“At long last?”
“I called Mrs. Paley. She said you’d left. Then I called Lenox Hill. You’d left. Then it came to me, dimwit that I am, that you might have a telephone number under your own name. You did. I called there. Your sister answered. She has a nice voice. Almost as nice as yours. She gave me this number. End of chapter. Start of new chapter. May I see you?”
“That’s quite a long story,” Dinah said.
“It was all rather difficult. But worth it. That is, if you’ll have dinner with me this evening.”
“I can’t. I’m on a case.”
“Even nurses have time off, surely.”
“Yes, that’s quite true.”
“Then if not tonight, when?” he asked.
“I’m off on Saturday.”
“All day Saturday?”
“All day.”
“May I pick you up about nine? A.M., that is.”
“Could we make it at ten? I don’t have many chances for sleeping late.”
“Very well, ten.”
“It’s Nine-twenty Park. The name is Wallace. Twelfth floor.”
“Wallace. Twelfth floor. Ten o’clock.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll be looking forward to it, Dinah.”
“Thank you. So will I.”
“I want to say good-bye,” Wendy said, tugging at her sleeve.
“Someone wants to say good-bye,” Dinah said, and handed Wendy the phone.
“Good-bye, and don’t forget my birthday,” Wendy said. “It’s the month after this. What month comes after this?”
There was the drone over the wires. “August,” the child said. “That’s right, it’s in August. Good-bye. It was lovely to talk to you. Dinah says good-bye too.”
The phone was abruptly hung up. “I told him you said good-bye too,” Wendy announced. “Who was that, anyway?”
“A friend of mine,” Dinah said, and remembered Dick’s long story. He had called Mrs. Paley and then he had called the hospital. Then he had called home. And finally called her. It was like getting flowers on the first of May, or an unanticipated Valentine. I’m of a romantic nature, she admitted to herself, and was conscious of a deep and satisfying pleasure running through her. I hope I don’t get hurt, she thought fleetingly, but at the moment didn’t care. She was already planning what to wear on Saturday.
Dick made an instant hit with the Wallace children. He brought them presents. “For your birthday,” he said to Wendy.
“You did remember!”
“You didn’t think I’d forget?”
“It isn’t really yet,” she said, a thread of conscience pricking her. “It’s next month. What month comes after this?”
“August. Write this off as an advance birthday present. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“What do you say, Wendy?” Dinah prompted.
“Thank you. I was going to say it, Dinah. Thank you, thank you, Mr. Claiborne.”
“Call me Dick,” he invited. “No need to be formal, is there?” He handed Joanie a gaily-wrapped package too. “Just in case your birthday’s on the way too,” he said, and eyed Dinah. “I suppose now you’ll tell me your birthday impends. Oh, all right, I’ll buy you an ice cream soda.”
He had picked out exactly the right things, Steiff toys, a stuffed owl and leopard. The girls were ecstatic. Mrs. Wallace asked Dinah to bring in that nice boy so she could thank him for his largesse. “You shouldn’t have,” she said. “But it was darling of you, simply darling. Where are you two going?”
“Lots of places,” Dick said. “Wherever our fancy takes us. It’s a terrific day, all green and gold and not too hot. There’s a slight breeze.”
“Imagine walking around outdoors,” Mrs. Wallace said. “When I lick this beastly thing and get my cast off, I’ll walk until I’m blue in the face.”
“It won’t be too long,” Dinah reassured her.
“Tomorrow would be too far away.”
Downstairs in the lobby they ran into Mr. Wallace, back from some errand or other. “Delighted to meet you,” he said to Dick when they were introduced. “Dinah, you look like a strawberry. Good enough to eat.”
She had on a hot pink linen dress that was just about the color of fresh strawberries at that. They said good-bye to Mr. Wallace and when they were out on the street Richard said that Mr. Wallace was right; she did look like a strawberry, and made him remember something he thought he’d forgotten. “My aunt has a collection of porcelain replicas of fruit … oh, a lemon, an apple, so on and so forth. And a strawberry,” he explained. “They’re very tiny and very delicate. Meissen, I suppose, or Dresden. As a shaver I was permitted to play with them. Imagine my remembering that after all these years. But enough of things past. You look stupendous. Your hair’s like wheat in a country field.”
