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"You don't read the society pages of The New York Times."
"Playboy is the only publication I bother with."
She threw him a typical feminine disgusted-withthe-male-of-the-species expression and said: "It's a pretty sid state of affairs when the son of a United States Senator can't identify two of the richest men in the world."
Pitt was only half listening to Tidi. It took a few seconds for her words to sink in. But then they slowly began to register and he turned his head and brazenly stared at the two men who were still heavily involved in conversation. Then he swung back and gripped Tidi's arm so hard she winced.
63
"Their names?"
Her eyes flew wide in surprise. "The bald-headed fat man is Hans Von Hummel. The distinguished-looking one is F. James Kelly."
"You could be mistaken."
"Maybe . . . no, I'm positive. I saw Kelly once at the President's Inaugural Ball."
"Look around the room! Recognize anyone else?"
Tidi quickly did as she was told, scanning the main salon for a familiar face. Her gaze stopped not once, but three times.
"The old fellow with the funny-looking glasses sitting on the settee. That's Sir Eric Marks. And the attractive brunette next to him is Dorothy Howard, the British actress-"
"Never mind her. Concentrate on the men."
"The only other who looks vaguely familiar is the one who just came in, talking to Kirsti Fyrie. I'm pretty sure he's Jack Boyle, the Australian coal tycoon."
"How come you're such an authority on millionaires?"
Tidi gave a cute shrug. "A favorite pastime for a lot of unmarried girls. You never know when you might meet one, so you prepare for the occasion even if it only comes off in your imagination."
"For once your daydreams paid off."
"I don't understand."
"Neither do I except this is beginning to look like a meeting of the clan."
Pitt pulled Tidi out on the terrace and slowly walked her to a corner away from the mainstream of the crowd. He watched the small groups of guests milling about the expansive double doors, catching them looking his way and then turning back, not in embarrassment, but rather as if they were scientists observing an experiment and discussing its probable outcome. He began to get the uneasy feeling that coming into Rondheim's lair was a mistake. He was just in the process of thinking up an excuse to leave when Kirsti Fyrie spied them and came alongside.
"Would you care to be seated in the study? We're almost ready to begin."
"Who is giving the reading?" Tidi asked.
Kirsti's face brightened. "Why, Oskar, of course."
"Oh, dear God," Pitt mumbled under his breath.
Like a lamb to slaughter, he let Kirsti lead him to the study with Tidi tagging behind.
By the time they reached the study and found a seat among the long circular rows of plush armchairs grouped around a raised dais, the room was nearly brimming to capacity. It was small consolation, but Pitt considered he and Tidi fortunate to sit in the last row near the doorway, offering a possible means of unnoticed departure when the opportunity arose. Then his hopes went up in smoke-a servant closed and bolted the doors.
After a few moments, the servant turned a rheostat and dimmed the lights, throwing the study into solid darkness. Then Kirsti climbed the dais and two soft, pink spotlights came on, giving her the aura of a sculptured Greek goddess standing serenely on her pedestal in the Louvre. Pitt mentally undressed her, trying to imagine what an awesome picture she would have made in that revealing condition. He stole a glance at Tidi.
The enraptured quality of her expression made him wonder if it were possible that her thoughts were similar to his. He groped for her hand, found it and squeezed the fingers tightly. Tidi was so absorbed with the vision on the dais, she didn't even notice or respond to Pitts touch.
Standing there motionless, soaking up the stares from an audience still invisible beyond the glare of the spotlight . Fyrie smiled confidently with that inner glow of self-assurance that only a woman truly secure in her loveliness can possess.
She bowed her head toward the hushed bodies in the darkness and began to speak. "Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests. Tonight, our host, Mr. Oskar Rondheim, will offer for your enjoyment his latest work. This he will read in our native Icelandic tongue.
