Her Man Friday(5)
Author: Elizabeth Bevarly

She continued to lead him on their journey, passing the receiving room, the sitting room, the living room, and the atrium, then turned left into the east wing. For some reason, there seemed to be a strange tension emanating from Mr. Freiberger, a tension whose origin Lily couldn’t quite pinpoint. So, as always, she fell back on meaningless chitchat to defuse the taut mood.

"I know you drove here from Philadelphia, Mr. Freiberger and work for Kimball Technologies. Are you originally from the area?"

"Not Philadelphia, no," he told her. "Although I’ve worked and lived in the city for about five years now, I grew up in Maryland, in a small town on Chesapeake Bay called Harborside." She could tell by his tone of voice that he carried a lot of fond memories of his upbringing. And she noted that when he smiled the way he was smiling now, he was almost… She sighed involuntarily. Well, he was almost, sort of, kind of… handsome.

She began to walk again, but this time strode side by side with Mr. Freiberger, instead of two paces ahead of him. And this time she slowed their pace to one that was much more leisurely.

"It sounds like a wonderful little town," she told him.

"Yes, well, ‘little’ would be the operative word," he agreed, still grinning, still speaking warmly, still almost handsome. "There’s not much there but oystermen. But you’re right—it is wonderful."

They entered the living quarters of Ashling, but since they were still in mid-conversation—and since Mr. Freiberger was still looking so almost handsome—Lily slowed their pace even more as they approached Schuyler’s office.

"You’re from a fishing—or, rather, oystering—family then?" she asked, assuming the obvious.

Mr. Freiberger nodded, lifting a hand to straighten his glasses as he replied, "Yes, my father and brother both are oystermen."

"Why didn’t you go into the business, too?"

He shrugged as he said, "There’s not a lot of that kind of work left these days. Besides, I showed a proficiency for other things. I wasn’t really suited to the family business."

She was about to ask him what kind of other things he claimed proficiency in—and would he, if she asked nicely, show her what they were—but by that time, they had cleared the family room, the library, and the conservatory, and they stood by the door of Schuyler’s private office. As Lily opened it and turned to gesture Mr. Freiberger in ahead of her, she marveled again at the incongruencies in the man.

The son of an oysterman. Yet he claimed not to be suitable for that type of work. Strange, because he was clearly in prime physical shape, certainly more than up to the back-breaking labor such a job would require. And something about him bespoke the great outdoors. His complexion was touched with a golden tan, lines fanned out from the corners of his eyes, and his lips were framed by deep slashes that might be genetic, but more probably resulted from exposure to the elements. Certainly it was evident that he spent more than a little time outdoors. Nothing about him suggested the bookishness he projected.

Still, who was Lily to judge appearances? Hadn’t she herself been erroneously pegged on more occasions than she cared to admit?

"Any files Mr. Kimball keeps for professional reasons are all in here," she said, once more shaking off her odd preoccupation with Leonard Freiberger.

She entered Schuyler’s office behind the bookkeeper and strode immediately toward the massive mahogany desk that sat before an even more massive Palladian window. Of course, Schuyler’s personal files were all in here, as well, but there was little chance Mr. Freiberger would be accessing those. Not just because they had little to do with the business, but because they were all protected by passwords and elaborate booby traps that baffled even Schuyler himself from time to time.

"Most of them are on diskette," she added, pulling open a drawer and extracting a stack. "Some are on the computer’s hard drive, and a few are filed the old-fashioned way—in filing cabinets." She smiled. "For all his technological savvy, Schuyler still hasn’t made his environment completely paper-free. He’s not very good with computers, I’m afraid."

Leo nodded as he enjoyed another leisurely study of Schuyler Kimball’s "social secretary," noting her slip at using her employer’s first name. And, for the first time in his life, he found himself wishing that he was an extremely rich man. Then maybe he could afford a woman like the delectable Lily Rigby.

Her pale green eyes and now-you-see-it-now-you-don’t smile hinted at an easily amused nature, her flawless ivory complexion and artfully applied cosmetics suggested good breeding. Her black hair, doubtless long and straight when freed, was wound up the back of her head the way Kim Novak used to wear her hair in all those Hitchcock films from the fifties and sixties—the kind of hairstyle that always had a man’s fingers itching to loosen it.

As she leaned forward to boot up the computer on the big desk that was obviously Kimball’s central nervous system here at home, Leo took in the rest of her. Her chocolate-brown business suit was professional enough to pass muster at most companies, he supposed, but he hadn’t encountered too many professional women—hell, too many women, period—who filled out a corporate uniform quite the way Lily Rigby did. Her straight skirt was just a little too tight and a little too short, and her waist-length jacket swung open over a top that was a little too snug and scooped a little too low. A thin, gold chain encircling her neck hosted a bright diamond, one that was a little too big for someone on a social secretary’s salary.

Social secretary, Leo repeated dubiously to himself. Yeah, right. Mistress was more like it. He’d learned enough about Schuyler Kimball, playboy billionaire, to know the man would never have a woman like this in his employ without sampling her personal wares on a regular basis. Oh, sure, the job title was a nice, convenient cover, and giving her a regular paycheck for such a role might make the arrangement more socially acceptable. But there was no way Leo would ever believe that the job description for Miss Rigby’s position was anything other than sexual.

"I appreciate Mr. Kimball’s accommodating me this way on such short notice," he said aloud, reluctantly slipping back into Leonard mode.

She waved a hand as she typed a few instructions into the computer. "Oh, Schuyler doesn’t even know you’re here. He’s been in Bermuda since Thursday and isn’t expected back until next week. And even if he were here, he never troubles himself with this kind of thing. It would fall to me anyway."

Which went a long way toward explaining how someone was robbing him blind, Leo thought. Aloud, he only said, "How much time does he spend here at the estate?"