze slid appreciatively over her legs made Holland feel as if she were standing in the glow of a warm amber spotlight.

  "Such as speaking with you."

  Her dialogue coach would be in heaven. "I must say, Mr. Chambers, speaking with you is better than a crash course in Noel Coward."

  "You flatter me. Ms. Masters."

  Holland's smile widened. "That was my intent."

  Alistair glanced at his swatch. Holland was quick to note it was a pricey Piaget. "I abhor waiting for people."

  Holland glanced at her own trendy and cheap Swatch. "So do I."

  He stood and extended his hand. "Perhaps a brandy would ease the pain of waiting."

  Holland took his hand and rose. He was easily five inches taller than she. It was a long time since she'd looked up to a man in any sense of the phrase. "The piano player at Pat and Mike's is superb."

  "Perhaps," Alistair said, as they swept past the two workmen who were repairing the inner door, "but the brandy is pedestrian."

  She ran down a list of neighborhood bars and discarded them all. She couldn't imagine this sophisticated British subject trading Yankees baseball stories with the clientele of most of them. "We could go crosstown," she said, praying that something as ludicrous as the pursuit of the perfect brandy wouldn't squelch a beginning as beautiful as this.

  She needn't have worried. Alistair Chambers had matters well in hand. "I belong to a private club just a few blocks away," he said as the doorman, eyebrows raised in question, ushered them to the street. "If you don't mind walking, they have a Courvoisier second to none."

  At that point Holland would have walked to Hoboken and back simply for the pleasure of his company but she was wise enough in the ways of the world to keep that fact to herself.

  "All New Yorkers love walking," she said as they headed toward Columbus Avenue. "It's part of the mystique."

  "There's more to the New York mystique than that," Alistair said. "What about this strange predilection for –"

  His words trailed off.

  "Alistair? Is something wrong?"

  He said nothing, just stared up the block. Holland looked and saw nothing unusual, just a man on crutches and an elderly lady pulling a shopping cart. Then she noticed that the elderly lady was wearing white Reeboks with bright red laces, exactly like Joanna's.

  "This time she's gone too far."

  "Pardon?" Alistair looked down at her.

  Holland, who hadn't realized she'd spoken aloud, said, "I didn't think she could walk that far."

  His interest, however, was instantly piqued. "You know that woman?"

  "Yes, I do." But clearly not as well as I thought I did. "Don't tell me you know her too?"

  Alistair shook his head. "Afraid not, but I do know the young man on crutches."

  "The Carillon?"

  "The Carillon."

  They stopped walking and waited while the odd couple crossed the street.

  "They're having quite an animated conversation, aren't they," Alistair observed as Joanna and the man approached. "One would wonder what they have in common."

  Holland noticed the heightened color of Joanna's cheeks that not even five tons of latex could conceal. "Yes," she said slowly, "one certain would."

  And one intended to find out.

  #

  Joanna was giving Ryder a lecture of dating etiquette, from her vantage point of seventy-seven years, when she noticed an all-too-familiar face.

  Holland, looking chic as ever and rather smug, was leaning against the fender of a black BMW. She was in the company of one of the more attractive older men Joanna had seen in a long time. Normally she would have suggested the three of them go out for drinks so she could blatantly dig for information about their relationship.

  Not this time. All Holland had to do was say, "See? Your disguise works!" and the possibility of anything developing between Joanna and Ryder O'Neal would go up in flames.

  Ignore her, Joanna thought. Walk right by like a perfect stranger. Holland was a smart woman. Surely she'd take the hint.

  Unfortunately, the debonair man with her did not.

  "Well, my boy," he said to Ryder, "you seem to have recovered from the snit you were in."

  Next to her, Ryder drew in a long breath. The tension between the two men was palpable. "What are you doing here, Chambers?"

  The man named Chambers laughed. "Obviously the thing to do is ignore your cordial greeting." He turned toward Joanna. "I'm Alistair Chambers," he said, extending his hand. "And you are -- ?"

  Alistair Chambers was so charming, that Joanna was about to give him her real name when she remembered her disguise. "Kathryn," she said, shaking his hand. "Kathryn Hayes."

