The Perfect Fake by Parker Barbara

Author:Parker, Barbara [Parker, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller, epub-transfer-done, onKobo
Published: 2009-01-11T16:35:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The overcast was giving way to patches of pale blue when room service arrived. A woman in a black skirt and tuxedo shirt wheeled the cart in

and set it up by the window. She lifted the silver lid from the quiche and the tea cozy from the pot. Allison said, “I think it’s stopped raining.” She signed the receipt.

“Yes, Miss. It’s a fine day for a walk.”

Still in her pajamas at half past eleven, Allison had been looking down at the bare branches and gray street four stories below, the people on the sidewalks, and the red double-decker buses that occasionally passed the hotel. She’d thought of leaving her notes for a while and finding a used bookshop. She wanted something smooth and warm that would fit in her pocket. A small book bound in green leather, with gilded pages. The Romantic poets, to put her in the mood for Italy. Byron. Keats? No, Elizabeth Barrett Browning. “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways...”

During Allison’s college year in Rome, a tour had been organized to Florence. Allison had seen the house where Elizabeth Barrett Browning had lived with her husband Robert after they had eloped from England. She’d been an invalid spinster—

Allison’s cell phone rang as she was biting into a croissant. She hurried to pick it up and saw her father’s mobile number on caller ID. “Hello, Dad.”

“Am I catching you at the hotel? Or are you out?”

“No, I’m here. I’m studying this morning. It’s all I do, study for the bar. Are you on your way to Hawaii?”

“I’ve decided to let Rhonda go on her own. The idea of another cruise didn’t thrill me. Have you spoken again with Mr. Fairchild?”

“Not yet, no.”

“You haven’t seen him? Hasn’t he called you?”

“He will, I’m sure of it.”

“Where is he staying?”

“I don’t know. He said he would find a hotel and get back in touch.”

“I see. You don’t know where he’s staying. What was the name of that girl he knows in London, the one who used to work for Larry...”

“Jenny Gray.”

“You said he would probably look her up?”

“It’s just a guess.” Feeling unjustly put under interro- gation, Allison said, “I don’t know where she is either. He has her address, but he isn’t sharing it.”

She heard Stuart let out a breath of exasperation. “What are we to do, then? I envision Tom Fairchild going on his merry way, doing as he pleases, where he pleases, on his own timetable. Do you completely appreciate the dire situation I’m facing?”

“Yes, I do. If Mr. Zurin doesn’t get his map, you and Rhonda will be living in a cardboard box—”

“Don’t be flippant. The point is, Allison, you haven’t any idea where Fairchild is. But I understand. You’re a young woman alone in London. Tom Fairchild is attractive, in a rough way. He thinks he can walk all over you.”

“That is so not true!” she protested. “All I am to Tom Fairchild is a bank. He knows that he won’t

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