“I don’t know what Tom sees in Grant. I told Tabitha we’d be better off not having him around, but she didn’t want to upset Tom and I didn’t want to upset her.”
I could see that he had always been very careful of Tabitha’s feelings. He doted on her and tried to give her everything her heart desired. I hoped, somewhat cynically, that Tom would be up to the task.
“He does seem to be very … carefree.”
“He’s a nuisance. I hope that Tabitha and Tom will have very little to do with him after they’re married. But enough of that,” Mr. Alden said. “I don’t mean to delay you. You’re going out?”
“Yes, I’m meeting Tabitha to do some shopping.”
“Well, you girls have a good time.”
* * *
A SHORT WHILE later found Tabitha and me entering a fashionable department store in Herald Square. A steady flow of well-dressed shoppers moved in the brass revolving doors, exchanging the noise of streets, with the rumble of the train on the elevated Sixth Avenue line high above, for the cool, quiet interior where a plethora of sophisticated wares were laid out for our perusal.
We passed through the makeup department, marble floors glowing in the bright light cast by crystal chandeliers, its gleaming glass cases holding a treasure trove of cosmetic products which seemed to twinkle invitingly. Next was the perfume department, the air sweet with the mingled fragrances of a dozen perfumes, elegant salesgirls offering to spritz us with scent as we passed. Tabitha accepted a sample, but I declined as I was already wearing my own perfume, which I had acquired in a recent trip to Paris.
Then we made our way through handkerchiefs and handbags, an astounding array available for the asking, and arrived at last at our destination: the shoe department. It seemed to me that any type of footwear a woman might desire was there on counters and shelves and table displays. Plush leather chairs and sofas were arranged atop a pale pink rug, enticing one to sit and try on shoes before parading them before the mirrors that appeared at intervals.
“Mr. Palmer came to the house this morning,” I told Tabitha as we stopped before a tastefully arranged display of evening shoes. “He was looking for Tom.”
Tabitha turned from her examination of a pair of satin evening slippers, her eyes narrowed. “Was Dad home?”
I hesitated. “Yes. They spoke briefly, I believe.” Mr. Palmer had insinuated to Mr. Alden that Tabitha knew more than she pretended to. Though she had told me that Grant Palmer was trying to draw her father into some sort of business deal, was she aware that their transactions had apparently gone further than that?
I debated on telling her what I had overheard, but I really felt that it was not my place to do so, not, at least, until I knew something definite.
But she needed no encouragement from me to jump to conclusions. “He’s up to no good,” she said hotly. “If Grant is dragging Dad into something, I’ll make sure he pays for it.”
She suddenly seemed to realize her level of intensity, for she gave a little laugh and looked around to make sure we had not been overheard by any of the other shoppers. When her gaze came back to me, some of the fire in her eyes had flickered away. “Oh, well. I’m sure it’s nothing. As you said, he came to see Tom, though I don’t know why he’s always bothering Tom when we’re so busy. We don’t have time for him right now, as well he knows. The wedding will be here soon, and I need Tom to pay attention to all that’s happening. I feel like the bridegroom is always terribly inattentive. Was it that way with Mr. Ames?” she asked.
I thought back to that brief, whirlwind period before our marriage.
“Oh, yes. Milo didn’t care about the wedding at all. He only wanted to be done with it.”
He had tried to convince me to elope with him, in fact. I had been sorely tempted, but I had not wanted to hear my mother chide me about it for the rest of my life, and so the wedding had gone on.
The planning had been a bit complicated, as I had already been in the process of planning my wedding to another man when I met Milo. When I broke off my initial engagement, it hadn’t seemed right to me to carry on with the same wedding arrangements with an alternate man. So I had chosen a different dress, different flowers, different music.
It had been a different wedding with a different groom, but in my mind everything was just as I had always hoped it would be.
I was glad now that we hadn’t eloped. I looked back on the memories fondly, and the photograph held a place of honor on the mantel in our London flat. My wedding gown still hung in a wardrobe at Thornecrest, our country house.
