Read Online The Organization by Lucy di Legge - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lucy di Legge
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your loyalties. Why risk it?”
“Well, aren’t you a literary expert? No one even reads those stories anymore, as famous as they once were. Or are you just partial to American authors?” Harriet seemed to relax into the sofa.
Charlotte asked, “Would that surprise you?”
“No,” Harriet replied. She regarded Charlotte with a serious look, and Charlotte knew that Harriet knew. When Harriet spoke again, she said, “Thomas is out of town.”
“Yes, I remember. In Hull, right?”
“So you were listening the other night at the Red Door,” Harriet confirmed.
“I always listen when you speak, no matter who else is in the room. Or haven’t you realized?” she asked.
“Have other people realized?” Harriet asked, holding her gaze. Before Charlotte could answer, Harriet added, “Have they figured out that you’re an American?”
Charlotte’s hands stilled. She hadn’t realized she was turning her cup in circles in her hands. “Why did you want me to come here?”
“I want to get to know you better, Charlie. You’re interesting. Different from other people,” Harriet replied, apparently unperturbed that Charlotte didn’t answer her question. “And I knew you wanted to see me sometime. Isn’t that what you said?”
Harriet smiled as she asked the question. She looked at ease and perfectly poised. Charlotte was once again distracted by the low cut of Harriet’s blouse, by her graceful gestures and delicate-looking hands.
“And yet you’ve hardly even looked my way the last few times we’ve been around each other.” Charlotte’s words hung in the air for a long moment. “The fact that Thomas is out of town – the timing is just a coincidence?” she asked, setting down her cup.
“Of course not,” Harriet admitted. “He can be such a bore. Why would I want him here when I want to talk with you?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Charlotte wondered how she might still catch Harriet off guard. “Would you give me the nickel tour?” she asked, choosing her words with purpose.
“Yes, how rude of me,” Harriet replied.
Charlotte followed Harriet to the kitchen and a small dining room. Harriet played the part of a hostess perfectly well, pointing out one or two details in each room as if either one of them truly thought Charlotte would be interested in architectural features of the home. At the top of the stairs, standing in the hallway, Harriet paused and gestured to an open doorway.
“This is the master bedroom,” Harriet said.
A large four-poster bed dominated the bedroom. Charlotte said, “You have a beautiful home, Harriet.”
Harriet smiled. “I like the way you say my name. I like how it sounds with your accent. You know, your accent grows more prominent when you’re nervous.” Charlotte visibly tensed and Harriet added, “Relax, Charlie. I’m not a border agent.”
“I’m here legally,” Charlotte said.
“I don’t care whether you are or not,” Harriet replied, resting her hand lightly on Charlotte’s forearm.
“I’m a British citizen.” Her brows knitted, she looked away, frustrated.
Harriet stepped closer and spoke in her ear. “I like you just the way you are.”
Her heart racing, Charlotte said, “Why do I have the feeling you’ve been toying with me?”
She pulled back to look Charlotte in the eye, her nose mere inches from the other woman’s, replying, “I haven’t any idea what you mean.”
“The comments about being Euroskeptic. The pointed looks at me when America was mentioned. The books downstairs – did you put them out just for me?” Charlotte asked, a sharp tone to her voice.
Harriet turned her head to the side as she gave a brief laugh, and replied, “No, Charlie, I didn’t put the books out just for you.”
Charlotte blushed angrily and said, “This is why I think you’re toying with me. You think this is funny.”
Harriet’s smiling laughter faded into a more
“Well, aren’t you a literary expert? No one even reads those stories anymore, as famous as they once were. Or are you just partial to American authors?” Harriet seemed to relax into the sofa.
Charlotte asked, “Would that surprise you?”
“No,” Harriet replied. She regarded Charlotte with a serious look, and Charlotte knew that Harriet knew. When Harriet spoke again, she said, “Thomas is out of town.”
“Yes, I remember. In Hull, right?”
“So you were listening the other night at the Red Door,” Harriet confirmed.
“I always listen when you speak, no matter who else is in the room. Or haven’t you realized?” she asked.
“Have other people realized?” Harriet asked, holding her gaze. Before Charlotte could answer, Harriet added, “Have they figured out that you’re an American?”
Charlotte’s hands stilled. She hadn’t realized she was turning her cup in circles in her hands. “Why did you want me to come here?”
“I want to get to know you better, Charlie. You’re interesting. Different from other people,” Harriet replied, apparently unperturbed that Charlotte didn’t answer her question. “And I knew you wanted to see me sometime. Isn’t that what you said?”
Harriet smiled as she asked the question. She looked at ease and perfectly poised. Charlotte was once again distracted by the low cut of Harriet’s blouse, by her graceful gestures and delicate-looking hands.
“And yet you’ve hardly even looked my way the last few times we’ve been around each other.” Charlotte’s words hung in the air for a long moment. “The fact that Thomas is out of town – the timing is just a coincidence?” she asked, setting down her cup.
“Of course not,” Harriet admitted. “He can be such a bore. Why would I want him here when I want to talk with you?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Charlotte wondered how she might still catch Harriet off guard. “Would you give me the nickel tour?” she asked, choosing her words with purpose.
“Yes, how rude of me,” Harriet replied.
Charlotte followed Harriet to the kitchen and a small dining room. Harriet played the part of a hostess perfectly well, pointing out one or two details in each room as if either one of them truly thought Charlotte would be interested in architectural features of the home. At the top of the stairs, standing in the hallway, Harriet paused and gestured to an open doorway.
“This is the master bedroom,” Harriet said.
A large four-poster bed dominated the bedroom. Charlotte said, “You have a beautiful home, Harriet.”
Harriet smiled. “I like the way you say my name. I like how it sounds with your accent. You know, your accent grows more prominent when you’re nervous.” Charlotte visibly tensed and Harriet added, “Relax, Charlie. I’m not a border agent.”
“I’m here legally,” Charlotte said.
“I don’t care whether you are or not,” Harriet replied, resting her hand lightly on Charlotte’s forearm.
“I’m a British citizen.” Her brows knitted, she looked away, frustrated.
Harriet stepped closer and spoke in her ear. “I like you just the way you are.”
Her heart racing, Charlotte said, “Why do I have the feeling you’ve been toying with me?”
She pulled back to look Charlotte in the eye, her nose mere inches from the other woman’s, replying, “I haven’t any idea what you mean.”
“The comments about being Euroskeptic. The pointed looks at me when America was mentioned. The books downstairs – did you put them out just for me?” Charlotte asked, a sharp tone to her voice.
Harriet turned her head to the side as she gave a brief laugh, and replied, “No, Charlie, I didn’t put the books out just for you.”
Charlotte blushed angrily and said, “This is why I think you’re toying with me. You think this is funny.”
Harriet’s smiling laughter faded into a more
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