Fair Game (17 page)

“I hate to go back,” she admitted quietly.

“I can’t keep you out all night,” Martin said. “You have to be up very early.”

Ashley nodded silently and followed him when he turned toward the road. The return trip seemed to go much too quickly, and she found herself back in the suite’s sitting room in no time, looking up at him as he closed the door to the hall.

“Thank you, Tim,” she said, giving him her hand. “That was a much-needed break. I get so caught up in this rat race with my father, having to be the Senator’s daughter every minute of every day, that I forget what it feels like to relax.”

“Any time,” he said quietly, holding her fingers in his.

“Good night.”

“Good night,” he responded, releasing her.

She went into her bedroom and closed the door.

Martin sat on the sofa and looked at the floor. He felt like going to sleep about as much as he felt like joining a monastery. He was so keyed up he was fully capable of kicking in her door and...

He yanked his new pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one, resigned to waiting out the night.

On the other side of the connecting wall, Ashley undressed in the dark. She was fighting a compelling desire to go back out to him.

You had to do that, she told herself savagely. You had to invite him to go out, spend time alone with him, make it even harder on yourself in the long run.

She pulled a nightgown over her head and climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling.

She was still staring at it when she heard the dawn birds begin to sing.

Chapter 5

ASHLEY DIALED campaign headquarters in Harrisburg by rote, without even looking at the numbers. She called the place so often she felt as if she could do it in her sleep.

“Joseph Fair for President,” one of the staffers answered.

“Carol, is that you?” Ashley asked.

“Oh, hi, Miss Fair.”

“Hi, Carol. Listen, something has just come up, and we’re going to need another thousand campaign buttons by the end of the week.”

There was an audible groan from the other end of the line.

“I knew that would not be good news,” Ashley said sympathetically, “but it can’t be helped.”

“That ‘Occasion Outfitters’ who produce them is a real pain in the neck. I know the price was right, but they take forever to do anything. I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything.”

“I know they’re a problem; we won’t use them in the future. But for the moment we need them.”

“Okay, I’ll do my best,” Carol said resignedly.

“I’m sure you can handle it, Carol.” Ashley knew that Carol was a grumbler, but a hard worker who produced results. Ashley glanced down at her notes. “Carol, is Tom Clancy there by any chance?”

“He’s at the copy desk. Do you want me to get him?”

“Please.”

Ashley waited until Clancy picked up the phone.

“Ashley?” he said.

“Hi, Tom. I was talking to Roger this morning and told him I was going to call you.”

Tom waited. He was Damico’s press liaison and knew he was about to receive instructions.

“Tom, they’re still running that picture of my father from the Senatorial race. You know, the one taken the morning after the election when his tie was askew and he had five-o’clock shadow?”

“I know,” Clancy responded wearily, “I saw it in the
Evening Post
yesterday.”

“I thought we pulled that from all the press files.”

“We did, but somebody must still have a copy of it. You know we can’t prevent them from using it if they have it.”

Ashley knew only too well. “Isn’t there anything we can do?”

“I know Bob Hagerty at the
Post
,” Clancy said after a moment. “I could call him and ask him to do me a personal favor. He owes me one.”

“Good.”
 

“I don’t know if he’ll do it, Ash. They’re awfully touchy over there, especially about that First Amendment stuff.”

“It’s worth the attempt, at least. Ask him to destroy the negative, okay, Tom?”

“I will.”

“Thanks a lot. Good-bye.”

Ashley was hanging up the phone when Meg entered and announced, “Strategy meeting in five.”

Ashley glanced down at the long list of calls she had yet to make in consternation.

“Can’t you give that job to somebody else?” Meg asked, following her glance.

Ashley shook her head.

“I know,” Meg said. “Nobody gets the troops to perform like you do.”

Ashley let that pass without comment.

“Did you get to Clancy about that picture?” Meg asked.

Ashley nodded. ‘Tops on my agenda.”

“Your dad looks like he’s coming off a five-day drunk in it.”

“Clancy’s going to try to get rid of it.”

“That thing keeps popping up like the proverbial bad penny. I’d like to kill the photographer who took it.”

‘Todd Gaines of the
Sun
.”

“You know?”

Ashley tapped her temple with a forefinger. “He’s on my hit list.”

“Ah-ha. Okay.”

Ashley stood. “I guess this will have to wait until later,” she said, folding her telephone notes and putting the paper into her pocket.

They went into the hall and headed for the conference room.

* * * *

Meg was stepping into her shoes that Thursday night when Ashley knocked at her hotel room door.

“Come in,” she called.

Ashley entered and saw the navy silk tailored dress, the sapphire earrings, and said, “Big date?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see,” Meg replied.

“Is this the same guy who sent you the flowers?”

Meg nodded.

“He must be really taken with you.”

“So far, anyway.”

“Don’t be such a pessimist.” Ashley sat on Meg’s bed, crossing her legs at the ankle. “What does he do?”

“He leases commercial real estate. He’s working on getting his own agency.”

“Sounds prosperous. How did you meet him?”

Meg grinned at her. “Have you been taking lessons from my mother on the sly?”

“Sorry,” Ashley said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to grill you. But you don’t usually show this much interest in your social life, and I’m curious about him.”

“I met him when he fixed the flat on my car.”

“Ah-ha. The chivalrous type. I’m a sucker for them myself.”

