Not Even for Love(17)

For a moment he was stunned. There was no reaction. Then the fury filled his face with such terrible intent that Jordan thought he might very well murder her. Instead, he flung himself away.

Without a backward glance or another word, he hoisted the camera case over his shoulder and stalked away into the night shadows.

“English newsstand,” Jordan answered the telephone the next day at midmorning.

“Hello, darling,” Helmut said with his smooth, cultured voice. “How are you this morning? Did you enjoy the party held in your honor last night?”

“Hello, Helmut,” she said. “I can only talk for a minute. I have some customers. Yes, I enjoyed the party very much. I only wish we had had time to discuss—”

“I know what you’re going to say, and I apologize for taking matters into my own hands. I have discovered through my business dealings that when one is faced with a reluctant client one sometimes has to force the issue. Usually with rewarding results, as in this instance.”

“No, Helmut. We need to—”

“Just a moment, dear. What was that, Reeves?”

Reeves was with Helmut and listening to their conversation! Anger made her hand tremble. The man was impossible. “Jordan, Reeves says ‘good morning’ and hopes that your feet aren’t still hurting you.” Helmut chuckled into the receiver.

Reeves had known that her feet were hurting her last night as he practically ran her home. “My feet are fine,” she grated. “I really have to go now, Helmut.” She wasn’t about to discuss personal matters over the telephone with Helmut while she knew Reeves was listening avidly to every word with that knowing, derisive expression on his face.

“One more thing, darling, before you hang up. Reeves is going to follow me around most of the day, taking pictures in the office and at the board meeting this afternoon. Tonight he wants to take pictures of us in a relaxed, typically Swiss setting. I thought we’d take him to Stadtkeller. It’s for tourists, I know, but it’s certainly Swiss!”

“That sounds marvelous and I’m sure Mr. Grant will enjoy it, but I must decline. I—”

“Nonsense. He specifically asked that you go with us. He wants you in most of the pictures since you will soon be my wife.”

Damn! Reeves was instigating a farcical situation. He must adore Neil Simon plays. She and Helmut were now the unwilling players in such a comedy. “Helmut, please. I—”

“Is there something wrong, Jordan?” Helmut’s cheerful voice changed to one of concern. “You sound distressed this morning. Aren’t you well? Perhaps I should come over and—”

“No!” she said sharply. The last thing she wanted was for Reeves to know that he had upset her. And she didn’t want Helmut to see the violet shadows under her eyes that testified to a sleepless night. He might jump to all the wrong conclusions. He would demand an explanation for her obvious depression. He would never understand that she only wished to be left alone. But he would understand a simpering female, which she knew he thought her to be.

“No, nothing’s really wrong,” she said, softening her voice to a childish whimper. “It’s just that I was deliberating on what to wear tonight. I’ve never had my picture taken by a photographer with a reputation as renowned as Mr. Grant’s.” She virtually choked on the ridiculous words, but Helmut laughed into the phone.

“She’s worried over what to wear,” she heard him say to Reeves. Her slender fingers around the old-fashioned telephone tightened in agitation. “Darling, you’ll look beautiful in anything, but keep it casual tonight. We’ll be by to pick you up around eight. Things won’t really be jumping at Stadkeller until then. Good-bye for now.” He hung up before she could reply. As was Helmut’s habit, when he finished speaking he considered the conversation to be concluded.

She replaced the telephone under the counter and tallied up the purchases of the middle-aged couple from Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The lady was buying two Agatha Christie mysteries and a copy of The Sensuous Woman. He had a James Bond book, a Mad magazine, and yesterday’s Chicago Tribune. Would wonders never cease?

Desultorily, Jordan went through the day. Business was steady if not heavy. This was the end of September and the summer tourist season was waning. It wouldn’t pick up again until those who came for winter sports passed through Lucerne. She sold newspapers, maps, paperbacks, magazines, and journals. She listened to tales of woe about the shortage of ice in virtually all of Europe, the taste and gastric dangers of the drinking water, the narrow roads (where were the interstate highways?), and the crazy way these “foreigners” drove an automobile. Sometimes Jordan hated to acknowledge her fellow countrymen. Too often they were brash, rude, critical, and ignorant to the point of hilarity.