“No, no!” he cried. “Help us and save us, Vicky. Will you listen, please, like a dear? Which you are, or I wouldn’t be turning to you. I met a girl and I go for her, it’s as simple as that. And I want you to meet her, without preconceived notions. Forget about Camilla. Just be nice to this girl and let’s have a good time on Thursday. Is that so much to ask?”
She thought it over. Victoria Blanding knew what this “different” girl must be like, but nevertheless hope surged. It would suit her very well if Camilla was in danger. Her voice warmed. “No, it’s not too much to ask,” she said cordially. “What time on Thursday?”
“May I call for you at about seven?”
“Quite. Seven will do very well.”
“That’s the ticket,” he said. “I knew I could depend on you.”
“I shall be looking forward to it,” she said. “Tell your young lady that. And don’t be late, Dick. I like my dinner at eight.”
“Don’t worry. I’m so relieved you’re available.”
Available? What else was she? Victoria Blanding hung up the phone. One took whatever crumbs came one’s way. She was suddenly very pleased about life. I must have my hair done the day before, she told herself busily. “That was my favorite nephew,” she told Hannah, who had heard it all many times before. “I shall be dining out on Thursday,” she added, and resumed her attack on the French toast. Perhaps he wouldn’t be marrying that vitiated wench after all. It was a heartening thought. Almost anyone at all would be better than that vapid creature.
“Where are you going tonight?” Joanie asked, watching Dinah screw on her pearl earrings. Wendy was stumping about in Dinah’s shoes, the ones with the higher heels. The two children were helping Dinah dress, or at least that was their fond thought. In truth, they were hindering … but Dinah, who loved them, tried to cope.
“To visit my young man’s family,” she said, spraying scent behind her ears.
“Dick?”
“Um hum.”
“He’s keen,” Joanie said.
“Will you marry him?” Wendy asked.
“That’s up to Providence.”
“What’s Providence?”
“Fate. Destiny. In other words, I don’t know.” She slid into her dress. “Girls, why don’t you run along? I’m in a hurry, sort of.”
Mr. Wallace knocked at the door. Wendy opened it. “We’re helping Dinah dress,” she announced. “Dinah’s going to meet his family. Isn’t it exciting?”
“Very. So much so that I’m issuing an order. You kids get out of here this instant and let Dinah get ready.”
“But we’re helping her.”
“I can imagine how much. Shoo. This is the voice of authority speaking. Out.”
The girls reluctantly filed out. “I hope you have a ball,” Mr. Wallace said as he closed the door to Dinah’s bed-sitting room.
She flashed a smile. “So do I. Thank you.”
I’m to meet his family, she thought, palpitating. His family. She slipped into her pumps. The front doorbell rang; and she dropped her white gloves. She was all thumbs. She stood at the window, breathing in and breathing out. I’m as ready as I ever will be, she told herself, and went on out to say hello to Dick.
“You look fabulous,” he said surveying her. “You should always wear yellow.”
“I seem to recollect that you told me I should always wear green,” she said.
“I did? At the moment I’m sold on yellow.”
“I’m right on time,” she said. “Shall we go?”
“After you, my dear Alphonse.”
Dick parked the car in front of a building on Park Avenue only half a dozen blocks down from the Wallaces. “This building?” Dinah asked. “I know someone in this house too. Someone who was once a patient of mine.”
“I won’t be a minute,” Dick said, and left her to disappear into the plant-filled lobby.
She sat there, taking out her mirror and checking and then, a second or so later, doing the same thing. I look all right, she thought. A little flushed, but quite all right. She was nervous but happy. Or maybe she was happy but nervous. It all amounted to the same thing. It was rather momentous, that was about the size of it.
I hope she won’t take a dislike to me, she thought.
Then Dick came through the lobby doors again. He had his hand on a woman’s arm. Dinah straightened, a strained smile on her face. Then she took a second look.
No no, it couldn’t be! Such a coincidence would be just too striking!
But it was. On Dick’s arm was a tall, erect lady, with a feather hat and a sable tippet. Dinah stared through the open car window, unbelieving. It was Miss Blanding.