“It’s too soon to mail the wedding invitations, Ash.”

“Spoilsport. When do I get to meet him?”

“All in good time. I want to make sure I’m sold on him first, all right?”
 

“You’re sold on him. I haven’t seen that dress since the famous Carter Hastings affair. And that was a long time ago.”

Meg groaned. “Did you have to bring him up?”

“You were besotted with him at the time.”

“Please don’t remind me of my past stupidity.”

“Nobody could have guessed he was using you to get to my father. He was much cleverer than most of them. We were all fooled.”

“I hope he went back to Arizona and drowned in that kidney-shaped swimming pool he was so proud of. What a jerk.”

“I gather this new guy... What’s his name?”

“Peter Ransom.”

“Peter is different?”

“Different from Carter, yes. For example, he listened to my gorilla-suit story with a fairly straight face and did not suggest my commitment at die end of it.”

“Margaret Drummond, you didn’t tell him about that on your first date!” Ashley said, aghast.

“Why not? I figure if they can’t pass the acid test they’re not worth it. Throw ‘em into the shark tank right away and see if they can swim to safety.”

Ashley narrowed her eyes.

“All right,” Meg admitted, seeing her expression, “I didn’t exactly mean to tell him. The story sort of slipped out because I was nervous, but he handled it very well.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s attractive. Not a showstopper, but certainly worth a second glance. And there’s something about him...”

“What?”

“I don’t know, a seriousness or something. You feel it when you’re with him.”

“Oh, boy.”

“Don’t get carried away,” Meg said airily. “I’m going to take my time and be sensible.”

Ashley coughed delicately.

“Ye of little faith,” Meg muttered under her breath. She squinted at the clock. “What time is it?”

“You’d better clean your contacts, Meg. You can’t see much if you can’t see that clock at six feet away. It’s five minutes to eight.”

“Uh-oh. I’ve got to hurry.” She picked up her bag and began tossing in keys and other odd items.

Ashley sighed. “And I’ve lots of work to do. I guess I’ll see you in the morning.” She ambled out of the room, and Meg cast a parting glance at herself in the mirror, pausing to moisten her contacts with lens cleaner and then drop the bottle into her purse.

She was as ready as she’d ever be, and as she walked into the hall she stopped to lock her door behind her.

The two cops were lounging outside the Senator’s suite, smoking and talking. They nodded to her as she passed. Fair was in a meeting with his advisers, and she was glad to have been excused.

Ransom was waiting for her in the lobby. This time he was wearing a slate-gray suit with a gray-and-black striped tie. He smiled when he saw her and walked over to her, taking both of her hands in his.

“It’s so good to see you,” he said warmly.

“Hi, Peter,” Meg greeted him.

“My car is waiting outside with the valet,” he told her, leading her toward the front door.

The car was the same 300D he’d had when she met him. They drove to the restaurant, a French provincial chateau only a few miles away, and were shown to a table immediately. A screen of standing plants separated them from the rest of the patrons and created a tiny alcove where they could dine in complete privacy.

“This is wonderful,” Meg said to him as they sat facing one another across a square glass table covered with a snowy linen cloth. The waiter lit the fat beeswax candle, which was surrounded by a ring of miniature carnations and set inside a crystal hurricane lamp. The flame burst into life, illuminating their faces with a flickering glow.

“Would you like a drink?” Ransom asked her.

“If you’re having something,” Meg replied.

Ransom consulted the wine list and ordered an expensive Taittinger brut champagne. The sommelier brought the bottle, wrapped in a cloth and set in a bucket of ice. Ransom tasted it when half a glass was poured out for his consideration.

“That’s fine,” he said, and the server filled his glass, then Meg’s, and replaced the bottle in its icy bed.

“Some people like this at room temperature, but I prefer it cold,” he said to Meg.

“It’s very nice,” she said appreciatively, sipping slowly from her glass.

“I’ve been looking forward to this very much,” Ransom said.

Meg smiled and said nothing.

“So tell me what’s new with the campaign,” he prodded her, sitting back and observing her.

“Things are quiet at the moment, but that won’t last,” she replied sagely.

“How do you know?”

“After a while, you learn to recognize the lull before the storm. There will be a crisis soon. I can feel it.”

“How are you getting along with your police escort?”

“Oh, they’re all right. They’re trying to keep a low profile, but it’s difficult, because they’re both pretty big.” She grinned.

“I didn’t see them at the hotel.”

“They were upstairs with the Senator. They stick pretty close to him all the time.”

“So do you, no?”

“Not physically, but I have to keep track of what he’s doing.”

“What do you use, notebooks, tape recorders, videos?”

“Computer. I’m hooked into a main frame at the office, and I have a desktop model for travel.”

“A very modern approach. My secretary uses an IBM, but I understand they’re quite complicated. Is that right?”

She nodded, taking another sip of her wine.

“What kind do you take with you when you move around?”

“An Apple. It’s the easiest to use.”

“That’s convenient.”

She nodded. “I keep it in my room.”

Ransom exhaled silently, guarding his expression. “I think we’d better look these over,” he said, indicating their elaborate, tasselled menus, still closed on the table.

“That waiter over there keeps looking at me expectantly.”

Meg opened hers and examined the two sheets of foolscap fastened to the cover with a cotter pin. The dishes offered were handwritten and obviously changed every day.