"Why, Mr. Brady. I believe that was a compliment."
Cole found himself smiling. "I meant every word of it."
"Thank you."
Cole relaxed slightly. He would have been willing to bet that Annabel hadn't forgotten about the argument they'd had that morning, but if she was willing to pretend that it hadn't happened, so was he. In fact, he was quite grateful. In the future, he told himself, he would have to be more careful of her feelings.
They changed cable cars, and the second one carried them up the side of the long ridge that marked the location of Pacific Heights. They got off at Vallejo Street, Cole helping Annabel down from the car as he had the day before. He didn't allow his hands to linger on her this time, however. He thought he saw a flicker of disappointment in her eyes, but told himself he must have imagined it.
"The place is right along here," he told her as he took her arm and led her along the sidewalk between two rows of beautiful mansions. The houses all rose two, three, or four stories and were built in a variety of architectural styles, but what they had in common was sheer opulence— and in their tiny yards. Space was at a premium here on the Heights.
After a couple of minutes, Cole paused in front of the wrought-iron fence that bordered one of the minuscule yards. The house on the other side of the fence was painted a sedate gray. It was three stories tall, and the upper floor was topped with gables and a widow's walk, giving it a New England look. Instead of facing the sea, however, the house faced San Francisco Bay. There was a wonderful view from up here of Russian, Nob, and Telegraph Hills, with the dock area and the blue-gray waters of the bay beyond. To the north, one could see all the way to the Presidio, and hazy in the distance loomed the headlands of Marin County.
A small sign on the fence read Rooms to Let. Cole opened the gate beside the sign and led Annabel up the short walk to the porch. A pearl button that activated an electric bell was beside the door. Cole leaned his thumb on it and heard the shrill ringing inside.
A moment later, the door swung open as a short, bald black man in butler's livery answered the summons. He looked out at Cole and Annabel and asked in a deep, cultured voice, "Yes? May I help you?"
"We came to inquire about renting a room," Cole said.
"For both of you?" The man's voice was like the purr of a large cat.
Cole shook his head. "No, just for Miss Lowell here."
The man's lip curled slightly. "This is not a seraglio, sir. You shall have to seek elsewhere for accommodations for the . . . young lady."
Cole felt Annabel stiffen beside him, and anger flooded through him. "Now see here—," he began.
At the same time, Annabel blustered, "Why do people keep on thinking I'm some sort of. . . of tramp!"
The man murmured, "If you'll excuse me," and the door started to swing shut.
Cole's palm thudded against the door, stopping it short. His foot thrust forward into the gap, assuring that it wouldn't close. "Listen to me," he said hotly. "Miss Lowell is a lady, and I'll not have anyone talking as if she's not!"
His voice was rising with fury, and he didn't care. Obviously, it could be heard deeper in the house, because a woman's voice suddenly shouted, "Lucius! Who is it?"
The servant turned his head and called, "No one, madam. Don't trouble yourself."
"Oh, it's no trouble." The woman's voice was closer now. "Step back and let me speak with our visitors."
Grudgingly, the man called Lucius moved back in the foyer. Cole pushed the door open and saw an elderly woman in a wheelchair rolling toward him. He took his hat off and said, "Mrs. Noone?"
"Yes, I'm Frances Noone," the woman said. "And who might you be, young man?"
"My name is Cole Brady."
The woman's eyes lit up. "Not Thomas Brady's little boy?"
"Well, I hope I've grown up a little," Cole said with a smile, "but Thomas Brady was my father, yes."
"Why, my dear, I haven't seen you since you were a child. Come in, come in."
Cole hadn't been aware that his father had known this woman. He had no memory of her himself. However, he wasn't going to overlook any sort of advantage. Trying not to cast a glance of triumph at the protective butler, he led Annabel into the house.
"Come into the parlor," Frances Noone said. "Lucius, bring us some tea."
"Yes, ma'am," the butler said.
Mrs. Noone wheeled herself into a parlor that was filled with fragile-looking furniture. Lace doilies covered every free surface. She turned her chair so that she was facing a divan and said to her guests, "Please sit down."
Cole and Annabel had no choice except to sit beside each other on the divan. Not that Cole minded. He rather enjoyed the feel of Annabel so close to him.