Read Online The Secret of the Villa Mimosa by Elizabeth Adler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Elizabeth Adler
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smiled, a little sadly. “So that’s what all the smart clothes were for?”
“Millie is a clotheshorse, and she frequents only the best places: the best restaurants, the best hotels, and the best resorts. It can’t be bad now, Bea, can it?”
They laughed together, and then Bea said, “You mentioned there were two reasons my working for Millie was a good idea. What’s the other?”
Their eyes met across the table. “I want you out of San Francisco. Away from the danger.”
Bea’s eyes darkened with fear. “You mean, you think he might come back for me? He might try again?” It was a thought that had gone through her own mind many times.
“You’ll be safe with Millie,” Phyl reassured her. “No one will know you or what happened. Soon you’ll be in Paris. And that’s another thing. I thought maybe in France you might start to remember.”
“And what then?” Bea whispered, terrified. “What if I remember who I am? And who tried to kill me?”
“All you have to do is call and I’ll be there,” Phyl promised. “You can count on me. Anyway, I’ve been invited to attend a medical conference in Paris next month. That’s not too long to wait. And it gives me something to look forward to. Seeing Paris and you and Millie.”
She told Bea she had booked her on a flight to New York on Thursday. Only two days away. “So there’s no time to change our minds,” she said firmly because she knew Bea didn’t want to go. And she knew, too, how empty her apartment would seem without her. She hated to lose her, even though she knew she was doing the right thing.
She took a photograph of Bea before she left, looking tall and elegant in her new mint green pantsuit, clutching the kitten under her chin with both hands, like a little girl. She was smiling tentatively, and there was a worried look in her eyes, but Phyl thought she looked dazzlingly pretty. She bought a silver frame and placed the picture on the table by her bed. As though it were a picture of her own daughter.
“Don’t take Millie on face value or you’ll never last a day,” were her final words as she put Bea on the plane to New York. Bea soon found out why.
9
M anhattan had ground to a halt in a torrential downpour aggravated by hurricane-force winds. Buses and cars stacked up at the broken traffic lights, and taxis were an impossibility. Bea was forced to walk ten blocks to her future employer’s Fifth Avenue apartment building opposite Central Park. Nevertheless, soaked and windblown, she managed to arrive exactly on time.
The Renwick apartment took up an entire floor, and as Bea stepped from the elevator, Millie herself flung open the door.
“What kept you?” she demanded, sweeping impatiently from the lofty gilded hall into a gold-brocaded drawing room. She waved an imperious arm for Bea to follow. “You’re late. I hope this isn’t a regular occurrence with you? The blasted butler just quit and the housekeeper ran off last week with some of my best jewelry and there’s a new Filipina in the kitchen who can barely understand English. I declare, I’m just about to go out of my mind.”
Small and plump with girlish golden curls, she was dressed in an elaborately ruffled cerise dress and highheels. Her wide mouth was generously lipsticked, her mascara was lavishly applied, and her arthritic hands glistened with large rings in gemstones of every color. She was a cloudburst of color, and the style was entirely her own.
Phyl had warned Bea that Millie Renwick was a rich, spoiled woman of uncertain years. She said the only thing certain in her life story was that there were more years than she owned up to. The details of her past varied to suit the moment and her audience—from orphaned heiress of a grand old family to shrewd businesswoman; from lucky gambler to poor little rich girl.
Millie’s shrewd blue eyes took in Bea’s face for the space of a minute. “Well,” she said in her gravelly voice, “if ever I saw anyone
“Millie is a clotheshorse, and she frequents only the best places: the best restaurants, the best hotels, and the best resorts. It can’t be bad now, Bea, can it?”
They laughed together, and then Bea said, “You mentioned there were two reasons my working for Millie was a good idea. What’s the other?”
Their eyes met across the table. “I want you out of San Francisco. Away from the danger.”
Bea’s eyes darkened with fear. “You mean, you think he might come back for me? He might try again?” It was a thought that had gone through her own mind many times.
“You’ll be safe with Millie,” Phyl reassured her. “No one will know you or what happened. Soon you’ll be in Paris. And that’s another thing. I thought maybe in France you might start to remember.”
“And what then?” Bea whispered, terrified. “What if I remember who I am? And who tried to kill me?”
“All you have to do is call and I’ll be there,” Phyl promised. “You can count on me. Anyway, I’ve been invited to attend a medical conference in Paris next month. That’s not too long to wait. And it gives me something to look forward to. Seeing Paris and you and Millie.”
She told Bea she had booked her on a flight to New York on Thursday. Only two days away. “So there’s no time to change our minds,” she said firmly because she knew Bea didn’t want to go. And she knew, too, how empty her apartment would seem without her. She hated to lose her, even though she knew she was doing the right thing.
She took a photograph of Bea before she left, looking tall and elegant in her new mint green pantsuit, clutching the kitten under her chin with both hands, like a little girl. She was smiling tentatively, and there was a worried look in her eyes, but Phyl thought she looked dazzlingly pretty. She bought a silver frame and placed the picture on the table by her bed. As though it were a picture of her own daughter.
“Don’t take Millie on face value or you’ll never last a day,” were her final words as she put Bea on the plane to New York. Bea soon found out why.
9
M anhattan had ground to a halt in a torrential downpour aggravated by hurricane-force winds. Buses and cars stacked up at the broken traffic lights, and taxis were an impossibility. Bea was forced to walk ten blocks to her future employer’s Fifth Avenue apartment building opposite Central Park. Nevertheless, soaked and windblown, she managed to arrive exactly on time.
The Renwick apartment took up an entire floor, and as Bea stepped from the elevator, Millie herself flung open the door.
“What kept you?” she demanded, sweeping impatiently from the lofty gilded hall into a gold-brocaded drawing room. She waved an imperious arm for Bea to follow. “You’re late. I hope this isn’t a regular occurrence with you? The blasted butler just quit and the housekeeper ran off last week with some of my best jewelry and there’s a new Filipina in the kitchen who can barely understand English. I declare, I’m just about to go out of my mind.”
Small and plump with girlish golden curls, she was dressed in an elaborately ruffled cerise dress and highheels. Her wide mouth was generously lipsticked, her mascara was lavishly applied, and her arthritic hands glistened with large rings in gemstones of every color. She was a cloudburst of color, and the style was entirely her own.
Phyl had warned Bea that Millie Renwick was a rich, spoiled woman of uncertain years. She said the only thing certain in her life story was that there were more years than she owned up to. The details of her past varied to suit the moment and her audience—from orphaned heiress of a grand old family to shrewd businesswoman; from lucky gambler to poor little rich girl.
Millie’s shrewd blue eyes took in Bea’s face for the space of a minute. “Well,” she said in her gravelly voice, “if ever I saw anyone
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