The Prince of Spies (Hope and Glory #3) - Elizabeth Camden Page 0,18
interviewing volunteers for their “hygienic table trials” tomorrow. What an awful name for such a daring experiment. Nevertheless, he needed to prove himself fit and healthy enough to qualify for the trials. According to the Surgeon General, a man of Luke’s height should weigh between 161 and 183 pounds to be considered healthy. He currently weighed 153. He finished the milk, then started on the second slice of the apple strudel. He was going to qualify for that experiment if it killed him.
He bit back a smile, because it truly might kill him, but he never shied away from a challenge. Besides, it shouldn’t be too hideous. According to the advertisement, only half the men would be subjected to the chemically tainted meals while the other half would be in the control group eating wholesome food.
Luke secretly hoped he’d be in the group with the tainted meals. He wanted to tough it out. It would be a privilege to volunteer his own body in a quest to prove the danger of chemical preservatives.
A knock sounded on the door. “Come in!” he said through a mouthful of strudel. The man from the telephone company must be early to set up the service, but all to the good.
It wasn’t the man from the telephone company. It was Clyde Magruder, looking like a black cloud.
Luke masked his surprise, wiped his mouth, and stood. “Hello, Clyde,” he said casually.
It had been almost two years since they’d seen each other. Aside from a few more strands of silver in Clyde’s sandy hair, there had been little change. He still looked big, imposing, and had the mean-eyed charm of a python.
Clyde’s nose wrinkled in distaste as he surveyed the office. “Such a shame that your two-bit magazine can’t afford decent office space.”
A flash of blue sparkled on Clyde’s hand. Clyde excelled in all the pretentions of the newly rich, so a pinky ring shouldn’t be a surprise, but Luke couldn’t resist a little mockery.
“Nice ring,” he said. “Very classy. Then again, I’ve always said you can spot a Magruder a mile away by their vulgar jewelry and the gilt paint they slap on everything.”
“Would you care to make more insults about my family?” Clyde said. “I’m not due in Congress for another hour, so please. Let it all out, Luke. Perhaps it would do you good to get rid of some of that bile.”
“And as a Magruder, you know all about bile.” Luke opened his top desk drawer and tossed a can of Magruder’s potted ham at Clyde. “My brother had a chemist dissect this. It’s eighty percent ham and ten percent beef tallow. We couldn’t figure out what the rest of it was. Mind helping us out?”
Clyde tossed the can back to him. “It’s a moneymaker that bought me a summer house in Maine. Do you mind telling me about this?”
Clyde set a slip of paper on his desk. It was the card that accompanied the roses Luke had sent to Marianne. He hadn’t known who she was when he sent them, or he wouldn’t have done it. He hoped it hadn’t landed her in trouble.
He used a single finger to slide the card back toward Clyde. “It’s nothing.”
“Any time you tamper with my daughter, it’s something,” Clyde said, his voice lethally calm. “I saw the photograph of you with my grandson’s dog. I’m giving you only one warning. Stay away from my family. If you want to lob your nasty assaults at me, have at it, but if you ever touch my daughter, there won’t be enough of you left to mop off the ground.”
He grabbed the can of potted ham and threw it at the window, shattering the glass as the can arced outside. Clyde left the office without another word, slamming the door so hard that the glass in the door’s window broke too.
Luke’s hands clenched. He really hoped Marianne hadn’t caught grief for those roses. He hadn’t known who she was! He wouldn’t have gone within ten yards of her if he’d known she was Clyde’s daughter.
He fought to rein in his breathing as he strolled to the window, the glass shards crunching beneath his boots. The can of ham had fallen harmlessly to the street below, which was a blessing, since they were on the fourth floor and there could have been people beneath the window. Clyde’s act was a typical low-class Magruder tantrum.
Cold wind blew into the office. Luke would have to hire a glazier to repair both the