"Chelsea Quinn Yarbro - Madelaine 2 - In the Face of Death" - читать интересную книгу автора (Yarbro Chelsea Quinn)

The secretary took the letter and read it, his manner turning from indulgent to impressed
as he reviewed the figures; he frowned as he read through them a second time, as if he was not
convinced of what he saw. Folding the letter with care, he rose and belatedly gave Madelaine a
show of respect he had lacked earlier. "Good gracious, Madame de Montalia. It is an unexpected
pleasure to welcome you to Lucas and Turner."
"Thank you," said Madelaine with a fine aristocratic nod she had perfected in her
childhood. "Now, if you will please show me to the senior officer? You may use those documents
to introduce me, if that is necessary."
"Of course, of course," he said, so mellifluously that Madelaine had an urge to box his
ears for such obsequiousness. He opened the little gate that separated the desks from the rest of
the floor, and stood aside for her as she went through, her head up, the deep-g-een taffeta of her
morning dress rustling as she moved. "If you will allow me to go ahead and…" He made a
gesture indicating a smoothing of the way.
She sighed. "Is that necessary?"
He made an apologetic grimace. "Well, you see, there are very few wealthy young women
alone in San Francisco. And you were not expected." Again he gestured to express his concern.
"No doubt," she said, and halted in front of a large door of polished oak. While the
secretary rapped, Madelaine examined her brooch watch, thinking she would be fortunate to be
out of the bank much before noon.
"Come in," came the crisp order from a sharp, husky voice.
The secretary made a slight bow to Madelaine, then stepped into the office, discreetly
closing the door behind him, only to emerge a few minutes later, all smiles and half bows, to
open the door wide for her in order to usher her into the oak-paneled office of the senior officer
of the bank.
The man who rose behind the orderly desk surprised Madelaine a little; he was younger
than she expected-no more than his mid-thirties-sharp-featured, wiry and tall, with bright-red hair
and steel-colored eyes, and a pinched look about his mouth as if he were in constant discomfort.
His dark suit was neat as a uniform, and he greeted her with fastidious correctness. "William T.
Sherman, senior officer of Lucas and Taylor in San Francisco, at your service, Madame de Mon-
talia."
She took his hand at once. "A pleasure, Mr. Sherman," she said, liking his decisive
manner. "I hope you will be willing to help me establish an account here."
His face did not change, but a glint appeared in his eyes. "Certainly." He signaled to the
secretary. "Jenkins, leave us to it. And don't close the door."
Madelaine saw that the secretary was flustered. "But I thought-" he said.
"I will handle the opening of this account. Given the size of this woman's resources, such
an account would need my authorization in any case." He came around the end of the desk not
only to bring a chair for Madelaine, but to hurry Jenkins out of his office. He carried the Queen
Anne chair to a place directly across the desk from his, and held it for Madelaine. "Madame?"
As she sat down, Madelaine smiled up at Sherman. "Thank you," she said and noticed a
quick frown flicker across his face.
Taking his place behind the desk once more, Sherman spread out two of the letters in her
packet of documents on the wide expanse of leather-edged blotter. "I see you deposited ninety-
five thousand pounds sterling in the Saint Louis office of this bank in 1848. The most recent
accounting, from a year ago, shows your balance only slightly reduced." He regarded her with
curiosity. "That is a considerable fortune, Madame. And odd, that it should be in pounds sterling,
not francs."
"I inherited most of it," she said, not quite truthfully, for in the last century she had been
able to increase her wealth far beyond what her father had amassed. "And I have lived in London
for more than ten years before I came here. Much of my money is in England." She made no