“Bless me,” Miss Blanding said, as Dick opened the door for her. “As I live and breathe, it’s Dinah Mason!”
“Miss … Miss Blanding …”
“So it’s you I’m to have dinner with,” the older woman said. “Why, this is positively eerie. Who would have dreamed of such a coincidence?”
“You mean …?” Dick asked, glancing from one to the other.
“I mean indeed,” his aunt said. “Dinah and I are old friends. What I should have done without her at the time of my broken hip, I daren’t venture to think. Well, young man. Are you going to help me in, or am I expected to stand out here ad infinitum?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, and saw her settled on the front seat.
“Isn’t this cozy and delightful,” Miss Blanding said, as they pulled away from the curb. “Dick, watch that erratic automobile up front. The driver seems to be an extremely poor one. Never mind, there’s the light, anyway.”
“You actually mean you two know each other?” Dick asked, dazed, as they were held up by the traffic light.
“I took care of Miss Blanding just after the Christmas holidays,” Dinah said.
“I’ll be damned.”
Miss Blanding, from the front seat, craned her neck. “So you’re the girl my nephew said such extravagant things about,” she remarked. “So his taste is sound after all.” She settled herself again, adjusting her furs over her shoulders. “I shall want a whopping big dinner,” she announced. “I’m feeling very set-up, and when I feel set-up I develop a monstrous appetite. Dinah, how about you?”
“Starved,” she said, and luxuriated in the back seat of Dick’s Porsche. Her fears and trepidations were left behind her. She could enjoy herself now. Dick’s aunt was dear, stalwart Miss Blanding, one of her Pet Persons. Her eyes met Dick’s in the rear-view mirror and she smiled back at him. Confident now, happy, she gave herself up to enjoyment.
And then they were ensconced in a sumptuous, fabled restaurant, making merry over champagne cocktails. “Of course I’ll have a second,” Miss Blanding said, when their glasses were empty. “This is an occasion, after all.”
“Another round,” Dick said, and then they were sipping again.
“I always liked this place,” Miss Blanding said. “It’s one of the last strongholds of another era. Manhattan is barely recognizable these days. All hideous glass and steel. But there are still a few holdouts, I’m grateful to see. The city seems to have become so common these days.”
“That’s my Vicky,” Dick said fondly. “One of the dear, old-fashioned diehards who has to be forcibly carried, kicking and screaming, into the Twentieth century.”
“Now you shush,” she said, tapping his arm. She beamed at them both. “Well, here we are, all three of us,” she murmured, and turned to Dinah. “This is my favorite nephew,” she declared. “One of the most irritating young men I know … and still, one of the most appealing.”
Favorite nephew … the phrase echoed in Dinah’s mind. My favorite nephew …
“He’s a bumptious lad,” Miss Blanding continued. “Yet I’m enormously fond of him.”
“I’m fixated on you too,” Dick said, giving his aunt a rakish look. Dinah’s mind backtracked. Nephew … yes, that was it. “My favorite nephew’s taking me out to tea … “Miss Blanding had said when Din
ah had visited her.
The rest of it came to her in a flash. “Actually, it’s my grand-nephew … he’s driving his fiancée to the airport.”
His fiancée …
The balance of it flowed into her mind. Yes … she remembered quite clearly. “Camilla … a good name, but a quite dreary girl. Jet set type of young woman … no blood in her at all.”
But that didn’t mean it was Dick, Dinah told herself. Why should she connect Dick with all that? Miss Blanding could have a slew of nephews. There was, undoubtedly, another young nephew who was engaged to a girl by the name of Camilla.
But the liquor nauseated her, and the food, when it came, seemed tasteless. It can’t be Dick, she thought, trying to swallow the filet of sole. It had to be another nephew.
“You must come up for liqueurs,” Miss Blanding said, when they drove her back to Park Avenue. “No, children, I insist. Some good hot tea for me and alcohol for you two adventurous young people.”
