Master of the Game by Sidney Sheldon

If Lucy is planning to seduce me, Tony thought, she is wasting her time. The hurt done to Tony by his mother and Dominique had implanted in him such a deep distrust of females that his only association with them now was with high-priced call girls. Of all the female species, they were the most honest. All they wanted was money and told you how much up front. You paid for what you got, and you got what you paid for. No complications, no tears, no deceit.

Lucy Wyatt was in for a surprise.

 

 

Early Sunday morning, Tony went down to the pool for a swim. Marianne Hoffman was already in the water, wearing a white maillot. She had a lovely figure, tall and slender and graceful. Tony stood there watching her cutting cleanly through the water, her arms flashing up and down in a regular, graceful rhythm. She saw Tony and swam over to him.

“Good morning.”

“Morning. You’re good,” Tony said.

Marianne smiled. “I love sports. I get that from my father.” She pulled herself up to the edge of the pool, and Tony handed her a towel. He watched as she unselfconsciously dried her hair.

“Have you had breakfast?” Tony asked.

“No. I wasn’t sure the cook would be up this early.”

“This is a hotel. There’s twenty-four-hour service.”

She smiled up at him. “Nice.”

“Where is your home?”

“Mostly in Munich. We live in an old schloss—a castle—outside the city.”

“Where were you brought up?”

Marianne sighed. “That’s a long story. During the war, I was sent away to school in Switzerland. After that, I went to Oxford, studied at the Sorbonne and lived in London for a few years.” She looked directly into his eyes. “That’s where I’ve been. Where have you been?”

“Oh, New York, Maine, Switzerland, South Africa, a few years in the South Pacific during the war, Paris…” He broke off abruptly, as though he were saying too much.

“Forgive me if I seem to pry, but I can’t imagine why you stopped painting.”

“It’s not important,” Tony said curtly. “Let’s have breakfast.”

 

 

They ate alone on the terrace overlooking the sparkling sweep of the bay. She was easy to talk to. There was a dignity about her, a gentleness that Tony found appealing. She did not flirt, she did not chatter. She seemed genuinely interested in him. Tony found himself attracted to this quiet, sensitive woman. He could not help wondering how much of that attraction was due to the thought that it would spite his mother.

“When do you go back to Germany?”

“Next week,” Marianne replied. “I’m getting married.”

Her words caught him off guard. “Oh,” Tony said lamely. “That’s great. Who is he?”

“He’s a doctor. I’ve known him all my life.” Why had she added that? Did it have some significance?

On an impulse, Tony asked, “Will you have dinner with me in New York?”

She studied him, weighing her answer. “I would enjoy that.”

Tony smiled, pleased. “It’s a date.”

 

 

They had dinner at a little seashore restaurant on Long Island. Tony wanted Marianne to himself, away from the eyes of his mother. It was an innocent evening, but Tony knew that if his mother learned about it, she would find some way to poison it. This was a private thing between him and Marianne, and for the brief time it existed, Tony wanted nothing to spoil it. Tony enjoyed Marianne’s company even more than he had anticipated. She had a quick, sly sense of humor, and Tony found himself laughing more than he had laughed since he left Paris. She made him feel lighthearted and carefree.

When do you go back to Germany?

Next week…I’m getting married.

 

 

During the next five days, Tony saw a great deal of Marianne. He canceled his trip to Canada, and he was not certain why. He had thought it might be a form of rebellion against his mother’s plan, a petty vengeance, but if that had been true in the beginning, it was no longer true. He found himself drawn to Marianne more and more strongly. He loved her honesty. It was a quality he had despaired of ever finding.