Free Johnston - Heartbeat by Joan Johnston Page B

Jack’s behalf? She had wondered herself whether Jack had his own tuxedo, and, to her chagrin, had been thinking about having a tux from Anthony’s delivered to him. Had she really become as class-conscious as her mother-in-law? What had become of poor, good-hearted Cinderella?
    “I’m sure Jack will be able to come up with something appropriate,” Maggie said. “Anything else, Victoria?”
    “You’re missing a button.”
    Maggie looked down. All that remained of the accent button on the upper left-hand pocket of her power suit was two black strings. “Thank you for pointing that out,” she said.
    “Don’t mention it,” Victoria replied.
    Victoria continued looking at her, and Maggie asked, “Is there something else?”
    “Be discreet.”
    Maggie lurched from her chair. “My personal life—”
    “I can see why you find Mr. Kittrick attractive, Margaret. There is something coarse and primitive about the man—the possibility of being carted off by a barbarian in civilized clothes?—that is quite appealing.”
    Was that why she found Jack so attractive? Maggie wondered. Because he would take all the choices out of her hands?
    “But really,” Victoria continued, “Jack Kittrick is not at all the sort of person you should be associating with.”
    “I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” Maggie said. “What difference could it possibly make to you whether I dance, date, or sleep with the man?”
    “You’re a Wainwright,” Victoria said. “Wainwrights have a certain position to up-hold in this community.”
    “I’ve never done a thing to cause gossip since I came here,” Maggie said between clenched teeth, furious that she felt the need to defend herself, but unable to resist doing so. “What makes you think I’m going to start now?”
    “I recognize that look, Margaret,” Victoria said.
    “What look?” Maggie demanded.
    “Although one can hardly blame you,” Victoria murmured. “He looks at you the same way.”
    “What way?” Maggie asked, wanting Victoria to name what it was she saw in Jack’s eyes.
    “Don’t be coy,” Victoria said. “You know perfectly well ‘what way.’ Satisfy your craving for the man if you must, Margaret, but beware your sexual prey doesn’t tum and gobble you up, along with your reputation.”
    Sexual prey? Maggie was too stunned by Victoria’s use of such a term to make any sort of reply. It had never crossed her mind to wonder what Victoria had done to satisfy her own sexual urges over the ten years she had also been a widow. Maggie had never even considered Victoria as a sexual creature, probably because children—and she and Woody had been the children—never imagined their parents “doing it.”
    How did Victoria satisfy her baser urges? she wondered. Did Victoria take lovers? Who were her sexual prey?
    “It is difficult sometimes to make the choice that duty requires,” Victoria said. “But that choice must be made.”
    Maggie gritted her teeth to keep from giving Victoria a pithy, one-word response. Instead she said, “I’ll bear that in mind.”
    “Remember what I said,” Victoria cautioned as she headed out the door.
    Maggie snorted. Jack Kittrick as sexual prey. That wasn’t something she was likely to forget.

Chapter 6
    Victoria drove south, then east across town from the hospital and finally north again to the Menger Hotel, leaving her car to be valet parked at the side entrance on East Crockett. The Menger had been built in the 1860s but had been renovated to preserve its detailed historical lushness while offering the most up-to-date amenities. The hotel was famous for its discreet staff. For over a century, cattlemen, oilmen, and financiers had conducted their affairs—business and personal—without worrying that word would get back to the wrong parties. The Menger served Victoria’s needs perfectly.
    Enough committee meetings were held at the Menger to make it possible for her to explain her presence there if someone saw