Fortune is a Woman Read Free

our most important banks and top San Francisco socialite, that enabled the Mandarin to move into areas impenetrable to the Chinese in those early days. It was Francie Harrison who fronted all Lai Tsin's business dealings here in the U.S. and also in Hong Kong, and it's said by many that she was the guiding force that turned the Mandarin into a billionaire.
    Lai Tsin was generous with his fortune, creating foundations to finance schools for Chinese children, endowing scholarships at the nation's top colleges and universities, as well as building hospitals and orphanages. It was said that he was trying to make up for his own deprived childhood and lack of education. If so, then he did not succeed, for not one of the colleges he endowed ever gave him an honorary degree, and he was never a member of the board of any of his schools, orphanages, or hospitals.
    The Mandarin was a private man whose life—apart from his very public liaison with his so-called concubine—remained a secret. But the biggest secret of all now is whether the ever-youthful and still beautiful Francesca Harrison will inherit his fortune—and how much it is worth.
    San Francisco waits with baited breath to hear the latest episode in the saga of San Francisco's most mysterious, most notorious, and richest man.
    ***
    Annie wondered if Francie had read the piece, and how much the gossip still hurt her. Annie hadn't attended the Mandarin's funeral at sea, even though she had known and loved him as long as Francie; she had understood Francie was carrying out the old man's last wishes and saying a special, private good-bye.
    Impatiently throwing the newspaper to the floor, she picked up the phone, called reception and ordered her little dark-green Packard to be brought to the front. She threw the soft fur-collared velvet coat over her shoulders, stuffed the copy of the Chronicle into her pocket and took the elevator back down to the lobby.
    She stopped in the lobby for a quick word with the duty manager. "Have Senator and Mrs. Wingate already left?" she asked casually, pulling on her gloves.
    "Yes, ma'am, about a half hour ago."
    As she swept through the tall glass doors, she nodded good evening to the top-hatted doorman, then climbed behind the wheel of the little green Packard. She knew one thing for certain: she wasn't going to mention to her friend Francie that Buck Wingate was in town with his wife, Maryanne, and that they were dining with Francie's hated brother, Harry.
    ***
    Ah Fong, the Chinese houseboy who had been with Francie for more than twenty years, opened the door to Annie and told her that Francie was upstairs, comforting Lysandra.
    "Tell her not to hurry. I'll wait," Annie said, crossing the hall to Francie's small sitting room.
    She poured herself a large brandy, took a seat, and glanced around appreciatively. There were three other large reception rooms in the house, as well as a library stocked with more than twenty thousand books, and the Mandarin's study, which was as bare and austere as a monk's cell. But Francie's own small room was feminine and cosy. The paintings she had collected from all over the world jostled for space on the walls, a collection of precious white jade filled a tulipwood Sheraton display cabinet, and books and magazines spilled from shelves onto chairs and tables. The pale rugs were Turkish Ottoman Empire, the amber sofas were deep and draped with soft paisley throws, and the heavy gold-silk curtains were drawn against the cold misty San Francisco night.
    She glanced up questioningly as the door opened and Francie came in.
    "Lysandra is sleeping at last," she said with a sigh. "She's going to miss him, Annie."
    "Aren't we all?" Annie said sadly. "And I can think of hundreds more who had cause to be grateful to him. He was a great man."
    She tossed the newspaper over to Francie. "Did you read this? It's the Chronicle —but it's the same in all the others."
    "I've read it." Annie watched her anxiously; she looked calm