“You don’t mind?” Dick asked, and they got out of the car. I should be thrilled, Dinah thought, as they rode up in the elevator. It had been a beautiful, exciting evening. But she was tied up in knots. Must I always doubt him? she asked herself. Miss Blanding could have half a dozen other nephews.
“Where are you going?” Miss Blanding demanded, when Dick excused himself.
“To the john,” he said. “Do you mind?”
“See you’re back directly,” she said autocratically, and to her maid, “Tea for me, Hannah. Liqueurs for the young people.”
“Yes, Miss Blanding.” The maid went out.
“It was a scintillating evening,” the old woman said, when she and Dinah were left alone. “I quite enjoyed myself.”
“Yes, so did I.”
“You’re rather quiet, Dinah.”
“Am I?”
The shrewd old eyes regarded her. “As a matter of fact, yes. Is anything wrong?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t you? Come, let’s have it. What’s troubling you, child?”
Dinah faced the issue squarely. In a few moments Dick would be back. “Miss Blanding,” she said, “have you other nephews?”
“What’s that?”
“I mean, besides Dick.”
The woman frowned. Then she lit one of her rare cigarettes. “Dick’s my only nephew,” she said. “What makes you ask, Dinah?”
There was a lump at the core of Dinah’s chest. Like indigestion. Only far worse. “The only one?” she asked tensely.
“I’ve no other nephews. Or nieces. Why, Dinah?”
“Because …” She looked beseechingly at the other woman. “You’re sure?” she asked faintly.
“Of course I’m sure. Dick’s father, Gordon, is my late niece’s husband. There isn’t anyone else.”
“Oh.”
“But what is this about? Why do you ask?”
“I visited you not too long ago,” Dinah said slowly. “You were to have tea with your nephew that same afternoon. You told me you were fond of him. You told me something else. Your nephew was engaged to someone. Her name was Camilla. Do you remember?”
There was quite a long pause. Then, “I guess I do recall that,” Miss Blanding said quietly. “Now I begin to understand what you’re driving at, Dinah.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Dinah said. “I made a rather ridiculous mistake.”
“Did you? Are you sure?”
“I made a horrible mistake,” Dinah said, and at that moment Dick came back. “Well, where’s our booze?” he asked jovially. “I believe we were promised one for the road.”
“Shortly,” his aunt said. “Just be patient, Dick. Sit down and behave yourself. Dinah and I were having a woman-to-woman talk.”
“Shall I leave the room?” he asked, all very jolly and sure of himself.
“It won’t be necessary,” Miss Blanding said. “We’d just about finished.”
“My aunt’s apartment is one of the plushest in the city,” he said, turning to Dinah. “She’s really hideously spoiled, don’t you agree?” He seemed totally unaware of the strain in the atmosphere. That was men for you, Dinah thought bitterly. They were made of cruder stuff. Camilla, she thought. How could he? And she’d melted in his arms at that house on Long Island.
This was what it felt like, she told herself, as she endured the next hour. This was agony, to sit here and keep up a front, while Dick Claiborne walked about, glass in hand, and sensed nothing wrong. How primitive men were, Dinah thought.
“I’ll see you soon, love,” Dick said, as they left the Blanding apartment. “We’ll take tea together soon.”
“Capital,” his aunt said. “Good night, Dinah dear.”
“You liked Vicky, didn’t you?” he said, riding down in the elevator. “But then you knew her. Fancy that! It’s really such a small world, isn’t it?”
“Tiny,” Dinah said frostily. “Very wee.”
“She thinks you’re great,” he said, helping her into the front seat of his car. “I could see that immediately.”
Totally unconscious of anything amiss, he hummed all the way to the Wallaces’ building. “Saturday, then,” he said, when they got out and stood outside the doorway. “I thought we’d go to a new Chagall exhibit first. Then lunch at Pavilion. How does that strike you?”
“It doesn’t,” she said icily.
“Not Pavilion and not Chagall? There are other exhibits,” he said.
“Not Pavilion and not Chagall. I’m tired. I’m going up.”
