So much wealth and power rested in this area that an energy seemed to wash up from the brick sidewalks and hurtle Donovan along at a furious clip. Money and power had never been overriding ambitions of his. Despite that, his occupation often placed him in close proximity to those who held the attainment of one or both of these prizes above all else. It was a wonderful position from which to play the altruistic cynic and Donovan often played that role to the fullest for the simple reason that he genuinely believed in what he did for a living. The irony of this was not lost on him. For without the rich and powerful and their evil ways, at whom would he throw his sharp-edged stones?
Donovan finally stopped at one formidable residence: a one-hundred-year-old three-story brick townhouse sitting behind a waist-high brick wall topped by black steel wrought-iron fencing of a style found throughout the area. He inserted a key into the gate’s lock and went up the sidewalk. Another key allowed him entry through the massive wooden front door and he shook off his coat.
The housekeeper appeared immediately and took the wet coat from him. She wore a traditional maid’s uniform and spoke with a practiced degree of deference.
“I’ll tell the missus you’re here, Mr. Donovan.”
He nodded quickly and moved past her into the drawing room where he took a moment to warm himself before the blazing fire and then looked around with contentment. His upbringing had been decidedly blue collar but he did not attempt to hide his pleasure at occasionally dabbling in luxury. It was an incongruity in his nature that had bothered him greatly in his youth, but much less so now. Some things did become better as one aged, he mused, including layers of personal guilt that one ended up shedding like peeling an onion.
By the time he had mixed himself a drink from the stock housed behind a cabinet in one corner of the drawing room, the woman had appeared.
She moved quickly to him and gave him a deep kiss. He took her hand and caressed it lightly.
“I missed you,” she said.
He led her over to the large sofa against one wall. Their knees touched as they sat close together.
Alicia Crane was petite, in her mid-thirties, with long hair that was looking more ash than blond with each passing day. Her dress was costly and the jewelry clinging to her wrists and ears easily matched the richness of the garment; however, the image was one of quiet wealth and sophistication. Her features were delicate, the nose so small as to be barely noticeable between the deep luster of the dark brown eyes. While she was not a traditional beauty, her obvious wealth and refinement had inspired a certain look that was pleasant enough. On her best days she would be described as very well put together.
Her cheek trembled slightly as he stroked it.
“I missed you too, Alicia. A lot.”
“I don’t like it when you have to be away.” Her voice was cultured and dignified, its cadence slow and exact. It was a voice seemingly too formal for a relatively young woman.
“Well, it’s part of the job.” He smiled at her. “But you’re making that job a lot more difficult to do.” He was attracted to Alicia Crane. While not the brightest star in the universe, she was a good person, without the pretenses and airs that her level of wealth usually stamped on its possessors.
With a start, she stared. “Why in the world did you shave off your beard?”
Donovan rubbed his hand across the smooth skin. “Change of pace,” he said quickly. “You know men go through their own form of menopause. I think it took about ten years off the mug. What do you think?”
“I think you’re just as handsome without it as you were with it. In fact, you remind me a little of Father. When he was a younger man, of course.”
“Thanks for lying to an old man.” He smiled. “But being compared to him, well that’s high praise.”
“I can have Maggie put on some supper. You must be starved.” She gripped his hand with both of hers.