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“I know this is terribly presumptuous of me, but you look like an adventurous lady, and I was wondering if you might throw caution to the winds and have dinner with me this evening?”
Her first impulse was to reject him, but some forbidden door had opened and she fought a battle of principle against desire. “I’m not allowed to date bank customers. Besides, how do I know I can trust a complete stranger?”
He laughed and leaned toward her. “Number one, I am not a bank customer. And, number two, if you can’t trust a bonded detective, who can you trust?” He reached out and took her hand in his.
A terrifying wave of anxiety swept over her as she fought a losing battle. Her last barrier crumpled and, along with it, her final grip on control. All self-restraint had evaporated.
“All right,” she heard herself say, as if she was listening to a total stranger. “I get off work at five o’clock.”
“Good,” he said, a little too enthusiastically, he thought. “I’ll meet you at the front entrance.”
She watched him walk toward the elevator. “Good Lord,” she murmured to herself. “I must be mad to have agreed to have dinner with a perfect stranger.”
Yet, as she berated herself, there was a twinkle in her eye.
IRVINE WAITED for Bell in the elevator. “What was all that about?”
“I have a dinner date with Cromwell’s personal secretary.”
“You work fast,” Irvine said admiringly.
Bell grinned. “Things just sort of fell into place.”
“Knowing you like I do, I’ll bet you have an ulterior motive.”
“You might say that I’m mixing business with pleasure.”
“You may be playing with fire,” said Irvine seriously. “If she catches wise that you’re using her to probe into Cromwell’s affairs, there could be trouble.”
“I’ll worry about that when the time comes,” Bell said comfortably.
On the ride back to the hotel, Bell’s thoughts were not on the business part of the coming evening but rather the pleasure.
20
MARION COULD NOT EXPLAIN IT. THE SENSATION was one she had not experienced since a boy she dreamed about in school had smiled at her. That was all. He never approached or talked to her. Now, as she sat across an intimate table for two, she felt as giddy as a schoolgirl.
Bell had picked her up outside the Cromwell Bank at exactly five o’clock in a motor cab. The driver drove directly from the street into the seven-story building that contained the city’s most famous French restaurant, Delmonico’s. They entered an elevator that took them to the top floor, where the maître d’ showed them into an enclosed private dining room with a large picture window that overlooked the city and the bay.
People who could afford it thought nothing of consuming ten-course meals, each accompanied by a different wine. Bell ordered oysters Rockefeller with a tangy curry sauce, followed by a flavorful broth, poached Great Lakes sturgeon, frog’s legs à la poulette, pork chops, chicken Kiev, assorted roasted game birds, boiled potatoes, and creamed peas.
Marion had never dined this sumptuously in her life. True, she had been wined and dined by the city’s eligible and moneyed bachelors, but none had treated her this lavishly. She was more than thankful the portions were small but regretted not loosening her corset in advance.
For dessert, Bell ordered crêpes suzette, the flaming orange-flavored delicacy. When the waiter stood at their table expertly spooning the flaming mixture over the crêpes, Marion forced herself to look directly into Bell’s eyes.
“May I ask you a question, Mr. Bell?”
His smile was engaging. “I believe we know each other well enough for you to call me Isaac.”
“I’d prefer Mr. Bell, if you don’t mind,” she said in what she thought was a proper manner.
The smile remained. “Suit yourself.”
“How can you afford all this on the pay of a detective?”
He laughed. “Would you believe I saved up all month just to impress you?”
“Not for an instant,” she said haughtily.
