Home Fires Read Free

made him proud and she now carried on the Hunt tradition he had worked so hard to establish.
    She made a striking figure as she wove through the tables, smiling gently and nodding at one acquaintance or another on her way to the door. Slim and of an average height that was accentuated by strappy gray high-heeled sandals, she wore a cream-colored linen blouse with a loose V neck and generous billowing sleeves that were gathered at the wrist. Her skirt was of the peasant variety that no peasant could dream of affording, a rich mix of browns, grays and écrus that floated gracefully about her as she walked. The only jewelry she wore was a pair of simple gold earrings, a wide-banded gold necklace that lay flat on her bare throat and the plain gold wedding band she had taken a preference to wearing over the more elaborate rings her husband had bestowed on her. In her simplicity, she was as elegant as the dining room she left.
    The hotel elevator quickly whipped her up to the fortieth floor, where she lived in the sumptuous suite that had been hers and Larry’s through their nine plus years of married life. Friends had often wondered why they hadn’t bought a spacious home in one of the suburbs of Atlanta. Larry had offered it to her more than once, but she knew he enjoyed the hotel. Perhaps if they’d had children they might have made the move. But children had never come and they’d remained here. It was as though Larry had known that then people would be around to look after her in his absence.
    Deanna paused outside her door long enough to punch out the numerical combination to unlock it, then pushed it open and stepped into a wide foyer. “Irma?” she called once, then again more loudly as she closed the door and scanned the empty living room.

    â€œRight here, Mrs. Hunt.” Irma materialized instantly from the far end of the suite. She was a small bundle of energy in a gray and white starched uniform, the image of warm-blooded efficiency. “I was just changing the linens,” she explained, stuffing the same into a pillowcase. Irma had served as Lawrence Hunt’s housekeeper since he’d moved into the hotel. Her husband, Henry, was chauffeur, handyman and messenger wrapped into one wiry, white-haired package. They shared a smaller but still roomy suite conveniently adjoining the kitchen and their sole duty now was to see to Deanna’s needs. On occasion, Deanna turned the tables.
    â€œHere, Irma.” She extended the bag of rolls toward the older woman. “Pecan rolls for you and Henry. They’re delicious today.” She leaned forward, listening. “Is he out already?” When Henry was at work cleaning or polishing around the suite, there was always a telltale sound to be heard, a whistling, a humming, even a scratchy chatter to himself. Now everything was quiet.
    Irma tucked the pillowcase under her arm and accepted the bag. “He’s gone ahead to the garage to polish the car. I’ll give him a buzz when you’re ready to leave. And … thank you for the rolls,” she added with a self-conscious smile. “You really shouldn’t bother yourself about us.”
    Deanna’s cheeks dimpled as she squeezed the woman’s arm gently. “Don’t be silly, Irma. It was no bother. Enjoy them!”
    â€œOh, we will. Pecan rolls are Henry’s favorites. But you knew that, didn’t you?”
    Deanna passed off the observation with a sheepish shrug, then began to move away. “I’ll be working in the den for a little while. Will you have Henry bring the car around in half an hour?”
    â€œCertainly. Your bag is all set to go. I’ll bring it right out Oh, and Mrs. Hunt?”

    Halfway down the hall now, Deanna turned. “Uh-huh?”
    â€œI thought I’d make a roast lamb for dinner. Is there anything special you’d like for lunch?”
    Deanna considered the matter briefly before dismissing it and