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e indistinct shape of a man across the room The voice held a faint, upper-class British accent, so she kneasn’t Harry Harry Van Dorn was from Texas, with a voice and a character tointo focus “I’m Peter Jensen, Mr Van Dorn’s personal assistant He’ll be with you in a short while In theI can do toto drink, perhaps? The newspaper?”
She hadn’t thought of the word unctuous in a long time, probably not since she’d been forced to read Charles Dickens, but the word suited Peter Jensen perfectly He was bland and self-effacing to a fault, and even the British accent, usually an attention grabber, seemed just part of the perfect personal-assistant profile His face was nondescript, he had colasses; if she’d passed him on the street she wouldn’t have looked twice at him She barely did now
“Iced tea and the New York Ti a seat on the leather banquette and setting the briefcase beside her She crossed her legs and looked at her shoes They orth every penny when you considered what they did for her long legs She looked up, and Peter Jensen was looking at thes He didn’t sees, no matter how attractive they were, and she quickly uncrossed the her feet out of the way
“It will only take a moment, Ms Spenser,” he said “In the meantime make yourself comfortable”
He disappeared, silent as a ghost, and Genevieve shook off the uneasy feeling She’d sensed disapproval from Harry Van Dorn’s cipher-like assistant—he’d probably taken one look at her shoes and knohat she’d spent Normally people in Jensen’s position were impressed; she’d walked into a particularly snooty shop on Park Avenue in theed on her, knowing that a woman who spent that kind of ious amount in their overpriced boutique
And she had
Genevieve steeled herself for Peter Jensen’s reappearance Instead, a uniforlass of ice-cold Earl Grey and a fresh copy of the New York Tiold pen on the tray as well, and she picked it up
“What’s this for?” she inquired Didn’t they expect her to be professional enough to have brought her own pen?
“Mr Jensen thought youa shower, and he ht be awhile”
No did that gray ghost of a man know she did crossword puzzles? In pen? It was the Saturday paper, with the hardest of the week’s puzzles, and she didn’t hesitate For soed her, and she was tired and edgy and wanted to be anywhere but on Harry Van Dorn’s extremely oversize, pretentious yacht At least the puzzle would keep herher
She was just finishing, when one of the doors to the salon opened and a tall figure filled the doorway It had been a particularly trying puzzle—in the end she’d been cursing Will Weng, Margaret Farrar and Will Shortz with generalized cool abandon, but she set the paper down and rose with serene dignity
Only to have it vanish when the man stepped forward and she realized it was silanced at the folded paper, and she just knew his bland eyes would focus on the eet “Mr Van Dorn is ready to see you now, Ms Spenser”