Read Online A Promise to Cherish by Lavyrle Spencer - Free Book Online
Authors: Lavyrle Spencer
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FOUR
F IVE-THREE-OH-ONE State Line Road turned out to be a place so grandiose that Lee drove right past it two times without even considering it might be the right spot. It was magnificent. Perched imposingly at the crest of a hill, it dominated the view with a white facade that reminded Lee of an antebellum mansion. Staring up at it, she fully expected Scarlett O’Hara to come flouncing through the door. The horseshoe-shaped drive rose toward the building, encircling a curve of lush green grass and an imposing flower bed that provided the only clue to the building’s identity—a stunning “C C” formed by vibrant red and white geraniums.
It appeared to be a country club, backing up to Ward Parkway, perhaps the most prestigious street in town with its countless fountains and mansions built by the oldest, moneyed forefathers. Lee had no doubt whatever that the place had a private membership of the highest echelon.
And Sam Brown was a member of this?
Leaving the car, Lee critically swished a hand over her skirt—thank God she hadn’t worn slacks! Even the dress seemed less than adequate, for it was only a casual two-piece cotton outfit of brown and white stripes, the top an athletic looking slipover with ribbed waist, cap sleeves, and boatneck styling.
The shrubbery around the entrance looked artificial, it was so perfectly manicured. Tubs of potted flowers blossomed in colorful profusion on either side of the steps. Halting just short of them, Lee pulled a wand of lipgloss from her purse, checked her face in a tiny mirror, and applied a gleaming line of amber to her lips. Clamping her clutch bag beneath an elbow, she entered the “C C”—whatever it was!
She found herself in a vast room with high, wide windows off to the left through which the afternoon sun lit a tasteful grouping of antique furniture. A fireplace flanked the conversation area while enormous bouquets of silk flowers made the elegant old furniture appear even more valuable.
A discreet voice made her jump. “Ms. Walker?”
Lee turned to find a faultlessly dressed woman smiling at her from behind rimless glasses with a chain dangling from their bows. The woman looked like she might very well own the place.
“Yes?” a puzzled Lee returned.
“Ah, I thought so by Mr. Brown’s description of you. You’ll find him downstairs in the lounge. Just follow that stairway around and it’ll take you right to him.” With a graceful wave of her hand, the woman withdrew.
Lee followed the stairs as directed to find herself in a low-ceilinged bar with reduced lighting. She scarcely had time to note that Sam Brown wasn’t there before a smiling black man in formal waiter’s attire approached to ask, much as the woman upstairs had, “Ms. Walker?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Brown is waiting for you in the lounge, if you’ll follow me.”
He led the way to another elegant room much like the one upstairs, only smaller and more intimate, with soft lighting from tasteful table lamps. Again there was a fireplace on the far wall and a scattering of plush furniture placed in cozy groupings. Sam Brown stretched his tall frame up from one of the antique wing chairs flanking the fireplace.
“Here she is, Mr. Brown,” the waiter announced.
“Thank you, Walter.” To Lee, Sam said, “I see you found the place all right.”
“Not without some trouble,” she admitted, taking in his dark gaze as it swept her hair and face.
“Will the lady be wanting a cocktail?” Walter inquired.
“Yes, a Smith and Kurn,” Brown answered before the waiter left them discreetly alone. Then he turned to Lee, gesturing. “Sit down, Ms. Walker.”
In spite of herself she was pleased that he’d remembered her drink preference, and it tempered her voice as she chided, “Don’t you Ms. Walker me, Sam Brown. Why didn’t you warn me what kind of place this was?”
She perched on a Chippendale love seat while Brown chose the spot beside her rather than the chair he’d been
F IVE-THREE-OH-ONE State Line Road turned out to be a place so grandiose that Lee drove right past it two times without even considering it might be the right spot. It was magnificent. Perched imposingly at the crest of a hill, it dominated the view with a white facade that reminded Lee of an antebellum mansion. Staring up at it, she fully expected Scarlett O’Hara to come flouncing through the door. The horseshoe-shaped drive rose toward the building, encircling a curve of lush green grass and an imposing flower bed that provided the only clue to the building’s identity—a stunning “C C” formed by vibrant red and white geraniums.
It appeared to be a country club, backing up to Ward Parkway, perhaps the most prestigious street in town with its countless fountains and mansions built by the oldest, moneyed forefathers. Lee had no doubt whatever that the place had a private membership of the highest echelon.
And Sam Brown was a member of this?
Leaving the car, Lee critically swished a hand over her skirt—thank God she hadn’t worn slacks! Even the dress seemed less than adequate, for it was only a casual two-piece cotton outfit of brown and white stripes, the top an athletic looking slipover with ribbed waist, cap sleeves, and boatneck styling.
The shrubbery around the entrance looked artificial, it was so perfectly manicured. Tubs of potted flowers blossomed in colorful profusion on either side of the steps. Halting just short of them, Lee pulled a wand of lipgloss from her purse, checked her face in a tiny mirror, and applied a gleaming line of amber to her lips. Clamping her clutch bag beneath an elbow, she entered the “C C”—whatever it was!
She found herself in a vast room with high, wide windows off to the left through which the afternoon sun lit a tasteful grouping of antique furniture. A fireplace flanked the conversation area while enormous bouquets of silk flowers made the elegant old furniture appear even more valuable.
A discreet voice made her jump. “Ms. Walker?”
Lee turned to find a faultlessly dressed woman smiling at her from behind rimless glasses with a chain dangling from their bows. The woman looked like she might very well own the place.
“Yes?” a puzzled Lee returned.
“Ah, I thought so by Mr. Brown’s description of you. You’ll find him downstairs in the lounge. Just follow that stairway around and it’ll take you right to him.” With a graceful wave of her hand, the woman withdrew.
Lee followed the stairs as directed to find herself in a low-ceilinged bar with reduced lighting. She scarcely had time to note that Sam Brown wasn’t there before a smiling black man in formal waiter’s attire approached to ask, much as the woman upstairs had, “Ms. Walker?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Brown is waiting for you in the lounge, if you’ll follow me.”
He led the way to another elegant room much like the one upstairs, only smaller and more intimate, with soft lighting from tasteful table lamps. Again there was a fireplace on the far wall and a scattering of plush furniture placed in cozy groupings. Sam Brown stretched his tall frame up from one of the antique wing chairs flanking the fireplace.
“Here she is, Mr. Brown,” the waiter announced.
“Thank you, Walter.” To Lee, Sam said, “I see you found the place all right.”
“Not without some trouble,” she admitted, taking in his dark gaze as it swept her hair and face.
“Will the lady be wanting a cocktail?” Walter inquired.
“Yes, a Smith and Kurn,” Brown answered before the waiter left them discreetly alone. Then he turned to Lee, gesturing. “Sit down, Ms. Walker.”
In spite of herself she was pleased that he’d remembered her drink preference, and it tempered her voice as she chided, “Don’t you Ms. Walker me, Sam Brown. Why didn’t you warn me what kind of place this was?”
She perched on a Chippendale love seat while Brown chose the spot beside her rather than the chair he’d been
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