“Redundant,” she said. “There aren’t any fields in cities. Or wheat either, for that matter. But thanks for the graceful compliment.”
“There will be others,” he assured her.
It was a really resplendent day; as Dick had said, all green and gold, with a fresh, sweet-smelling breeze shivering the leaves in the trees that lined the streets of the upper East Side. On a day like this it was difficult to believe that the air was poisoned with monoxides. Dinah looked for Dick’s car at the curb, but it wasn’t there. “I really meant walk,” he told her. “You don’t mind, do you?”
“No, I’d rather,” she said. “I don’t get half the exercise I should. Where are we going?”
“Let’s just let our feet take us somewhere,” he suggested. “Let’s just set out and see what happens.”
“I’m game.”
“Good girl,” he said, and took her arm at a crossing.
They circled the reservoir at Central Park. The water was as blue as lapis lazuli, shimmering in the sun. Wandering, they found themselves near the zoo. They strolled, communing with the animals. Dinah fell in love with a llama, Dick with a bobcat. They watched the seals flapping their flippers and barking hoarsely. “How do you feel about renting bikes?” Dick asked after a while. “Or would it be a hazard in that pretty dress?”
“I’d love it! I’m a whizz on a bicycle. With or without a dress. Wonderful idea, Dick.”
They rode the closed-off paths for an hour. “You’re an outdoor girl,” Dick praised, when they turned in their bikes. “I like that. Ah, there’s a stand. How about a hot dog?”
They had hot dogs. Walking farther, they heard the sprightly music in the distance. “The merry-go-round,” Dick exclaimed. “We have to do that. Come on, Dinah.”
They rode the carousel three times running. Laughing, they decided to call it quits. “I like Central Park,” Dick said as they forged on. “Just the same, it can’t hold a candle to the Jardin d’Acclimatation.”
“Where’s that, Dick?”
“In Paris. Have you been to Paris?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, you see, there’s this stupendous park for kids. With a tiny train you can ride in. And a really great merry-go-round. And a boat ride on the Rivière Enchantée.”
“It sounds very nice.”
“It is.” He looked down at her. “We should have taken one more go op the merry-go-round. I suppose I go for them most of all.”
“Me too. It’s mostly the music.”
“But you’re so right,” he agreed. “There’s no more exciting music in the world. It’s the music of eternal enchantment.” He spread his arms. “What a super, superlative knockout of a day!”
“Yes, it’s heaven.”
“What would you like to do next?”
“I’m open to suggestion.”
“Then,” he said, “how about walking down to the Village?”
“All the way down there?”
“Chicken?”
“Not at all. Let’s go.”
They stopped off at Murray Hill, for an aperitif in the oak-paneled cocktail room of a staid old hotel, then continued on down to Washington
Square, turning west. “It’s three o’clock,” Dick said. “You must be famished.”
“As a matter of fact I am.”
“We’ll remedy that.”
Their late lunch was at a place called Minetta’s, where they had canelloni, red wine and a tossed salad with Roquefort dressing. Dinah did a bit of face-repairing in the ladies’ lounge, and when she came out Dick said there was a good art film not far away. Since she hadn’t seen the picture, they made their way over to the theater, arriving just a few minutes before the next showing.
When they got out it was purply dusk, with night only moments away. “I’m hungry again,” Dick said. “Movies always give me an appetite. Let’s go to Bank Street. The food’s not much to brag about, but it’s substantial, and there’s a very nice garden.”
I never went to places like this with Mike, Dinah thought, as they took their places at a table in a tree-flamed garden dining area where candles flickered on the red-checked tablecloths. She was brimming with contentment, happier than she ever remembered being, so much at peace that she would almost have settled for this perfect day being the last one of her life. It’s like a fantasy, she thought.
