decent, clean boy and turn over a new leaf. That’s what she thought. But she knew she’d never make it. She’s in too deep. She couldn’t stay in love with you any more than she could stay in love with Corey Lathrop. She …’
‘Shut up.’
He was so angry now that he was almost frightened of himself. He gripped her arms. He could feel his fingers dig into the soft, unresisting flesh.
‘Mark,’ she whimpered. ‘Mark, don’t … ‘
‘Do you or don’t you know where Ellie is?’
‘I don’t, Mark. I told you I didn’t.’
‘Okay.’
He pushed her away, picked up his hat from the pile of magazines by the daffodils and headed for the door.
She came running after him. She caught at his arm.
‘Mark…’
‘Get the hell away from me.’
‘If you really want to know where she is.’
Mark swung around. Her face was red and swollen.
‘You know?’
‘No, no I don’t.’
‘Then ‘
‘I just remembered. She was talking about a suit she’s having made at Derain’s.’
‘And …?’
‘And she said it wouldn’t be ready by the time she left. She said she was going to have them send it after her. They’d have the address.’
Suddenly Mark was on level ground again. ‘Derain’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks.’
He turned away from her and went to the door.
Behind him her voice trailed thinly:
‘Mark, I’m sorry. Please, Mark, darling. Don’t go like this. Please…’
He pulled open the door and stepped out into the snow.
7
DERAIN’S was only a couple of blocks down the Avenue. He pushed his way through the struggling throng of shoppers, thinking: ‘I’ve got the lead at last.’ He felt confident, almost cheerful, and Arlene’s self-revealing spite dwindled into insignificance. Yes, he had the lead and he was still ahead of Victor. He was almost sure of that.
Rockefeller Center heaved solid stone up into the air and then melted into the grey-white snowstorm. A travel agency blared a vivid poster, splashed with Mexican women in red skirts and great lace head-dresses. ‘Come to Mexico, the Land of Sun.’ A group of Salvation Army lasses were clanging their bells on a corner. ‘Give for Christmas… Give for Christmas…’
He reached Derain’s. Its façade was chichi as a French poodle. He’d been there a couple of times with Ellie. She said their suits were as well-cut as Mainbochers and cheaper, so she’d buy four instead of three.
‘Darling, it’s the most wonderful bargain, like drug-stores when they give you an extra tube of toothpaste free.’ .
He entered a reception room which made Maurice’s look provincial. There were angled modern statues, tall delicate screens. Lengths of imported tweeds were tossed around with thoughtful nonchalance. Classical music played softly from a concealed phonograph. Three women with suits and pearls were fingering and chattering. A salesgirl came up to Mark. She was young and slim, with dark hair to her shoulders. She was disguised in a black suit and pearls to be an almost perfect imitation of the customers. But Mark, who had learned to cover his own beginnings, could see the background showing through.
She was haughty and offhand, as if she were a girl he was meeting at a cocktail party. That was the Derain line.
‘Yes?’ she said, not looking at him, putting a hand to the pearls.
He said: ‘I’m Mr Liddon. My wife’s having a suit made here.’
The name identified him and her quick smile made him an accepted customer.
‘Yes, Mr Liddon.’
‘She wants me to pick it up if it hasn’t been shipped out.’
‘One moment, Mr Liddon.’
She went away and came back with an older girl, a well-built assured blonde in a grey suit. The blonde smiled the Derain smile and said:
‘Good morning, Mr Liddon.’
The first girl loitered by them, fingering her pearls and looking abstracted again.
Mark said to the blonde: ‘My wife had to leave town earlier than she expected. She wants me to bring the suit along to
‘Shut up.’
He was so angry now that he was almost frightened of himself. He gripped her arms. He could feel his fingers dig into the soft, unresisting flesh.
‘Mark,’ she whimpered. ‘Mark, don’t … ‘
‘Do you or don’t you know where Ellie is?’
‘I don’t, Mark. I told you I didn’t.’
‘Okay.’
He pushed her away, picked up his hat from the pile of magazines by the daffodils and headed for the door.
She came running after him. She caught at his arm.
‘Mark…’
‘Get the hell away from me.’
‘If you really want to know where she is.’
Mark swung around. Her face was red and swollen.
‘You know?’
‘No, no I don’t.’
‘Then ‘
‘I just remembered. She was talking about a suit she’s having made at Derain’s.’
‘And …?’
‘And she said it wouldn’t be ready by the time she left. She said she was going to have them send it after her. They’d have the address.’
Suddenly Mark was on level ground again. ‘Derain’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Thanks.’
He turned away from her and went to the door.
Behind him her voice trailed thinly:
‘Mark, I’m sorry. Please, Mark, darling. Don’t go like this. Please…’
He pulled open the door and stepped out into the snow.
7
DERAIN’S was only a couple of blocks down the Avenue. He pushed his way through the struggling throng of shoppers, thinking: ‘I’ve got the lead at last.’ He felt confident, almost cheerful, and Arlene’s self-revealing spite dwindled into insignificance. Yes, he had the lead and he was still ahead of Victor. He was almost sure of that.
Rockefeller Center heaved solid stone up into the air and then melted into the grey-white snowstorm. A travel agency blared a vivid poster, splashed with Mexican women in red skirts and great lace head-dresses. ‘Come to Mexico, the Land of Sun.’ A group of Salvation Army lasses were clanging their bells on a corner. ‘Give for Christmas… Give for Christmas…’
He reached Derain’s. Its façade was chichi as a French poodle. He’d been there a couple of times with Ellie. She said their suits were as well-cut as Mainbochers and cheaper, so she’d buy four instead of three.
‘Darling, it’s the most wonderful bargain, like drug-stores when they give you an extra tube of toothpaste free.’ .
He entered a reception room which made Maurice’s look provincial. There were angled modern statues, tall delicate screens. Lengths of imported tweeds were tossed around with thoughtful nonchalance. Classical music played softly from a concealed phonograph. Three women with suits and pearls were fingering and chattering. A salesgirl came up to Mark. She was young and slim, with dark hair to her shoulders. She was disguised in a black suit and pearls to be an almost perfect imitation of the customers. But Mark, who had learned to cover his own beginnings, could see the background showing through.
She was haughty and offhand, as if she were a girl he was meeting at a cocktail party. That was the Derain line.
‘Yes?’ she said, not looking at him, putting a hand to the pearls.
He said: ‘I’m Mr Liddon. My wife’s having a suit made here.’
The name identified him and her quick smile made him an accepted customer.
‘Yes, Mr Liddon.’
‘She wants me to pick it up if it hasn’t been shipped out.’
‘One moment, Mr Liddon.’
She went away and came back with an older girl, a well-built assured blonde in a grey suit. The blonde smiled the Derain smile and said:
‘Good morning, Mr Liddon.’
The first girl loitered by them, fingering her pearls and looking abstracted again.
Mark said to the blonde: ‘My wife had to leave town earlier than she expected. She wants me to bring the suit along to
Similar Books