  "A pleasure, Miss Hayes. I understand that youand Ms. Masters are friends."

  Joanna turned to look at Holland. "Good day, my dear," she said, stressing her Kathryn persona. "You're looking well today."

  Holland, with classic dramatic timing, kept Joanna waiting for a response. "So are you, Kathryn," she said finally. "Different, but well."

  Joanna glared at her friend. One more word and you're dead. "Perhaps you should go home and get some sleep, dear. Those late nights seem to be catching up with you."

  "You must speak to Joanna about it," Holland said smoothly. "She has this habit of keeping me out late." She turned toward Alistair Chambers. "Her granddaughter is an aficionado of the New York nightlife."

  Joanna wanted to hit her over the head with one of Ryder's crutches but good sense prevailed.

  This bit of byplay, however, was lost on Ryder, who apparently had problems of his own. Joanna quickly realized that beneath his cool exterior, Alistair Chambers was paying close attention to everything she did. Her awareness of the wig, the heavy makeup, the sound of her voice, all heightened uncomfortably.

  "As a matter of fact," Chambers said, his bright blue eyes leveled on Joanna, "Holland and I were in search of the perfect brandy. I don't suppose you and my recalcitrant friend here would care to join us?"

  Ryder answered before Joanna had a chance,. "Thanks but no thanks. I was just helping Kathryn home."

  The fact that Kathryn had pulled her own shopping cart while he hobbled along on crutches was lost on Ryder.

  "In that case, we bid you farewell." Alistair's continental charm inched up another notch.

  Holland linked her arm through Alistair's. "Don't let Joanna forget about our dinner engagement tonight." Her smile was wicked. "I'm so looking forward to hearing about her new assignment."

  "I'll tell her," Joanna said between clenched teeth. "I'm sure she's counting the hours."

  Holland and Alistair sailed up Columbus Avenue leaving Joanna and Ryder both off balance.

  "What was that all about?" Ryder said as they continued on toward the Carillon."You two sounded as if you were at each other's throats."

  "That's Holland's way. She's been in so many Noel Coward
revivals that arch dialogue is second nature to her." She tugged the shopping cart through a particularly nasty pothole. "You and Mr. Chambers didn't seem to be on the best of terms, either. Though I must say, he's a charming devil."

  "You're half right."

  "Do I detect a note of sarcasm in your voice?"

  Ryder said nothing. Joanna would have let the subject drop but Kathryn didn't have to.

  "I take it he's a business associate of yours?"

  "Former associate," Ryder grunted.

  "And what did you two associate on?"

  "Putting out fires."

  Both Joanna and Kathryn recognized a closed door when she smacked into one. She turned to safer topics.

  "Is he married?"

  "Not that I know of." He glanced down at her. "Your friend Holland looks like she can take care of herself." He paused a moment. "Is Joanna like her?"

  "Not in the slightest."

  "What does she do for a living?"

  "She puts out fires."

  He grinned. "I deserved that, didn't I?"

  Joanna nodded but she felt uncomfortable, as if her clothes had suddenly gotten too tight., "Tell me about your friend Mr. Chambers. If I were thirty years younger, I'd give Holland a run for her money."

  Ryder dismissed her question as if Chambers were a waste of time."He's no friend of mine." He zeroed back in on target. "What color is Joanna's hair?"

  "You'd know the answer if you'd gone to dinner last night." This is getting out of hand. Tell him now. Explain the whole damned thing and be done with it.

  But once again she didn't.

  They nodded their way past the doorman and into the inner lobby. Five elderly matrons in their best lunch-at-the-Metropolitan outfits stood chatting near the elevator bank about the terrible attitude of the new help in the Carillon. One of the women held the bright yellow flier Rosie had been distributing about the tenants' coalition.

  If Joanna had whipped off her wig right then, she'd have been responsible for five cardiac seizures.

  "I have an idea," Ryder said, balancing on his crutches while Joanna pushed the button for an elevator. "Why don't the three of us go out to dinner tonight and –"