Part 50 (1/2)

”Greta,” Matthew snapped, ”close that door!”

”Oh, relax, Matthew. This will only take a minute. However,” she said, seating herself in the pit across from them, ”I'm not leaving until I see this live one swim through a hoop and catch a chunk of that bait in the air.”

Matthew glared at his wife as she opened her purse and withdrew the pink bank form.

”This is Laurence Maupin,” Matthew said, attempting to explain himself. ”She's my public relations a.s.sistant.”

Ignoring the girl's flawless extended hand, Greta slid aside the tray and dropped the form on the table before Matthew. She made sure to use her left hand.

The door slid open and the hostess poked her head in. ”Would you like a menu?” she asked graciously.

”Go away,” Greta snapped. The door slid closed.

”We were just going over some notes,” Matthew said, still indulging in his farce. ”For a speech I'll be giving in a few weeks.”

”Is that so?” Greta said. ”And where will you be speaking, Matthew, Sea World?

More composed now, Laurence eyed her tormentor with plain contempt. ”This is not what you think, Mrs. Locke,” she said.

”b.u.t.t out. This business is between my husband and I.” She flicked the form into Matthew's lap, then slapped a gold pen down on the table. ”Sign it.”

”Greta! This is for a quarter-million dollars,” he said, his voice disbelieving. ”What the h.e.l.l are you doing?”

She gave her husband an impatient look. ”Matthew, either you shut up and sign that, or I walk out there and announce your fishy little affair with Flipper here.”

He considered this, looked down at the form. ”I hope you know what you're doing,” he said, and picked up the pen.

”What the h.e.l.l is so funny?” Greta asked, noticing Laurence's apparently merry expression as she watched Matthew's hand squiggling across the form. For the briefest instant, Laurence's smile intensified when she met Greta's eyes. At this stare-down, Greta lost.

Matthew shoved the pen and the transfer doc.u.ment across the table, then crossed his arms and stared down at the ruined lunch like an angry child.

Greta collected the form and folded it neatly, a triumphant smile on her face. Matthew shook his head in disgust as the slip disappeared into her purse with a snap. His anger was complete.

At this point he was only thankful she was leaving immediately, without causing him any further embarra.s.sment.

”I'm so sorry I can't stay to see the rest of the show - ” Greta started, calmly.

Or so he thought.

”I'll especially hate missing the part where you balance his b.a.l.l.s on your nose.”

Matthew lunged for her, but she escaped his grasp with a t.i.tter and left the room, not bothering to close the door. She swept past the mute diners, her victory plain for everyone to see. She even paused at the door for a moment to take a few mints at the hostess desk.

But when she pressed through the doors, leaving her stunned audience behind, she felt strangely unmasked in the bright sunlight. Something inside her s.h.i.+fted, and her elation quickly drained.

She was overcome by a sudden panic. And then it hit her. Was this her last hurrah? Would that young girl take over her reign as Mrs. Matthew Locke? she wondered covetously.

She pressed her fist to her mouth and forced herself to concentrate on her task at hand. She had to get to the bank with the signed transfer. Then she would feel better. Yes, she told herself, catching Matthew with his little tart would strengthen her decision, would rea.s.sure her. She couldn't wait to tell Jean-Pierre she had caught him, red-handed.