“I know it must all be terribly boring to Tom,” Tabitha went on, drawing me from my reflections, “but I want to feel like he has some sort of interest in things.” She sighed as she picked up another shoe from the display. “Half the time I’m excited for the wedding, and half the time I can’t wait for it to be over.”
We went on to talk about wedding details then, each trying on half a dozen pairs of shoes before we both selected the ones we would wear for the wedding, but the conversation between Mr. Alden and Mr. Palmer was still very much on my mind, as was the look of fury that had passed through Tabitha’s eyes when I had mentioned it.
8
AS WE BEGAN our return journey through the busy streets, Tabitha pointed at one of the towering granite skyscrapers a few blocks ahead of us.
“That’s where Rudy works,” she said.
“Oh, really? It’s an impressive building.”
“Yes. I know we tease Rudy about his enthusiasm for his job, but he’s very good at it.”
“Have you ever been to his office?” I asked, remembering how he had invited me to pay him a visit.
“Once or twice. It’s very hectic in there, like a beehive or something.” An idea struck her suddenly. “Should we stop and see him?”
“May we? I’m intrigued by it all.”
“Rudy will love it,” Tabitha said. She leaned toward the driver. “Pull over up here, will you, Bates?”
The car pulled to a stop in front of the building, and Tabitha and I alighted from the car and went inside. The expansive lobby was done in dark marble with Art Deco brass fixtures and grillwork. It was both stately and modern, quiet and busy, as both men and women in well-tailored suits moved with purpose to and from a wall of lifts. Tabitha led the way there, and we entered one that several people had just vacated, Tabitha giving the operator our desired floor.
“We probably won’t be able to stay long,” she told me as we moved upward for what seemed like an age. “Rudy’s bound to be busy. You’ll see what I mean. Everyone always looks like they don’t have a moment to spare.”
Her words were entirely accurate. The lift opened into a vast room full of desks at which men and women of every description seemed to be working furiously at typewriters, speaking into telephones, or rifling through piles of paperwork. There was the murmur of conversation in the air and the clack and ding of what seemed to be scores of typewriters. The room smelled of ink and burnt coffee and freshly sharpened pencils.
Tabitha gave a little wave to a woman who sat at one of the foremost desks, a receptionist of some sort, it seemed. Apparently, she was familiar with Tabitha, for she gave a little nod and a slight smile before returning her focus to whatever task lay before her.
“This way,” Tabitha said, moving with confidence down a small aisle that moved through two rows of desks.
We found Rudy Elliot sitting at a desk, much more spacious than the others, in the corner of the room. On the wall behind him were several posters of various very good print ads, including one for Samson’s Salad Dressing. I was impressed by the quality of the artwork, but it did not hold my attention for long. His desk was situated near a window that looked out over the stunning New York City skyline. I was rather afraid that, if I sat in such a place, I would get very little work done. Rudy Elliot, however, did not seem to have this problem. He was bent over a stack of papers on his desk, making rapid notes with a pencil.
�
��Hello, Rudy,” Tabitha said.
He looked up, vaguely surprised to see us, and rose at once from his desk, his face breaking into a smile. “Mrs. Ames, Tabitha! To what do I owe this delightful surprise?”
“We were just passing by and thought we’d stop in to say hello,” Tabitha said.
“I must say, this is all very impressive,” I told him, looking again around the room and then out the window at the city laid out before us. “I do hope we’re not interrupting, though?”
“No, no. Not at all. I’m just working on the wording of one of our new radio ads.”
He held up a sheet of paper. It was typewritten, but I could see where he had scratched through it in several places with his pencil and scrawled notes in the margins.
“We’re airing it this week, during a popular new show called The Lone Ranger, and we want it to be perfect.”
“Well, hello, ladies.”
We looked up, both surprised, I think, to see Grant Palmer. While we hadn’t noticed his approach, I saw that several of the women in the typing bank had, for their typing had momentarily slowed as they watched him saunter toward Rudy’s desk.