They wound up at a coffee shop on MacDougal Street, for espresso. It was a wonderfully atmospheric place where a hi-fi piped Schubert’s Death and the Maiden into the Italianate, ornate room, and where they got into conversation with a couple sitting at a neighboring table.
Celia, the young wife, was dark and piquant, not so much pretty as poetic-looking. Bob, her husband, was tall, reed-thin and wry. “We had a fight before coming here,” he confided. “Celia’s mother made me mad as a wet hen. I told her we were going to have a good steak dinner somewhere. She said, in that maddening way she has, that you didn’t have a steak dinner, which is — according to Celia’s mother — a vulgarism. You have a good steak. You never have a good steak dinner. Or a good chicken dinner. You get the distinction, I hope?”
“Oh, shut up,” Celia said, good-naturedly.
“A snob is a snob is a snob,” Bob said. “Deliver me from prosperous matrons who live at the Ritz Towers.”
“Why don’t you drop it?” Celia said, still amenable. “Let’s enjoy. I’d like some pastry.”
“Can we join tables?” her husband asked, and they joined tables.
“This is Dinah Mason and I’m Dick Claiborne.”
“Bob Harrison. My wife Celia.”
It was one of those evenings of which the stuff of dreams were made. Nothing was consequential; the conversation was hit or miss and who were Bob and Celia anyway? Yet Dinah wanted to spread her arms around them, include them in her euphoria. It was all young and adventurous and incalculable. Nothing was planned, sensible or had a future. There was only the background music and the gingerbready Neapolitan coffee shop where bearded students clustered with their girls, talking about Céline and Genêt, about Timothy Leary and Jane and Paul Bowles, and the hot, steaming aroma of the bitter coffee.
“I’ve had a lovely day,” Dinah murmured, when they stood outside the Wallaces’ Park Avenue building. “It was fun all the way through.”
“Me too.” He came closer to her, and she was aware of the male smell of him, of his light-weight tweed jacket, his shaving lotion and his own, faint, personal smell. She hadn’t given more than a fleeting thought to Mike Corby all day, but she did now, and a kind of sadness swept through her when she considered that she had dated Mike for more than a year and not once had she felt this sense of involvement with him.
Poor Mike. Or perhaps, poor her. Because — and she might just as well admit it — she was already half in love with Dick Claiborne. Where that might lead her, she had no idea.
She deftly fielded his forward surge, and his kiss landed on her forehead. “Thanks, it’s been lovely,” she said, gave him her hand in a quick brush and walked into the lobby. “Yes, a very nice time,” she told Mrs. Wallace, who was still awake when she looked in on her. “How about a back rub?”
“Not tonight. Get some sleep. I’m glad you had fun, Dinah. The girls were very good tonight. I think you’re instilling some discipline into them.” She rolled over, settling her afflicted limb om a relatively comfortable position. “I’ve just taken a Tuinal. I’ll sleep, I think. See you in the morning.”
“Good night.”
“Um, Dinah?”
“Yes, Mrs. Wallace?”
“You’re a sweet girl. I hope you’ll be happy.”
It was sentimentality, born of the gratuitous effects of a sleeping pill, but it was nice to hear. She went off to bed in a glow. Next Thursday she would see Dick again. He had asked her on the way home, in the taxi. “What night do you have off?”
She fell asleep remembering the music of the carousel. The music of eternal enchantment, Dick had called it. I never thought anything like this would happen, she thought. How wonderful that it did.
Just the same … poor Mike …
Poor Mike called early the next morning. “What are your days off?” he asked. “And your evenings.”
“Well, it’s a little harried here,” she fenced nervously. “I’m sure it will be easier next week, though, Mike.”
“What do you mean? Surely you’re not working seven days a week?”
“It’s just this first week … the first week or two. Mrs. Wallace is totally helpless. Just as soon as things get better organized, Mike.”
“Now wait,” he said. “You’re not working around the clock, are you?”
