Fortune's Hand Read Online Free PDF Page B

quite obviously avoided her that night. Naturally, it piqued her vanity, but also aroused her curiosity.
    She greeted him gaily. “What can you be thinking of, walking on a day like this? It must be ninety-nine degrees in the shade.”
    â€œI have no car, the bus doesn’t run along here, so since I need to go downtown, I need to walk.”
    The reply, which was almost brusque, was a challenge. “I have a car, and I’m going downtown. This will be in return for the lift you gave me.”
    â€œWell, thanks. Thanks very much.”
    Enigmatic, she thought. Dead serious. All locked up. It would be interesting to unlock him.
    â€œWhere you headed?” she inquired when they were in the car.
    â€œThe bank. The National. Straight ahead. I’ll show you.”
    â€œWell, I’m heading for a cold drink across the street from your bank. It’s dim and quiet, and I need to relax. I help a couple of paraplegics and it takes all the strength out of me, right out of my heart. Come on, keep me company for fifteen minutes.”
    â€œI haven’t much time,” he said.
    â€œFifteen minutes? Come on. The bank will still be there.”
    Their small table faced the street, on which sparse traffic moved through a glare of light. The shop wasquiet, as if the heat had muted sound and diminished motion. For a minute or two neither of them spoke.
    â€œI hope you’re not disappointed,” she said. “Did you think I meant a real drink? Because I only meant iced coffee, or something like that.”
    â€œI had no idea what you meant.”
    â€œNo liquor at two in the afternoon for me.”
    â€œNor for me.”
    She saw that he was uneasy, and suddenly she was sorry for him. Something about him told her that he came from a farm, so she asked him whether he had always lived here in the city.
    â€œNo, I’m from downstate, a little place near Marchfield. You’ve probably never heard of it.”
    He even looked like a country boy, very mannerly, church-going, no doubt, brought up to be obedient and respectful. She wondered whether he knew what a picture he made in a stern, straight way that brought to mind Lincoln, or maybe Pickett, or Lee. At the jazz club that night someone had told her he was at the top of his class. At any rate, he was very, very interesting.
    â€œWe must know so many of the same people,” she began, since he had not begun anything. “My brother was in high school with half the people in this university, I’ll bet.”
    â€œHe didn’t go here?”
    â€œNo, he was at the University of Chicago. He’s in aircraft engineering now, in Seattle. He always wanted to get away.”
    â€œBut you did, too? Going to Wellesley?”
    â€œOh, I did want to, and it was wonderful. But I’mback to stay now. Mother died last year, and I won’t leave my father all alone. He’s very busy, he’s a lawyer, but work isn’t enough to fill the loneliness.”
    â€œA lawyer? Not Wilson Grant?”
    â€œYes. Do you know him?”
    â€œNo, but I’ve seen him in court. One case was that trial last year, the seventeen-year-old girl who was charged with murdering her baby. I was so glad he won for her against the death penalty.” Now Robb leaned forward and addressed her; his attention had been caught. “He had compassion for that terrified kid, seventeen going on twelve. I marveled. He was persistent and clear, empathic, and still gentle. The kid had a rich family, but they were cold people, and she was afraid of them. It was a tragedy. She deserved to be punished badly, but not to die.”
    Ellen was moved by this portrayal of her father. Robb had read him well.
    â€œA good lawyer,” he said, “has to be a psychologist, too.”
    â€œThat comes out of one’s own childhood, doesn’t it?” Now that the conversation was in motion, she would not let it pause. “The way you