been—”
“I know, reading about me in the papers. I’m terribly sorry to bother you again, Mr. Bittersohn, but I’m in a desperate rush to find somebody willing to escort an elderly lady wearing six sweaters and a balaclava helmet home to a very tough neighborhood without getting her killed on the way. I don’t suppose you could possibly—”
“Where is she?”
“Right now she’s waiting down at the alley door. You remember, the one you were guarding that night when Great-uncle Nathan’s campaign chair collapsed under you?”
“I have tender memories of that occasion. Will you be with her?”
“I doubt it. I have to cook dinner for my boarders. But I’ll nip down and tell her you’re coming. Would you mind giving her your name and telling her Sarah Kelling sent you? If you’ll come to lunch with me tomorrow, I’ll be glad to explain what it’s about. Mariposa has the day off and Charles will be working so I’ll be able to talk freely. Charles thinks she’s a spy for the Ecological Commission, by the way, so if you run into him, please don’t disillusion him.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Who’s Charles?”
“Charles C. Charles, my butler. That is, he’s—oh, I’ll have to explain when I see you. You will come?”
“I’m on my way.”
The line went dead, and Sarah hung up, not without a twinge of regret. It had been rather pleasant talking to Mr. Bittersohn again, even under such circumstances as these. But what other sort of circumstance did she exist in lately? She did wish she could at least wait with Miss Smith until he came, but she was already late with her dinner.
Sarah did take a moment to run down to the shabby, ill-lit back entry with a hastily collected plate of hors d’oeuvres and tell her strange guest, “Mr. Max Bittersohn, a very kind, trustworthy man, is coming to take you home. He’ll give you his name and say Sarah Kelling sent him. Don’t go with anybody else. Here’s something to nibble on while you’re waiting. I’m sorry to leave you, but something’s boiling over on the stove.”
“Think nothing of it. What’ll I do with the plate?”
“Leave it on the chair.”
Sarah was already halfway up the stairs as she spoke, for the cooking was indeed in a perilous state and her food budget too tightly calculated to allow for calamities. Alexander would be proud of the way she was managing. Darling Alexander! Why was she thinking of him at this hectic moment? Was it because she felt the tiniest bit disloyal at being so glad Mr. Bittersohn was again coming to the rescue?
Chapter 6
“M R. BITTERSOHN, HOW VERY nice to see you again.”
Sarah’s greeting was conventional enough, but her voice held a degree of warmth that Cousin Mabel would undoubtedly consider excessive. As Cousin Dolph had remarked, who gave a damn about Mabel anyway? Furthermore, Mabel wasn’t here. It occurred to Sarah that she’d made rather a point of telling her guest that nobody else would be, either. Her cheeks were pinker than they’d been for weeks as she shook his warm, square hand.
“I’ve been meaning to drop you a note of thanks for all you did—”
“After you solved my case for me?” His smile was as attractive as she’d remembered it, not the teeth-showing kind but an amused curve of unusually well-shaped lips. Mr. Bittersohn was not so handsome as the late Alexander Kelling, no man could be that, but his somewhat rugged features were still pleasant to look at. Sarah noticed with inward amusement that his exuberant waves of dark brown hair were springing up again where he’d tried to slick them down, and she still couldn’t make up her mind whether his eyes were gray or blue.
“I did no such thing,” she protested. “Here, come into the library and let me give you a drink. I never dare bring out the whiskey when my boarders are around for fear they’ll all want some. Like the gentleman dining at Crewe who found a large mouse in his stew.”
She was babbling
“I know, reading about me in the papers. I’m terribly sorry to bother you again, Mr. Bittersohn, but I’m in a desperate rush to find somebody willing to escort an elderly lady wearing six sweaters and a balaclava helmet home to a very tough neighborhood without getting her killed on the way. I don’t suppose you could possibly—”
“Where is she?”
“Right now she’s waiting down at the alley door. You remember, the one you were guarding that night when Great-uncle Nathan’s campaign chair collapsed under you?”
“I have tender memories of that occasion. Will you be with her?”
“I doubt it. I have to cook dinner for my boarders. But I’ll nip down and tell her you’re coming. Would you mind giving her your name and telling her Sarah Kelling sent you? If you’ll come to lunch with me tomorrow, I’ll be glad to explain what it’s about. Mariposa has the day off and Charles will be working so I’ll be able to talk freely. Charles thinks she’s a spy for the Ecological Commission, by the way, so if you run into him, please don’t disillusion him.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Who’s Charles?”
“Charles C. Charles, my butler. That is, he’s—oh, I’ll have to explain when I see you. You will come?”
“I’m on my way.”
The line went dead, and Sarah hung up, not without a twinge of regret. It had been rather pleasant talking to Mr. Bittersohn again, even under such circumstances as these. But what other sort of circumstance did she exist in lately? She did wish she could at least wait with Miss Smith until he came, but she was already late with her dinner.
Sarah did take a moment to run down to the shabby, ill-lit back entry with a hastily collected plate of hors d’oeuvres and tell her strange guest, “Mr. Max Bittersohn, a very kind, trustworthy man, is coming to take you home. He’ll give you his name and say Sarah Kelling sent him. Don’t go with anybody else. Here’s something to nibble on while you’re waiting. I’m sorry to leave you, but something’s boiling over on the stove.”
“Think nothing of it. What’ll I do with the plate?”
“Leave it on the chair.”
Sarah was already halfway up the stairs as she spoke, for the cooking was indeed in a perilous state and her food budget too tightly calculated to allow for calamities. Alexander would be proud of the way she was managing. Darling Alexander! Why was she thinking of him at this hectic moment? Was it because she felt the tiniest bit disloyal at being so glad Mr. Bittersohn was again coming to the rescue?
Chapter 6
“M R. BITTERSOHN, HOW VERY nice to see you again.”
Sarah’s greeting was conventional enough, but her voice held a degree of warmth that Cousin Mabel would undoubtedly consider excessive. As Cousin Dolph had remarked, who gave a damn about Mabel anyway? Furthermore, Mabel wasn’t here. It occurred to Sarah that she’d made rather a point of telling her guest that nobody else would be, either. Her cheeks were pinker than they’d been for weeks as she shook his warm, square hand.
“I’ve been meaning to drop you a note of thanks for all you did—”
“After you solved my case for me?” His smile was as attractive as she’d remembered it, not the teeth-showing kind but an amused curve of unusually well-shaped lips. Mr. Bittersohn was not so handsome as the late Alexander Kelling, no man could be that, but his somewhat rugged features were still pleasant to look at. Sarah noticed with inward amusement that his exuberant waves of dark brown hair were springing up again where he’d tried to slick them down, and she still couldn’t make up her mind whether his eyes were gray or blue.
“I did no such thing,” she protested. “Here, come into the library and let me give you a drink. I never dare bring out the whiskey when my boarders are around for fear they’ll all want some. Like the gentleman dining at Crewe who found a large mouse in his stew.”
She was babbling
Similar Books
