Too Much Too Soon Read Free

rear drawing room. “Of course they’d all deny it to the death, but their yardstick is cold cash.”
    “I dare say that’s a jolly good ingredient, being comfortably off,” she retorted.
    “Bull. You don’t have an avaricious bone in your body.”
    “Oh don’t I just! How lovely it would be not to have to go out looking for work.”
    He gave her a quick glance. “Looking forwork? You hardly seem the career girl type.”
    “I’m trying.” Her low, soft voice wavered. Never in a life not overly abundant in self-confidence had she felt more inadequate than when facing across the desk of the Golden Gate Job Placement Agency.
    “What’s your field?”
    She recovered. “Woolgathering.”
    “Try putting that on an application,” he chuckled. “Anyway, you can’t convince me you’re interested in money, not with those dark, nonacquisitive eyes, Monica Sylvander.”
    He knew who she was! Her blinding sense of betrayal must have shown.
    “I should have introduced myself first,” he said with a small, mocking bow. “I’m Curt Ivory.” He ran his finger on the keyboard, a rippling of sound. “Ivory, like these.”
    “It’s Honora,” she murmured.
    “What?”
    “It’s not Monica, it’s Honora.”
    “Honora, I work for Mr. Talbott. He asked me to let you know that his car’ll be around in a few minutes to take you and your sister home.”
    Filled with shame at her mistaken assumption of his interest, she replied in a clipped tone, “That’s most unnecessary.”
    “You’re angry.”
    “I didn’t mean to chatter on.”
    He was peering at her. “No, you’re not mad. You’re embarrassed.”
    She guessed her face was crimson. “It’s most kind of Uncle Gideon, but my sister and Iplanned to walk home.”
    “There’s no point arguing. He wants you driven home. And what Mr. Talbott wants, Mr. Talbott gets.” There was irony in Curt’s tone, and also deep affection. He touched a harp string, drawing a long, plangent note. “I figured Langley was laying it on a bit thick about his daughters, but now I see he wasn’t.”
    “You know Dad—you know my father?”
    “I told you I’m an engineer.”
    “I’m sorry. How silly of me. Naturally you know him.”
    “He’s a peacock about his girls, calls you his three graces—”
    “Curt,” interrupted a female drawl. “Oh, Curt.”
    An exceptionally thin young woman was leaning against the jamb of the sliding door. Her long-sleeved gray silk dress fitted her narrow, near breastless torso, flaring out in a gored skirt that reached to just above her sharply boned ankles. Her brown hair was swept back into a severe knot and she held a cigarette between two long fingers. She wasn’t pretty at all—indeed, with her hollow cheeks and visible jawbones, she resembled a young Duchess of Windsor. And like the Duchess, she possessed a unique chic.
    “Well, well,” Curt drawled. “So you finally made it.”
    “I had a tea, darling,
another
tea. What a bore. But Mother informs me
you
only put in an appearance a few minutes ago.” Her voice was magically American, especially when sheemphasized certain words. Honora felt herself dwindle.
    “I was at the Oakland field office,” Curt said. “Imogene, this is Mrs. Talbott’s niece. Honora Sylvander, Imogene Burdetts.”
    “I’m so
terribly
sorry about your aunt,” Imogene Burdetts said rapidly.
    “Thank you.”
    “Honora just arrived from jolly old England,” Curt said.
    “Yes, I can tell by the accent.” Imogene didn’t look at Honora. “Curt, Mother wants to talk to you. It’s an invitation, so don’t say I didn’t
warn
you.”
    “Duty calls, then,” he said. He turned toward Honora with one of his satirical grins. “The odds are we’ll be bumping into each other.”
    Honora watched the couple cross the length of the rooms to the couch where the three ladies still sat, then move to stand alone by the prune-colored drapes. Curt’s back was to Honora, but she could see by the