“This is truly a trying case,” she insisted, feeling lower than a garden slug. “I just can’t foresee when I’ll be able to get away. It will have to be improvised for a while. Of course I’ll let you know.”
There was a momentary silence. Then, “Don’t you have any idea of what arrangements they’re going to make for you?” he asked.
“Not yet. The poor woman is … Mike, she’s in an enormous cast, and in considerable pain and discomfort. And there are the children, two of them. Just little kids, needing constant attention. And poor Mr. Wallace.”
“Let Mrs. Wallace worry about Mr. Wallace,” he said. “Listen, I’ll be waiting for a call, Dinah. You figure something out. I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit still for these people exploiting your good nature. You just — ”
“Don’t worry, it will work out in time,” she said. “I have to dash now. I hear her bell; she’s ringing for me.”
“Let her stew for a while.”
“Unfeeling beast. Honestly, I must go.”
“Call me then. I’ll be waiting.”
“Will do. Be good.”
“That goes double,” he said, and Dinah hung up.
She called Jean right away. “Will you do a favor for me?” she asked. “I’m in a quandary about Mike.”
“Who’s Richard Claiborne?” Jean asked, without even inquiring about the state of Dinah’s health.
“A friend.”
“Fine, but who is he? Where did you meet him? And when?”
“Recently.” A white lie … “I met him through Mrs. Paley.”
“Oh?”
“Don’t say ‘oh’ like that, in that particularly irritating way. What’s the idea of the third degree?”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Forget it. I called up to tell you that I just talked to Mike and had a rather difficult time getting out of seeing him this week. Simpleton that I am, I thought I could confide in you and ask you to — ”
“Confide what? That you’re two-timing him?”
Anger and guilt and the injustice of being cast in the role of the betrothed woman, which she very definitely was not, poured through Dinah in a stifling wave of resentment. “I met a man I might be able to like very much,” she flared. “And I intend to give it a chance. I’m quite aware it might come to nothing, but leave it to me, please, to decide how to manage my life. It’s my life. Don’t cooperate, then, I’m sorry I called. I — ”
“What role have you cast me in, if I might ask?” Jean’s
voice rose as well. Dinah had a fleeting picture of them as children, when sibling rivalry had been very much a part of their relationship. “I’ll tell Mother …”
“The aider and abetter?” Jean demanded. “I’m supposed to lie through my teeth if Mike calls me, is that it? You want me to — ”
“Oh, go scrub the sink,” Dinah said, and slammed down the receiver.
The phone rang again almost instantly.
“Dinah?”
It was Jean, of course.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry. Forgive me. I had no right to — ”
“No, you had no right to. But I understand. It’s all right.”
“I just happen to like Mike, that’s all. So does Doug. We feel he’s so right for you, Di. And you’ve made this investment of over a year. That’s nothing to take lightly.”
“Yes, I know.”
There was a humming silence. Then Jean’s voice came again. “But you’re still not sure, are you?”
“Not a bit sure.”
“What can I say?” Jean sounded tired. “You’re right about its being your life, of course. I can’t twist your arm. It’s up to you.”
“Yes, I guess it is.”
“Is he nice? I mean, this other man?” Jean’s attempt at a sister-to-sister enthusiasm was quite touching. Why don’t I just give in and say yes to Mike? Dinah thought wretchedly. I’m twenty-six years old. You can’t drift forever.
“He seems nice.”
“I hope he is. You want me to stall Mike when he calls? What is it you want me to say, Di?”
“Just say I’m frightfully busy here. That he must understand that I have … that I have my professional pride … in my work.” She swallowed. “You say whatever comes to your mind, Jean.”
“All right.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s okay. How’re you feeling?”
“Pretty good. And you?”
“Not bad.”
“Good. Give my love to Doug.”
“Hold your horses. About this new man of yours.”
“Yes, what about him?”
“I want to meet him.”
“I suppose you will, eventually.”
“How eventually?”
“When the occasion arises.”
“See that it arises soon,” Jean said. “Seriously, darling, bring him around. I’m sorry I was cross. Do let us meet him.”
Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances Page 131