poured another glass of champagne, wishing she had said yes, noticing that Solovsky had turned back to the bar and was listening intently to something one of his companions was saying. Cal glanced at his watch. Eight-thirty wasn’t too soon for dinner in this city, was it? Well, damn it, even if it was, he was hungry. With a nod to Genie and to Solovsky, he made his way to the restaurant.
Genie watched from beneath her lashes as Cal strode from the bar. He looked fit, she thought; no Washington paunch from too many expensive business lunches and political dinner parties.
She knew Cal Warrender was considered a “catch” in the Washington social and marriage market. He was the right age, unattached, good-looking, and straight. He was tall, with steady reddish-brown eyes, springy dark hair, and the kind of tight, well-muscled body women liked to touch. And he was a man reputed to be very much on his way up. What more could any conniving society hostess want for her party? Or any woman for a husband? But Genie had a sneaky feeling that work was first in Cal’s priorities. Like her, he loved his job.
She assessed the company in the bar, recognizing the stringer for Spain’s
Hola
magazine and a couple of very chic Frenchwomen she had noticed at the auction, as well as a few other half-familiar faces of the kind that didn’t interest her because they were merely social. Let’s face it, she told herself with a sigh, you too are a political animal—and just as ambitious as Cal Warrender.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the back view of the tall blond man sitting at the bar.
Valentin Solovsky
. What was
he
doing here? She hadn’t noticed him at the auction—and yet what other reason would he have for being in Geneva? No UN committees were in session, and she would have known if there were any meetings importantenough for his presence. Besides, there was plenty going on in Washington to keep Russia’s cultural attache busy. Today, for instance, the Kirov Ballet was to perform at the Kennedy Center. The President himself was to attend and the Russian embassy was throwing an elaborate party to which the entire diplomatic corps had been invited. It was one of the highlights of the cultural calendar.
So if Solovsky was in Geneva instead of Washington, he had a very important reason. And so did Cal Warrender!
Her shaking hand sent the ice tinkling as she put down her glass. My God, she thought, then the rumors
are
true. Russia and America
are
fighting for possession of the Ivanoff emerald—at any price. But
why?
And
why
had they let someone else beat them to it? Could there really be billions in the Swiss banks? Was that what they were after? Then what about the other whispers, that there was something else they all wanted? Smoothing her black skirt, she stood up. There was only one way to find out. As she walked from the bar and across the hall to the restaurant, she was uncomfortably aware of Valentin Solovsky’s speculative dark eyes following her.
“Hi.” She flashed Cal a suddenly friendly smile as she stopped by his table. “Mind if I take you up on that offer to join you? It’s kind of lonesome being stranded in a snowstorm. All alone in a foreign country … you know what I mean?”
“I sure do.” He leapt to his feet as the maître d’ pulled back the table and she slid into the banquette next to him.
The waiter filled Genie’s glass with champagne. She picked it up and raised it in a mock toast. “Celebrating?” she asked innocently.
Cal grinned. “Now that
you
are here, I am.”
She propped her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “Oh, come clean, Cal,” she whispered seriously.
“You
bought that emerald today, didn’t you?”
He clasped his hand to his chest in mock-horror. “Why would I do a thing like that? Anyway, I couldn’t afford iton a White House salary. I’m only a poor kid from New Jersey.”
Their eyes locked and she said, “You bought it on behalf of the U.S.
Genie watched from beneath her lashes as Cal strode from the bar. He looked fit, she thought; no Washington paunch from too many expensive business lunches and political dinner parties.
She knew Cal Warrender was considered a “catch” in the Washington social and marriage market. He was the right age, unattached, good-looking, and straight. He was tall, with steady reddish-brown eyes, springy dark hair, and the kind of tight, well-muscled body women liked to touch. And he was a man reputed to be very much on his way up. What more could any conniving society hostess want for her party? Or any woman for a husband? But Genie had a sneaky feeling that work was first in Cal’s priorities. Like her, he loved his job.
She assessed the company in the bar, recognizing the stringer for Spain’s
Hola
magazine and a couple of very chic Frenchwomen she had noticed at the auction, as well as a few other half-familiar faces of the kind that didn’t interest her because they were merely social. Let’s face it, she told herself with a sigh, you too are a political animal—and just as ambitious as Cal Warrender.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the back view of the tall blond man sitting at the bar.
Valentin Solovsky
. What was
he
doing here? She hadn’t noticed him at the auction—and yet what other reason would he have for being in Geneva? No UN committees were in session, and she would have known if there were any meetings importantenough for his presence. Besides, there was plenty going on in Washington to keep Russia’s cultural attache busy. Today, for instance, the Kirov Ballet was to perform at the Kennedy Center. The President himself was to attend and the Russian embassy was throwing an elaborate party to which the entire diplomatic corps had been invited. It was one of the highlights of the cultural calendar.
So if Solovsky was in Geneva instead of Washington, he had a very important reason. And so did Cal Warrender!
Her shaking hand sent the ice tinkling as she put down her glass. My God, she thought, then the rumors
are
true. Russia and America
are
fighting for possession of the Ivanoff emerald—at any price. But
why?
And
why
had they let someone else beat them to it? Could there really be billions in the Swiss banks? Was that what they were after? Then what about the other whispers, that there was something else they all wanted? Smoothing her black skirt, she stood up. There was only one way to find out. As she walked from the bar and across the hall to the restaurant, she was uncomfortably aware of Valentin Solovsky’s speculative dark eyes following her.
“Hi.” She flashed Cal a suddenly friendly smile as she stopped by his table. “Mind if I take you up on that offer to join you? It’s kind of lonesome being stranded in a snowstorm. All alone in a foreign country … you know what I mean?”
“I sure do.” He leapt to his feet as the maître d’ pulled back the table and she slid into the banquette next to him.
The waiter filled Genie’s glass with champagne. She picked it up and raised it in a mock toast. “Celebrating?” she asked innocently.
Cal grinned. “Now that
you
are here, I am.”
She propped her elbows on the table and leaned toward him. “Oh, come clean, Cal,” she whispered seriously.
“You
bought that emerald today, didn’t you?”
He clasped his hand to his chest in mock-horror. “Why would I do a thing like that? Anyway, I couldn’t afford iton a White House salary. I’m only a poor kid from New Jersey.”
Their eyes locked and she said, “You bought it on behalf of the U.S.
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