“Tired? You work too hard.” He leaned toward her, but his kiss missed, landed on her ear. “Whoops,” he said. “What happened?”
“Take your hands off me.”
“Hey …” He reached for her again.
“I said leave me alone.” She glared at him. “Save your kisses for her.”
“For … her? Who’s her?” he asked, bewildered.
“For your fiancée,” she said, choked. “For Camilla.”
She eeled out of his grasp and was in the lobby while he still stood there dumbfounded. She dashed for the elevator and pressed the button. The footsteps pounding along the marble-tiled floor were too late. The door closed and she was riding up. Oh, God, no … no . . . Dinah thought, but it was only a still, small protest in her head. It didn’t even register. She said good night to Mrs. Wallace and then went into her own room. In a few minutes she lay in bed, in the darkness. He’s engaged, she told herself dully. I was only a substitute. He’s used me … his real girl is named Camilla, and I’m only a summer substitute.
I hate him, she thought and wished, with all her heart, that she did. The dreadful, demeaning thing was that she didn’t. It was obscene and awful to be in love with someone whose only thought had been to hurt you. That was the most chilling thing about it, that you couldn’t fall out of love right away.
I can understand Mrs. Paley, she thought, and lay awake, suffering, in the black night.
But how? Dick thought, driving around in the night. How in the world could Dinah have learned about that? And I thought I was being so slick, he reflected, smarting. Having Dinah meet Dad had been out. Vicky had been the logical person, seeing that Dinah was so intent on meeting someone from his family.
She had been happy and loving at the start of the evening. Then dinner with Vicky, and suddenly she knew about Camilla, about the whole thing.
What could have happened?
His car, as of its own volition, headed toward his aunt’s apartment building.
She was in a robe, drinking Ovaltine. “Dinah put two and two together,” she said tiredly. “Naturally she thought she was being exploited. Camilla’s away, and she was handy. How do you expect her to feel?”
“But it wasn’t that at all,” he protested. “I — ”
“Then what exactly was it?”
“I don’t know.” He was honest. He didn’t know. He had met a girl and it was a rather momentous thing. The girl was tall and slim and light-haired, and she was different from
the other girls he knew. There was something about her …
“There’s just something about her,” he said haltingly.
“Yes?”
“She’s unusual. She’s … hell, I don’t know.”
“It seems to me that people are getting more and more inarticulate with each succeeding generation,” she said tartly.
“But it’s … these things happen,” he floundered.
“So I understand,” she said, looking very forbidding. “She was a lark, is that it?”
“I didn’t stop to think about it. I liked her, and I liked being with her. That’s all. I — ”
He stopped pacing and began to think. How could you put it into words? He wasn’t used to putting things like that into words. Girls were girls, and they had their uses. “It was such an unexpected thing,” he said, defensively. “I suppose I went overboard for her and I forgot all about Camilla. That kind of thing does happen! It happens all the time, for God’s sake.”
“I don’t suppose that’s any consolation to Dinah.”
“But I did honestly fall for her. I mean that. It just happened, that’s all.”
“I see.”
He paced again. “She and I hit it off,” he explained. “There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“Is there?”
“But — ”
He stopped walking back and forth. Dinah, he thought. Those winy brown eyes. Those eyes that had been lustrous with love, and then grown cold and wary. He remembered the feel of her lips, her soft arms around his neck. He felt dizzy suddenly, and sat down quickly.
“It’s not easy to be a woman,” his aunt said.
“It isn’t?” But he was barely listening. He was thinking of Camilla now. Camilla was Daphne, he thought. Camilla and Daphne were Bianca and Dodie … and others like them, so much the same. But Dinah was Dinah, and there was no comparison.
“It’s all so clear,” he said, getting up abruptly. “It’s the real thing, Vicky. I didn’t even know it. But it is.” He turned to his aunt, and had no idea of how appealing he looked at that moment. “Oh, Vicky, I’m overboard for her. What shall I do?”
“The discovery of the year,” she said acidly.
“But it is! It’s the biggest thing that ever happened to me!”
Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances Page 136