From the Heart

surrounded her face.
    “And rather than mud-colored,” she continued smoothly, “this shade is generally known as strawberry blond. My face isn’t particularly bony, though I do have rather nice cheekbones. Have you got a light?”
    She rummaged through her purse for a cigarette, then looked expectantly at Harry Rhodes. He fumbled in his pocket and found his lighter. “Thanks. Where was I? Oh, yes,” she continued before either man could speak. “I do wear glasses for reading—when I can find them—but I doubt that’s quite what you meant, is it? Let’s see, what else can I tell you? Can I sit down? My feet are killing me.” Without waiting for a reply, she chose a gold brocade chair. She paused and flicked her cigarette in a crystal ashtray. “You already know my shoe size.” Sitting back in the chair, she regarded Jordan Taylor with direct green eyes.
    “Well, Miss Wyatt,” he said at length. “I don’t know whether to apologize or applaud.”
    “I’d rather have a drink. Do you have any tequila?”
    With a nod, he moved to the bar. “I don’t believe we do; would vermouth do?”
    “That would do fine, thank you.”
    Kasey surveyed the room. It was large and perfectly square with rich paneling and heavily brocaded furnishings. An intricately carved marble fireplace dominated one wall. Dresden porcelain reflected in a wide, mahogany-framed mirror above it. The carpet was thick, the drapes heavy.
    Too formal, she thought, observing the structured elegance. She would have preferred the drapes opened wide, or better yet, removed completely and replaced with something a bit less somber. There was probably a beautiful hardwood floor under the carpeting.
    “Miss Wyatt.” Jordan brought her attention back to him as he handed her a glass. Each one curious about the other, their eyes met, then a movement in the doorway distracted their attention.
    “Jordan, Millicent tells me that Miss Wyatt has arrived, but she must have wandered—oh.” The woman who glided into the room halted as she spotted Kasey. “You’re Kathleen Wyatt?” With the same wariness the maid had shown, she surveyed the woman dressed in gray trousers and a brilliant peacock blue blouse.
    Kasey sipped and smiled. “Yes, I am.” She made her own survey of the elegantly groomed society matron. Jordan Taylor’s mother, Beatrice Taylor, was carefully made up, impeccably groomed and stylishly attired. Beatrice Taylor knew who and what she was, Kasey thought.
    “You must forgive the confusion, Miss Wyatt. We weren’t expecting you until sometime tomorrow.”
    “I got things organized more quickly than I expected,” Kasey said and sipped at her drink. “I caught an earlier flight.” She smiled again. “I didn’t see any point in wasting time.”
    “Of course.” Beatrice’s face creased for a moment in a frown. “Your room’s prepared.” She turned her eyes to her son. “I’ve put Miss Wyatt in the Regency Room.”
    “Adjoining Alison?” Jordan paused in the act of lighting a thin cigar and glanced at his mother.
    “Yes, I thought perhaps Miss Wyatt would enjoy the company. Alison is my granddaughter,” she explained to Kasey. “She’s been with us since my son and his wife werekilled three years ago. She was only eight, poor dear.” Her attention shifted back to Jordan. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll see about your bags.”
    “Well.” Jordan took a seat on the sofa when his mother slipped from the room. “Perhaps we should discuss business for a moment.”
    “Of course.” Kasey finished off the vermouth and set the glass on the table beside her. “Do you like a strict routine—you know, designated hours? Nine to two, eight to ten. Or do you just like to flow?”
    “Flow?” Jordan repeated and glanced up at Harry.
    “You know. Flow.” She made a descriptive gesture with her hands.
    “Ah, flow.” Jordan nodded, amused. This was definitely not the straight-laced, low-key scientist of his imagination. “Why don’t we try a little of both?”
    “Good. I’d like to go over your outline tomorrow and get a better feel for what you have in mind. You can let me know what you want to concentrate on first.”
    Kasey studied Jordan for a moment as Harry fixed himself another martini. Very attractive, she decided, in a smooth, Wall Street sort of manner. Nice hair; warm brown with just a few light touches. He must get out of this museum now and then to get sunstreaked, she thought, but she doubted whether