“Her hands were sweaty.On the second buzz, the door opened and an older woman, dressed in severe black, looked out at her.“Yes, miss?”“I’d like to see Mr. Chalmers.”“He’s working out in that gym of his,” said Mrs. O’Brien. “He never sees anybody when he’s working out.”“It’s very important,” said Catherine, her chin up, her tone patrician. “I don’t care to wait.” It worked. Mrs. O’Brien quickly stepped back.“Just tell me where he is and I’ll announce myself.”Mrs. O’Brien pointed down a long corri...dor off the living room.Catherine heard him grunting as he counted. She peered into the small gym, as well-fitted-out as her Uncle Michael’s. Rowe Chalmers was flat on his back, on a bench, lifting weights. He was wearing nothing but a pair of blue gym shorts, and Catherine realized that he was very well-built.“Mr. Chalmers,” she said in a clear voice once he had reached the count of fifty.Rowe sat up slowly, his eyes fixed on Catherine. He reached for a towel and wiped the perspiration from his face.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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