Pretend You Don't See Her Read Online Free PDF Page A

Caldwell, her impression of the
man, with his tawny skin, light sandy hair, and pale blue eyes, was uncertain.
She realized that she was bracing herself to be told that he didn’t like to be
kept waiting.
                 But
when she introduced herself to Curtis Caldwell, a smile brightened his face. He
even joked. “Tell the truth now, Miss Farrell,” he said, “how temperamental is
the air-conditioning in this building?”
                 When
Lacey had phoned Isabelle Waring to confirm the time of the appointment, the
older woman, sounding distracted, had told her she would be busy in the
library, so Lacey should just let herself in with her realtor’s key.
                 Lacey
had the key in hand when she and Caldwell stepped off the elevator. She opened
the door, called out, “It’s me, Isabelle,” and went to the library, Caldwell
behind her.
                 Isabelle
was at the desk in the small room, her back to the door. An open leather
loose-leaf binder lay to one side; some of its pages were spread across the
desk. Isabelle did not look up or turn her head at Lacey’s greeting. Instead,
in a muffled voice, she said, “Just forget I’m here, please.”
                 As
Lacey showed Caldwell around, she briefly explained that the apartment was
being sold because it had belonged to Isabelle Waring’s daughter, who had died
last winter in an accident.
                 Caldwell
did not seem interested in the history of the apartment. He clearly liked it,
and he did not show any resistance to the six-hundred-thousand-dollar asking
price. When he had inspected the second floor thoroughly, he looked out the
window of the sitting room and turned to Lacey. “You say it will be available
next month?”
                 “Absolutely,”
Lacey told him. This is it, she thought. He’s going to make a bid.
                 “I
don’t haggle, Miss Farrell. I’m willing to pay the asking price, provided I
absolutely can move in the first of the month.”
                 “Suppose
we talk to Mrs. Waring,” Lacey said, trying not to show her astonishment at the
offer. But, she reminded herself, just as I told Rick yesterday, this is the way it happens.
                 Isabelle
Waring did not answer Lacey’s knocks at the library door. Lacey turned to the
prospective buyer. “Mr. Caldwell, if you don’t mind waiting
for me just a moment in the living room, I’ll have a little talk with Mrs.
Waring and be right out.”
                 “Of course.”
                 Lacey
opened the door and looked in. Isabelle Waring was still sitting at the desk,
but her head was bowed now, her forehead actually touching the pages she had
been reading. Her shoulders were shaking. “Go away,” she murmured. “I can’t
deal with this now.”
                 She
was grasping an ornate green pen in her right hand. She slapped it against the
desk. “Go away.”
                 “Isabelle,”
Lacey said gently, “this is very important. We have an offer on the apartment,
but there’s a proviso I have to go over with you first.”
                 “Forget
it! I’m not going to sell. I need more time here.” Isabelle Waring’s voice rose
to a high-pitched wail. “I’m sorry, Lacey, but I just don’t want to talk now.
Come back later.”
                 Lacey
checked her watch. It was nearly four o’clock. “I’ll come back at seven,” she
said, anxious to avoid a scene and concerned that the older woman was on the
verge of hysterical tears.
                 She
closed the door and turned. Curtis Caldwell was standing in the foyer between
the library and the living room.
                 “She
doesn’t want to sell the apartment?” His tone was shocked. “I was given to
understand that—”
                 Lacey
interrupted him. “Why don’t we