Fortune is a Woman Read Online Free PDF Page A

had done for Buck. And if his wife were as cold as Maryanne, then, like Buck, he could always take his pleasures elsewhere. He was sure women like Maryanne didn't mind that sort of thing. In fact, they probably welcomed it since it saved them the trouble of having to accommodate their husbands when they had so many other important things to do—like the children and the houses to run, and the servants, and the charity lunches, and the dressmakers, and the political meetings and functions, the fund-raising dinners and the full calendar of events on Washington's social circuit. But the bitch had given him the cold shoulder tonight when by right she should have been gazing gratefully into his eyes and telling everyone to invest in his oil wells.
    He downed another brandy thinking of the women in his life, the endless train of mistresses and one-night stands, his two worthless wives, and Francie. God, he could remember like it was yesterday; his father telling him, when he was still only a kid, that his sister was crazy and that she did not deserve to have the Harrison name. It was at their mother's funeral when he realized that he was the important one. He was the son and heir. She was a mere girl and she just didn't count.

CHAPTER 3
    Francie couldn't sleep. She heard the cars and voices as Harry's guests left and quiet settled over the city. Her mind cast back where it didn't want to go.
    Her first memory was of the week her brother was born. The year was 1891. She was three years old and she climbed from her bed in the third floor nursery and tiptoed down the stairs to the landing to see what all the noise was about. The grand hall, with its dark oak paneling, its stained-glass dome and Italian marble pillars, was lit as bright as day. Menservants wearing the burgundy Harrison livery were hurrying back and forth to the dining room carrying platters of food under the supervision of Maitland, the English butler.
    Clinging to the banisters, she watched with fascination a world she had never seen before. Snatches of conversation and laughter came from the dining room and she could hear her father's booming voice barking an order at Maitland. The butler emerged into the hall, his face impassive as he repeated the order to one of the servants and she shrank back into a corner as the man hurried past her up the stairs.
    A few minutes later he returned carrying a tightly wrapped bundle. It was her new baby brother, who she knew slept in a crib by her mother's bed, and whom she had only been allowed to see once for a few minutes when her father was out. "Because he's afraid of the germs, dear," her mother had said. The servant disappeared toward the kitchen with the baby, and Francie's hand flew to her mouth in horror. Were they going to put him in the oven and cook him for supper?
    She clung terrified to the banisters and a few minutes later Maitland strode across the hall bearing an enormous silver platter covered with a large silver dome.
    Fear lent wings to Francie's feet as she sped down the richly carpeted stairs, tripping over the brass stair-rods and almost landing on her nose on the black-and-white checkered floor. The marble felt cold under her bare feet as she ran to the dining room and through the half-open doors.
    The long table was aglitter with candlelight, silver, and crystal. Wine glowed ruby red in decanters and fragrant blue cigar smoke wreathed the air. Her father, Harmon Harrison, was seated at the head. He was tall, bearded, and heavily built. He exuded the power and confidence of his wealth and position. His eyes were fixed on Maitland carrying the platter toward him. He tapped on his glass and the twenty-three men around the table fell obediently silent.
    "Gentlemen," Harmon boomed, "I have invited you here tonight not just for your company, and not only to discuss how we can bring San Francisco into the glory she deserves by strengthening her links to the East Coast. No, sirs! You have partaken of the best the