The Melody Lingers On Read Online Free PDF Page B

wainscoting at chair height on the walls. That will punch the blue and be very dramatic.”
    “And expensive,” Lane reminded her. “Are you doing this without charge?”
    “Of course not. I’ll bury it in the bill I present to Countess La-di-da. She can afford it. I still say that bandit tipped her off to get her money out of his fund.”
    “I’ll take care of it,” Lane promised.
    “Don’t be in such a hurry. That’s not all.”
    “Sorry.”
    Glady held up five swatches of material. “I don’t like the spread and drapes we took from the old guest room at the Bennett mansion. I’ve ordered these. Spread, pillows, bed
skirt, vanity skirt, draperies, and chaise lounge. It will make a beautiful bedroom for that poor woman.”
    “And all these to be charged to the countess?”
    “Of course. We’ll do a little claw back of our own.”
    Trying not to shake her head, Lane headed for her own office. This was the time when Glady called her suppliers and tortured them to be sure that there would be no delay in having work done or
supplies delivered on time.
    Lane knew it was a good opportunity to make a quick phone call to her mother. Mom will be in the shop by now, she thought. Her mother owned an antique shop in Georgetown. She was always trying
to persuade Lane to move there, saying she would finance her opening a decorating business of her own.
    Lane knew she was not ready to do that yet. Even just a minute ago I learned something from Glady, she thought. And besides that, I have no interest in living near my stepfather.
    Her mother answered on the first ring. “Lane, I was about to call you. How’s Katie?”
    “Great. She’s turning into quite a little artist.”
    “No surprise.”
    “And I’m fine too,” she said.
    Her mother laughed. “Believe it or not that was my next question,” Alice Harmon said defensively.
    Lane visualized the dynamic woman who was her mother. Alice Harmon Crowley was in her midfifties. Her once-auburn hair was now completely gray. She wore it in a short bob around her face. She
had no use for having to fuss with it. “There are better things to do than stand in front of a mirror and primp yourself,” was the way she put it. Tall and slender, she did yoga at six
o’clock every morning.
    She did not remarry for ten years after Lane’s father died in the plane crash. Lane’s stepfather, Dwight Crowley, wrote a daily political column for the
Washington Post
and
was considered an important player on the Washington scene. He and her mother were married just as she was starting college. She was glad that her mother was happy with Dwight, but she didn’t
like him. His idea of a discussion was “I talk; you listen,” she thought. He’s nothing like Daddy.
    Dwight and her mother were a sought-after couple in Washington’s inner circle. Now Lane asked, “Have you been to the White House this week?”
    “No, but we’ve been invited to a White House dinner for the Spanish ambassador next week. What have you been up to?”
    “Glady got a call from Parker Bennett’s son. We’re doing work on Anne Bennett’s town house in New Jersey.”
    “I know a dozen people who got caught in the Bennett mess,” her mother said. “It’s been horrible for them. Did you meet the son? A lot of people, and especially Dwight,
think he was in on the scheme.”
    Lane had been about to say that she’d made a date to have dinner with Eric Bennett Saturday night, but the sudden, chilly tone in her mother’s voice made her decide to say nothing
about it. When the call ended she acknowledged to herself that it had been a mistake to accept Eric Bennett’s invitation. Thanks to the extra work on the New Jersey town house, she would be
in and out of it much more than she had anticipated. She knew that Eric worked behind the scenes in another brokerage firm and that he had an apartment in Manhattan. But one of the bedrooms was
being furnished for him. Glady had said that he had told her