So why was she here? Why did she even care if Harold was distraught?
Because she did, Anna thought with a sigh, wrapping her ermine stole tighter around her shoulders against the April evening chill. It was as simple as that.
She just did.
About to ring the doorbell, she was caught off guard when the door suddenly swung open and Clive, Harolds butler for the past twenty-five years, firmly ushered out a tall, dark-haired man with an olive complexion. The well-built, exotic-looking man was far from happy to be leaving the premises. Although he was wearing formal attire, it appeared somewhat rumpled.
The intruder nearly knocked her down as he was being hustled out of the mansion. The unexpected close contact allowed Anna to catch the faintest whiff of a sweet scent. It was vaguely familiar and nudged something distant in her consciousness, but she couldnt place it.
The next moment, the memory was gone. The thought that the scent was something a woman might wear whispered through her mind as she regained her balance. The latter was accomplished largely due to Clives swift action. Seeing her predicament, he quickly caught the former mistress of the mansion by the arm and kept her from falling.
Sorry, maam, didnt mean to be forward, he apologized, withdrawing his hands the moment she regained her footing.
Anna smiled. After all these years with the family, Clive was still incredibly formal. She sincerely doubted that they made people, much less butlers, like him anymore.
Apology more than accepted, Clive. If you hadnt caught me, that oaf would have mowed me down. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the stranger was retreating through the gate. She decided the man had to belong to the car that was parked down the street. What was that all about?
Im sure I dont know, maam. Hes one of those ruthless reporters, I believe.Anna was certain that Clive knew far more than he was saying. Nothing happened in this house or to this family that the gray-haired man was not aware of. So nice to see you again, maam, he said warmly, deftly changing the topic. Mr. Harold is expecting you. Hes in the den.
The butler dutifully escorted her to the room. Along the way she noted some changes. There were expensive, somewhat showy, paintings gracing the walls. Rebecca Lynns handiwork, no doubt, she mused. If there was a spare dime lying around, the woman would find something to spend it on.
Opening the dens double doors for her, Clive unobtrusively backed away and withdrew, moving as silently as a shadow.
Harold, his back to her, was alone in the room. When he turned around, she was struck by how drawn he looked. His hand was wrapped tightly around a chunky scotch glass. The glass was almost empty.
Her first thought was that something had happened with the eye candy he referred to as his third wife. Had she been a lesser woman, she might have secretly gloated at the thought. But Anna was made of better stuff than that, and she found her heart aching for him, aching despite the fact that he had been less than kind during the final days of their marriage.
All right, Harold, Im here, she declared, crossing to him. Removing her wrap, she carefully draped it over the back of the cream-colored leather sofa. Whats the big emergency that couldnt wait until morning?
On his best day, Harold Rothchild was never one of those men who exuded power. What power he had he inherited from a father who had been almighty, leaving no room for a son to emerge and become his own man, even if he was handsome enough to turn a few heads. All his life, Harold had searched for a way to do that, to become his own man. Years after Joseph Rothchilds death, Harold was still searching.
Draining his glass, he placed it on the desk and cleared his throat before finally giving her an answer. He felt a tightness in his chest. Its gone.
He wasnt making any sense, and there was panic evident in his blue eyes. Anna put her hand on her ex-husbands, as if to silently reassure him that she was there for him. Whats gone, Harold?
The ring. His voice seemed to crackle with the stress he was experiencing. My fathers ring. The Tears of the Quetzal. Candace kept asking me questions about it. When she asked to see it, I said no. I thought shed get angry, but she just said, All right. After she left, I had this feeling that something was wrong, he confessed, almost talking to himself. So I went to the safe to look at itand it was gone, he wailed. And now something bad is going to happen. I can feel it. Something awful.
Anna didnt follow him, but then, Harold had always been secretive when it came to the ring and its origins. All she had ever gotten out of him was that, in the right hands, it brought true love to its owner within sixty seconds. In the wrong hands, dire things came to pass. Personally, shed always thought it was all just empty talk, something to glorify the ring, nothing more. Shed
only seen it once herself, and it was far too gaudy for her taste.
Worse than the ring disappearing? she asked.