Classic Love: 7 Vintage Romances (153 page)

“Darling, I only feel anguished for you,” Dinah said, and gripped the hand that reached out to her.

Mrs. Paley was permitted to leave the hospital on the following afternoon. Dinah, with her patient’s keys, took the bus down to the Fifty-Sixth Street apartment, the one in which she had spent so much time with another patient, Mrs. Paley’s late husband. It was a good building, though not one of the more affluent ones. There were few remaining rental buildings in the vicinity; most of them had gone co-op.

She got off the elevator on the seventh floor, found the right keys to let herself in, and went straight to the bedroom to choose Mrs. Paley’s going-home clothes. Mrs. Paley hadn’t cared. “Anything,” she had said. “A dress, or a cotton suit, and shoes to go with it. My lingerie and stockings are in the chest of drawers near the side window. A girdle, slip, stockings … oh,
you
know.”

It was eleven-thirty when Dinah had the small overnight case packed. She stood in the bedroom doorway and looked back. There were the two beds, one of them unused now. She supposed she would be sleeping in Mr. Paley’s bed, though she would offer to sleep in the living room.

It must be hard to see that empty bed all the time, she thought, and closed up the apartment again.

She went down to York Avenue for a cab, walking slowly uptown in the direction she would be going, with a finger raised as the traffic zoomed by, and suddenly she realized where she was.

The Sutton Place park was just to her right. Mrs. Paley probably spent time in that park … all by herself. She walked down the street to the embankment and stood looking down over the railing. It was odd how these things happened, she thought. Only a few days ago she had been sitting down there, and now she was here again, with a patient who lived nearby.

It was like some kind of predestination.

She saw him then, sitting on the same bench, the one nearest the river. There was something familiar about one of the figures, and then she remembered the man with the book of poetry.
I
can take a minute to go down and talk to him
, she thought impulsively. Just a minute or two. What would be the harm?

She walked down the ramp and crossed the sunny square. “Good afternoon,” she said, when she stood in front of him. “Do you remember me?”

She saw his look of bewilderment and flushed. Now she was embarrassed. “Of course you don’t!” she said quickly. “I was here on Friday and you were reading Baudelaire. We got into a conversation.”

His face cleared immediately. “Yes, of course. I didn’t recognize you in that uniform.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right. I was in civvies.”

“With an orange hat,” he said.

She laughed. “I didn’t think men noticed things like that.” She sat down beside him, shoving the small suitcase under the bench. “Mind if I stay for just one cigarette?”

“I’d be delighted.”

“I’m on a case again,” she told him. “My patient lives only a few blocks from here.”

And in a few seconds they were deep in another conversation.

Dick Claiborne was standing at the railing, surveying the passing craft and trying to decide what colors he would use if he were painting the river. That is, if he were a painter. Green, mixed with lampblack. Cobalt blue. A dash of white. A few jagged smears of yellow.

Camilla was in Paris at this minute, perhaps standing as he was at the edge of a river. Only her river would be the Seine. Her first postcard had come this morning.
Letter follows
, she had written on the back of it.
Miss me, darling?

Did he?

He was trying to decide if he was missing Cam and if so to what extent, when he heard his father’s voice. He turned to see what it was his father wanted, but although it had been Dad’s voice all right, it had nothing to do with him.

His father was sitting on his favorite bench and he was talking to a girl in a nurse’s uniform. That was surprising to Dick, because his father wasn’t given to idle chitchat with strangers. Particularly young girls.

A very pretty girl too. Looked like the young Joan Fontaine. He eyed her long and shapely legs and winced when he came to the stout, serviceable nurse’s shoes. A girl with legs like that shouldn’t have to wear those clumpy shoes, damn it. When were they going to do something about the shoes? Pucci was dolling up the airline hostesses. Why didn’t some designer give the nurses a break?

He went back to the river again, but his mind wasn’t on it. They must be blue, he was thinking. Blonde hair, very blonde … so the eyes must be blue.

He turned around again. His father didn’t even notice his movement. Dad swiveled around in his seat, facing the girl. And Dick didn’t solve anything anyway. They were just a little too far off for him to tell about the eyes.

