In Name Only Read Online Free PDF

turned her hand palm side up to his lips. "Friends?" he asked.
    Jill gave a short laugh. "Friends? Is that what it's for?"
    He placed his hands about her shoulders and brought her face close to his. "Mrs. Simon Todd," he whispered, kissing her lips softly, briefly, and releasing her even as she felt the impact of his closeness. He reached for her leather shoulder bag and put the small box inside. "Wife," he said with a strange laugh.
    She tried not to stare at the ring, small explosions of emotion beating wildly at her temples. She wondered briefly about the chauffeur, whether he had seen the kiss, glad of the closed glass partition which cut off the front of the car.
    She could see Simon's reflection in the glass. He was sitting back against the seat, unmoving. He was perhaps a dozen years older than she, elegant, manly, sure of himself, that much she knew. And she knew also, that the mere touch of his hand caused her body to set up as many lights and signals as a computer—but who was he? Where had he come from? How did she even know he was Simon Todd? Or that her uncle was dead? Or if the ring or the will were real? Or if she were real? Instinctively she moved away, wishing somehow to dive into the depths of the seat, to hide from the astonishing possibilities before her.
    The limousine came to a halt before she could catch her breath, before she could ask questions and get answers. There, waiting on the street in front of City Hall, was a middle-aged gentleman in a heavy tan topcoat with a brown leather briefcase tucked under his arm. He spoke briefly to the chauffeur before stepping into the limousine and sitting down on the jumpseat facing them.
    "Simon," the man said with a pleasant smile, and then extended his hand to Jill. "Jay Wilhelm," he said. "Congratulations. All the best, Miss Carteret. I knew your uncle, by the way. Fine man, fine man."
    Jill shook his hand warmly, glad of his presence.
    "I'd suggest we get the blood test over with and apply for both visa and passport after," Wilhelm told them briefly. He turned to the chauffeur and tapped on the glass. The car moved out into traffic.

    It was easy being an heiress, an heiress in an old coat with waterproof boots and a knit cap, Jill decided. It was easy to have decisions made for you, to step lightly out of limousines, to be brought into doctors' offices without waiting, to be asked to sign on dotted lines by solicitous clerks whose eyes, like hers, seemed drawn to the huge, brilliant stone on her finger. Easy, indeed.
    If true. If she were an heiress. If he were Simon Todd—and if he were, he were telling the whole truth and nothing but the truth. She caught a glimpse of his passport, produced as they applied for the visa. Simon Todd, born in Waynesville, Texas. He saw her staring at .it, and handed it to her without saying a word. His age, thirty-three. The pages were stamped with the seals of countries all over the world. She returned the passport. Without smiling, he slipped it into a slim leather folder and put it back into his jacket pocket.
    "Satisfied as to my credentials?" he asked in a cold voice meant for her ears only.
    "Perhaps," Jill answered equally coldly. Passports could be forged, but she wouldn't back away. If it were a game, she was prepared to play it to the end. She had nothing, absolutely nothing, to lose.

    It was late noon when they finished. Wilhelm directed the chauffeur to drive them to Perigord, a restaurant Jill knew to be the most expensive in Chicago. It was on a side street, off State, its exterior unprepossessing, the restaurant seeming to hide shyly behind the chaste white curtains that covered the window and glass door.
    They were seated at once in a small room, red velvet banquettes against mahogany walls, the white linen tablecloths set with bone china and polished silver. Small bouquets of deep red roses and baby's breath in crystal vases decorated each table in the restaurant, which, though crowded, wore a quiet,