Part 49 (2/2)

”Good afternoon, Mrs. Locke,” a handsome receptionist said cheerfully.

”h.e.l.lo, Sheldon,” Greta said with an effusive smile. Such a charming young man. He knew how to treat a distinguished woman.

As she headed away, her peripheral vision caught the young man lifting the telephone handset, warning the executive secretaries that she was on her way.

So well trained, she thought, a sudden hush falling over the executive area. As she marched along the row of offices, each of the secretaries graced her with a smile and a greeting.

”Greta,” Matthew's secretary Eileen said with deliberate flatness.

Greta marched past her desk without so much as a glance and went straight into her husband's office.

Eileen came in behind her. ”He's gone to lunch next door,” she said. ”Can I help you with something?”

Lingering for a few moments, she examined several doc.u.ments on Matthew's desk with feigned interest. Satisfied, she cleared her throat and walked out of the office. Neither of the two women wished the other any sort of day, good, bad or otherwise.

She made her way back to the elevators.

The elevator rang, and someone ran past her and boarded it.

”Please hold that,” she called out. Taking her time to reach the elevator, a pleasurable knowledge swept through her; whoever the person in the elevator was, he or she would hold the door for her.

”Thank you, dear,” she said to the young man aboard the elevator.

Because she had partic.i.p.ated in all of Wallaby's major functions, whether on stage with Matthew as he wished the employees season's greetings, or during congratulatory speeches and celebration events, everyone in the company recognized Greta Locke - the head-honcho's wife.

Reveling in this notoriety, she strolled into the sus.h.i.+ restaurant and searched among the tables for her husband.

Conversations quieted among the diners as they noticed her. Mrs.

Matthew Locke pretended indifference to the attention she drew as she started through the dining area and headed for the back room, where on past occasions she and Matthew had dined with some of the other Wallaby executives and their wives.

”May I help you?” the hostess inquired politely, treading alongside Greta.

”I know my way around,” Greta said. She went in back and stopped before the group of private part.i.tioned rooms. The doors to three of the intimate little rooms were open, and she could see they were empty. She went for the first closed door, but just before sliding it open she noticed Matthew's shoes, as well as a pair of heels, sitting on the floor by the last room, which overlooked the carp pond at the restaurant's atrium center.

As she neared the room, she heard Matthew's voice. ”Here, try this one,” then a foolish giggle, presumably belonging to whoever it was who fit into such tiny heels.

Greta stepped up to the platform and slid the door open, just in time to see Matthew, chopsticks in hand, placing a dripping pink piece of raw fish into the mouth of a young pretty thing. The girl sat with her eyes closed and head t.i.tled back slightly, wriggled her tongue in antic.i.p.ation. Matthew's other hand was hidden beneath the girl's hair, supporting her neck.

Looking up and encountering his wife's stunned expression, Matthew jerked impulsively, and in doing so plunged the chunk of raw fish into the girl's mouth. Her eyes snapped open, and she made a revolting sound. Her hands flew to her throat. She was choking.

Matthew struck the girl sharply on the back, and with a great popping cough, the pink thing flew from her mouth into her cupped hand.

Seeing that the girl's airway was free, Matthew turned to his wife. Getting up, his napkin fell into the tray of sus.h.i.+. As he reached for it, his feet encountered an obstacle, and in an effort to prevent himself from cras.h.i.+ng through the window, he caught the edge of the table, managing to tip over their mugs of tea, as well as knock most of the remaining sus.h.i.+ onto the floor.

”Sit down, Matthew,” Greta said with a disgusted flap of her hand. She gave him a look. ”I must say, darling, I'm very impressed with your technique. I would have thought you'd need a hook to catch this sort of fish.”

The girl sucked deep gulps of air, alternating her wide, watery-eyed gape between husband and wife.

”Poor thing, so sorry you don't care for the selection,” Greta said with a pout. ”I think there's some more on the floor. Go fetch, dearie.”

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