He faced the water again, determined to let his father have his little adventure. Smiling to himself, he thought about how he’d kid Dad about it later.
I
won’t look again
, he told himself determinedly.
She isn’t all that pretty.

He leaned on the railing and watched the river.

He heard his father’s voice again, and this time it was raised. When he looked, his father was standing up, a small suitcase in one of his hands, and he was calling out, “Miss … Miss …”

Then his father began walking rapidly across the square.

Dick caught up with him halfway to the ramp. “What’s the trouble, Dad?”

“There was a girl here, and she forgot her grip.”

“I’ll take it to her,” Dick said. “She’s just at the top.” He laughed. “Oh, I saw you. Don’t worry, I’ll get it to her.”

“Well, all right.”

Spoiled his fun
, Dick thought, sprinting up the ramp. At that moment the girl turned quickly, an alarmed look on her face, and started back. They met halfway.

“Oh, thank you,” she said breathlessly. “Imagine me going off and leaving that! It doesn’t even belong to me.”

“It … doesn’t?”

“I mean yes, I left it there, but it belongs to my patient. I’m taking it to her at the hospital. Thanks ever so much. I must get a cab right away. I didn’t mean to be away so long.” She gave him a dazzling smile. “Thanks again,” she said, still breathless, and walked up the rest of the way quickly.

He stood there for a second or two and then dashed after her. She was half running up the short street. He got up to her and touched her lightly on the arm. “Listen, I’ll drive you wherever you’re going,” he said. “My car’s parked at the end of the avenue.” He pointed. “Right down there.”

She laughed, said “thank you” again, and gently shook his hand off her arm. “I can’t do that,” she said, as if she were really saying, “Silly
boy …
”

“I don’t intend to kidnap you,” he assured her. Her polite but firm refusal made him more eager. “I only want to get you to your destination as quickly as possible.”

“I never in my life would consider getting into a moving vehicle with a stranger … not in a city like this,” she said. “No offense intended, but I’m sure you understand what I mean.”

“It’s broad daylight,” he persisted. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? Can’t you tell when someone wants to help?”

She stopped walking and faced him. Her eyes swept over him slowly. They weren’t blue, either. They were a winy brown, with random gold flecks in them. They gave him a long, considering look.

Then she handed him the overnight case. “It’s very decent of you,” she said. “I’ll take you up on your offer and I appreciate it.”

“That’s better,” he said, and led her down to the farther corner, where his car was parked.

He put the grip in the back, asked what hospital, and they drove away. “My patient’s going home today,” she told him. “I had to come down here and get her some clothes to wear home, and I stopped off for a few minutes in the park, which I discovered only a day or two ago. Only I’m afraid I forgot the time. There’s a man who sits there and I just had to say hello to him.”

“He started after you with your bag,” Dick said, studying her in the rear-view mirror. “But I thought I could run faster.”

“Poor fellow,” she said reflectively. “People like that make my heart ache. He’s obviously of superior education, but he seems to be unemployed, and he’s far from retirement age. Isn’t it terrible what happens to some people?”

Dick nearly lost control of the car. He could scarcely believe his ears. Was she talking about Dad?

“He was reading Baudelaire the other day,” she went on. “It knocked me for a loop. Here was this shabby man, out at the seams, not working on a weekday … and reading immortal poetry.”

Dick got a proper grip on the wheel again and suddenly he began to see the funny side of it. He realized that this adorable girl was judging his father by the disreputable old clothes he was wearing. She apparently wasn’t hip enough to recognize the quality of the material or of the cut. All she had seen was that they were old and well-worn.

He suppressed a grin.
“I’m
not working on a weekday,” he pointed out.

“But that’s different,” she said, and then gave him a questioning look. “Why
aren’t
you working on a weekday?”

“Spring fever. I took the day off.”

“It’s not spring.”

“True,” he said. “But it’s summer and sometimes I work up a rebellion on a nice day like this. I just damned well didn’t go in today.”

“You must have a great job. Taking days off whenever you feel like it.”

“I work for my father’s firm,” he told her. “And my father takes it easy for most of the summer. He can’t say too much if I play hookey once in a while.”

“Ah, a privileged character.”