“Hello, Grant,” Tabitha said, just a bit stiffly. I could tell at once that she didn’t mean to confront him about his conversation with her father now, but it seemed her anger still simmered beneath the surface. “We dropped in to see Rudy.”
“Still reeling them in with the salad dressing, eh?”
Rudy smiled. “Some people take an interest in my work.”
“As they should, my friend. As they should.”
“And what are you doing here?” Tabitha asked Mr. Palmer.
“The same as you. Stopping by to see Rudy.”
I looked at Mr. Elliot. It seemed to me that he looked a bit uncomfortable. I wonder if he disliked being caught up in the undercurrent of antagonism between Tabitha and Mr. Palmer. He seemed the sort of man who would avoid conflict if possible.
“Well, I suppose we’ll be on our way,” Tabitha said. “We’ll see you both soon.”
“Sure thing,” Grant Palmer said.
“I’ll look forward to hearing more about your radio advertisement, Mr. Elliot,” I said.
“Thanks, Mrs. Ames.”
We left then, and it was not until we reached the lift that Tabitha let out a frustrated sigh. “That Grant,” she said. “Always showing up where he isn’t wanted.”
* * *
WE RETURNED TO the house. I hoped that Milo would be back early enough that I could talk with him about his time with Tom as well as the conversation I had overheard between Mr. Alden and Mr. Palmer, but it seemed that he and Mr. Smith had been having an excellent time at the races, for they didn’t arrive back until just before dinner.
The rest of us had just met in the drawing room, and Milo had just enough time to go up and change.
“You’re not going to stay for dinner?” Tabitha asked Tom as he made his excuses at the drawing room door.
“I’m not dressed.”
“Oh, you know we don’t stand on formality around here.”
“Just the same. I’d like to go home and freshen up. May I come back and take you dancing tonight?”
She smiled. “I would like that.”
He dropped a discreet kiss on her cheek and took his leave then, and a few minutes later Milo returned and we went into the dining room.
Despite her affectionate parting with Tom, there was an air of tension at the dinner table that seemed to originate from Tabitha. I wondered if it had something to do with Tom’s declining to dine with us. Surely she wouldn’t be upset over something so trivial. Especially not when he was going to return to take her dancing. No, there was something else that seemed to be on her mind.
She was talking too much, as though trying to cover for the silence, and her eyes were too bright with some suppressed emotion.
It took me a while to notice that Mr. Alden, too, seemed preoccupied. Though he smiled and gave the appropriate answers at the right places in the conversation, it was clear that his mind was on something else, for he made no effort to contribute to the topic.
Had he and Tabitha had a falling out? Perhaps she had confronted him about Grant Palmer’s visit to the house this morning. I wondered if I oughtn’t to have mentioned it to her.
“Did you and Tom have a nice time today?” Tabitha asked Milo when we were on the third course. Something about the overly casual way she asked the question made me wonder if she had some misgivings about their activities.
I glanced at Milo. His expression was, as ever, the picture of perfect unflustered innocence. I knew very well, however, that this did not mean their afternoon had been uneventful.
“We went to the races,” he said. “It was an amusing enough way to spend the day.”
“I suppose Tom lost a bit of money.” There it was again, the fragile cheeriness in her voice. I noticed that Mr. Alden looked up from his plate at the question.
Milo took a measured drink of his wine before answering. “As a matter of fact, I think he was rather successful.”
“Well, I’m glad for him. Maybe he’ll put some of his winnings toward our wedding trip.” She laughed at this and then changed the subject.
The rest of dinner passed quietly, but my mind was still on Tabitha’s behavior and her reference to Tom’s losing money. Was Tom prone to gambling? If so, I hoped it wasn’t going to be a habit that would prove detrimental to their marriage. I reminded myself again that Tabitha had a good head on her shoulders and that I shouldn’t be intruding in matters that didn’t concern me, but that didn’t alleviate my concern.
