Where Love Has Gone by Harold Robbins Page A

Bell!”
    He sounded excited and pleased as he shook my hand. “Luke was one of my boys just few years back,” he said to Nora. “He majored in architecture.”
    “Building.” I grinned, reviving the old argument between us. “Architecture is something for pigeons to sit on, building is for people.”
    “The same old Luke.” He looked into my face and I saw the shock in his eyes. I had seen that look before in the eyes of old friends. The tiny crisscrossed shrapnel scars in my coppery leathered skin somehow didn’t belong on the pink-cheeked boy who had gone away to war.
    “Not quite the same, Professor,” I said, trying to make it easier for him. “It’s been a long war.” And all the while we stood there talking I felt her hand growing warmer and warmer in mine.
    Dinner was served in the big dining room looking out over the hill toward the bay. Everyone else had gone. There were just the three of us—Nora, her mother and I. I looked towards the head of the table where the old lady sat.
    She seemed so right sitting there. Everything belonged. The rich oak paneling, the large roundtable, the candles glowing in the gleaming silver candelabra. She sat straight and tall, and there
    was something about her that reminded me of a shining blade of steel.
    She was strong and sure of her strength in her calm, quiet way. You were aware of the wisdom that was in her, though there was never any need for her to assert it. From what my father had told me, a lot of people had been surprised when they’d had to deal with this quiet young widow who had inherited two large fortunes.
    “My late husband often spoke of your father.” She smiled across the table at me. “They were such good friends. It seems strange that we should never have met.”
    I nodded silently. It wasn’t so strange to me. Until Dad retired last year, he had been the postmaster in the small Southern California town where I was born. He no more belonged in Gerald Hayden’s world than Hayden belonged in his. All they shared was the memory of having been in the same platoon in the First World War.
    “Your father saved my husband’s life during the first war, you know.”
    “I heard the same story. But it was the other way around when my father told it.”
    She picked up a small silver bell from the table in front of her. It tinkled gently. “Shall we have coffee in the solarium?”
    I looked over at Nora. She glanced down at her wristwatch. “You and Major Carey go ahead, Mother,” she said. “I have an eight o’clock appointment downtown.”
    A hint of a frown crossed Mrs. Hayden’s face and disappeared. “Do you have to, dear?”
    Nora didn’t look at her mother. “I promised Sam Corwin I would go over his plans for a show on modern sculpture.”
    Mrs. Hayden glanced at me, then at Nora. Her tone implied only the mildest protest but I had the feeling that she was choosing her words carefully. Whether it was because I was there or not I didn’t know. “I thought you were beyond that sort of thing,” she said. “It’s been such a long time since you’ve seen Mr. Corwin.”
    “I have to, Mother. After all, it was Sam who was responsible for bringing Professor Bell to my show.”
    I turned to the old lady. “Please don’t be upset on my account, Mrs. Hayden,” I said quickly. “I’m due back at the Presidio at eight thirty myself. I can drop your daughter off, if you’d like.”
    “I don’t want to be any trouble,” Nora said.
    “It won’t be. I’m using an Army car, so I don’t have to worry about gas rations.” “All right,” she said. “Just give me a few minutes to change.”
    We watched her leave, and when she was gone I turned to her mother. “You have a very talented daughter, Mrs. Hayden. You should be very proud.”
    “I am,” she answered. Then a curious expression came into her bright blue eyes. “But I must confess, I don’t always quite understand her. At times, I feel completely bewildered. She’s so