distracted by her arrival, her belongings, the snow, she looked up to see who called her name. When she discovered Harry standing there, so absolutely disheveled, his unruly blond hair brushing his shoulders, his incandescent-blue eyes shining with the pleasure of their meeting. When her heart had soared at the sight of his familiar, silly half smile. The all-too-brief moment when the years dropped away and they were young again and loved each other so much, the smallest smile a wordless poem.
The next time Althea visited Harry, she found him far more alert. Whatever they were pumping into his veins had begun to kick in. His blue eyes positively glittered as she kissed his cheek lightly.
“I see you’ve begun to eat,” she said, noting the food tray set aside.
“I guess. Just clear soup and Jell-O, though,” he grumbled, struggling to sit upright.
Althea wouldn’t allow it. “No way, Harry. You stay where you are, and I’ll sit here beside you. Let’s not have any unnecessary movement. Look, I’ve brought you tons of magazines and a crossword puzzle book.”
Harry’s lack of enthusiasm was pronounced.
“For when you’re feeling better,” she said quickly as she set them aside.
“You know…” He smiled, his eyes an impish twinkle. “When you’re close up, like this… That purple sweater looks great on you. And I like your gold braids, but what happened to your long, black curls? I liked them, too.”
“Perhaps the lovely lady likes to stay current with the latest styles.”
Startled by a deep voice, they turned to find a huge man standing in the doorway. Not particularly handsome, yet with a presence that was unmistakable, his dark skin fortold his African heritage. The wide smile that reached his twinkling brown eyes told of his good nature.
“Hello, Harry.”
Harry’s mouth curved into a sulk. “Leonel. It’s about time you showed. I was going to call your office, again.”
“I missed you, too, pal.” Smiling faintly, Leonel’s long stride made the trip to Harry’s bedside in five quick steps. “Here you go. A little something to cheer you up.”
Dropping a scrawny bunch of yellow carnations on Harry’s bed, Leonel turned the full force of his charming smile on Althea. “You look familiar,” he said, extending his hand. “I’m Leonel Murray, Harry’s editor at Torregan Publishing.”
“And erstwhile friend,” Harry muttered, but they both politely ignored him.
“Hi, I’m Althea Almott, an old friend of Harry’s. I was at the airport when he collapsed.”
“Ah, yes, the model,” Leonel said with a snap of his fingers, “and Good Samaritan. A lucky thing for Harry that you were there. A real pleasure, Miss Almott, a real pleasure. And Harry’s right, by the way, that shade of lavender becomes you.”
“Why, thank you, Mr. Murray.”
“Leonel. Please, call me Leonel. And as for you, my invalid friend… ‘Erstwhile,’ is it?” He laughed. “Is that in the dictionary? It sounds more like an island in the Caribbean.”
“Yeah, well, you think the world begins and ends in the Caribbean.”
His laugh warm and rich, Leonel explained Harry’s remark to Althea’s puzzled look. “I was born in Antigua. I miss it, that’s what Harry means.”
Althea’s brow smoothed. “Oh, I’ve been to Antigua, it’s absolutely lovely. I don’t blame you for being homesick. The people, the weather, the flowers, the beaches, the food.”
“I can see you’ve been there.”
“Many times.”
“Me, too. I go back whenever I can. As a matter of fact, my parents still live there. I’ve asked them many times to come here, but they’ll never move. The idea of snow appalls them. They—”
“Excuse me?” Harry piped up feebly. “I hate to interrupt, but is anybody here to visit Harry Bensen, the patient in Room 826?”
“Ah, yes,” Leonel said with a wink to Althea as he turned to Harry. “Harry, old man, how are you? I got your message, and here I am, ready to spread cheer. How are you feeling?”
“Lousy,” Harry said, clearly in a sulk.
“Well, that’s good, that’s good,” said Leonel with a smile. “Why else would you be here? And, yes, I got your message. You have some film for me. Hiding the cannisters under your pillow, laddie?”
“They’re in that locker in my duffel bag. My God, what took you so long? They could have been stolen, for all you care.”
“Now, who would want to steal a hundred canisters of film?” Leonel asked, the metallic locker door jangling his words. “It’s not like they have any value except to you and Torregan Publishing.”
“Leonel, did the possibility of their being damaged never occur to you? My cameras are in there, too, and six thousand dollars worth of lenses. They could have been stolen. Take that stuff home with you, will you, for safekeeping?”
“No problem.” Carefully, Leonel removed Harry’s heavy duffle bag from the hospital locker and began to search through its contents. The camera and satchel of film were easily found. “Tell you what, Harry,” Leonel said, as he placed the bags by the bed, “how about I treat you to the film development? As a get-well present.”
“Tell you what, Leonel, you’re supposed to pay for the development. It’s in my contract.”
Althea watched as the two men traded bantering quips, obviously enjoying themselves. Something told her it was not the first time, either.
“Tell you what,” Leonel said as he shouldered the heavy satchel filled with Harry’s camera equipment and film when a nurse came to tell them visiting hours were over. “You take your medicine like a good little boy, and I’ll have the proofs ready for you in a few days.”
“Is that a promise? Seriously? I’m anxious to see what I have.”
“Me, too. I have a Pulitzer in mind for you.”
Tired as he was, Althea could tell that Harry was pleased by Leonel’s announcement. “A Pulitzer prize?” she marveled. “Is Harry that good?”
“Harry’s that good.” Leonel promised, suddenly serious, “and it’s about time the rest of the world knew it. He did some terrific stuff on volcanic activity two years ago at Mauna Loa, and I’m hoping that this next series is every bit as good, if not better. As long as I get the dedication, he can have the prize.”
Chapter Two
Althea must have had a hundred errands to run, but, desperate for distraction, she decided to treat herself to a trip to Soho, to check out the designer boutiques. February Fashion Week was approaching, and the store displays would change as a result. A business call, she told herself, to see how up-to-date New York was, in terms of fashion.
She hadn’t been to New York in