Milo and Mr. Alden enjoyed their after-dinner drinks at the table, and Tabitha and I listened to the wireless in the drawing room while we drank our coffee. We chatted over more of the wedding details and she spoke in her usual lively manner, the tension at dinner seeming to evaporate now that the two of us were alone.
I had yet to decide how to approach the subject of Tom and gambling when Calvin, the butler, came into the room. “Mr. Smith is on the phone for you, Miss Tabitha.”
I saw something flash across Tabitha’s face. Worry? Annoyance? I couldn’t be sure.
“I suppose he’s going to say he can’t take me out after all,” she said. “Well, that’s all right. We can go out dancing any night.”
She left the room and I was left to contemplate the vague sense of uneasiness hanging over me. Though I couldn’t quite put my finger on the cause of it, I had the feeling that something, somewhere, was very wrong.
A moment later, she came back, her expression one of happiness. “He’s been detained. He’s going to meet me at the nightclub. Will you and Milo come dancing with us?”
“It’s sweet of you to offer, but I think perhaps we’ll stay in tonight and let you two have some time alone.” I didn’t normally speak on Milo’s behalf, but I felt confident that he would not be annoyed that I had circumvented another trip to a liquorless nightclub.
“Very well. If you’re sure,” Tabitha said, making no argument to my excuses. No doubt she would be glad to have Tom to herself for the evening. I didn’t blame her, for I well-remembered the thrill of a night out alone with my handsome fiancé, the lingering caresses on the dance floor after the music had stopped and stolen kisses on moonlit balconies. The world had seemed to lay before us, shimmering with the promise of happiness.
I felt again that tinge of uneasiness, but I pushed it down.
“Will you be all right going to the nightclub alone?” I asked.
“Oh, yes. I’ll catch a cab at the end of the street. I do it all the time.”
With that assurance, I said good night, excused myself, and went to my room. My mind was spinning with everything I had learned today: the strange conversation between Mr. Alden and Mr. Palmer, as well as Tabitha’s annoyance about Grant Palmer’s visit to her father and her seeming preoccupation at dinner. I would be glad to be able to discuss things with Milo.
I had just finished p
reparing for bed and, too anxious to lie down, had sat on the little sofa near the fireplace when he came in.
“You’re up sooner than I thought you’d be,” I remarked.
“Mr. Alden was going out.”
“Out?” I repeated, surprised. “Where?”
“He didn’t say. I thought you’d be in bed, darling.”
“I’ve been waiting to talk to you,” I said, my mind still half focused on Mr. Alden’s departure. “First, did you learn anything about Tom this afternoon?”
“Somehow I thought that might be your first question. I hate to disappoint you, but he let absolutely nothing slip about his mysterious past.”
I ignored the sarcasm in this response and, realizing I was not going to get anywhere with that subject, moved on. “There were a few things I found out this afternoon that are troubling me.”
“Oh?” He didn’t sound particularly intrigued, but I was undaunted and plunged ahead as he began to remove his evening clothes.
“Yes, first there was a conversation between Mr. Alden and Mr. Palmer.” I related the conversation I had overheard as well as the circumstances leading up to my hearing it. “It seemed to me as though they were involved in some sort of secretive scheme together.”
“That is a bit strange,” Milo admitted. “I’ve never seen them have anything more than the most superficial sort of conversations, as though they were practically strangers.”
“Exactly. So what was it that they were speaking so strongly about? Why keep their relationship a secret?”
“Then again, why make it any of our business?” he asked.
“You made Mr. Alden your business when you invested in his company,” I pointed out. “If he’s doing something underhanded with Mr. Palmer, it would behoove you to find out about it.”
“All right. But I don’t suppose we need to worry about it tonight.” He had finished dressing in his nightclothes and moved toward the bed.
“What are you doing?”
He paused, looking back at me. “I’m getting into bed.”
A Dangerous Engagement Page 8