“Only once in a while. Most of the time I work like a dog.”

“That’s your story,” she said, with a dimpled grin, and he grinned back. She turned the door handle. The fact that she was going to get out and go out of his life struck him suddenly and he didn’t know why. As he had told himself before, perhaps a little too vehemently, she wasn’t all that pretty.

Just the same he didn’t want to see her go, and when she slid out of the front seat, bending a little to tell him “thank you very much” before straightening up again and walking with lithe steps into the parted double doors of the hospital, he asked himself what was so special about her.

She was just a good-looking girl with blonde hair and long legs. There were plenty of those around. Still … the faint scent of whatever perfume it was she wore lingered in his nostrils. He had smelled plenty of perfume in his time. And this seemed different from any of them.

Maybe that was why he didn’t drive away, but instead pulled a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. He was still sitting there ten minutes later, pretending not to notice the severe glance of the uniformed doorman who stood just outside the hospital entrance. So he was a little out of line. But he wasn’t blocking the entrance.
Let’s see how long I can get away with it
, he told himself.
Maybe she’ll come out again soon. I’ll wait another five minutes. Then if she doesn’t show up I’ll take off.

When she got back to the room, Mrs. Paley was standing by the window. “Was I very long?” Dinah asked apologetically.

“Were you? I didn’t notice.” The woman turned. She gave a quick glance at the overnight bag in Dinah’s hand, grimaced slightly and then sighed. “Know what? I wish I could stay here. Or anywhere. Except go home.”

There was a silence. What could you say? Whatever you thought up would be a dreary banality. There was nothing to do but help Mrs. Paley dress, gather up her handbag and gloves and, with a quick glance round the room to be sure nothing had been missed, go out of that hospital room. Mrs. Paley had to take up her life again, like it or not, and there was very little, if anything, that one could do to help her. When they walked through the open doors to the street, Mrs. Paley drew a deep breath. Her eyes squeezed shut for a moment and then she opened them again, blinking.

“It’s so bright,” she said breathlessly. “Wait, Dinah. I want my dark glasses.” She fished about nervously in her alligator handbag, drew out a stylish pair of sunglasses and thrust them on the bridge of her nose. “That’s better,” she said, and squared her shoulders. “It’s now or never,” she said, and started forward. It was at that precise instant that Dinah saw the car, parked exactly where it had been when she’d gotten out. The door opened and the young man slid across the front seat, stepping out on the sidewalk.

“I thought I’d wait,” he said. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Mrs. Paley shrank back, casting a questioning, darting look at Dinah, as if somehow she had been betrayed. As for Dinah, a peculiar thrill ran through her. It was almost a feeling of
déjà vu
, as if all this had happened before. She stood absolutely still for a second or two and then gathered herself together. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said. “We can get a cab.”

“I thought it would be more convenient. I’m not doing anything of importance. I’d like to take you wherever you’re going.”

“But really — ”

He surveyed the street. There were no cabs around. “Mrs. Paley?” Dinah asked tentatively.

“Whatever you say, Dinah.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Dinah was prim. “It’s very good of you.”

“Let me help you in.” He did it easily and casually, as he seemed to do everything, assisting Mrs. Paley in the front seat and then opening the rear door for Dinah, after which he crossed over and got in behind the wheel, slamming the door shut. With his hands on the wheel, he looked through the rear-view mirror at Dinah. “I’m Dick Claiborne,” he said.

Dinah’s eyes met his in the mirror. “I’m Dinah Mason and this is Mrs. Paley.”

Acknowledgments were murmured and then Dick started the car. “Where to?”

“Fifty-Sixth between First and York.”

Dinah sat back, intent on making light of the whole thing. He was just a very
nice
young man. Helpful. Decent and thoughtful. And that was absolutely all. A few minutes of some very pleasant company on a sunny summer afternoon. A few minutes out of a lifetime. She glanced at his well-shaped, sleek head, noticed as he turned to give his seat companion a quick nod and smile that he had rather long eyelashes and that there was an interesting furrow from the corner of his nose down to his mouth which made what might have been a too-handsome face into something far more distinguished, and then looked away quickly to stare out the window.