the sofa. Walter relaxed his expression at once. He wondered if Mrs. Philpott understood? Her face looked very old and sagacious. Practically everyone else at the party understood, everyone whoâd ever spent an evening with him and Clara.
âWalter, old man, do you think I can get a refill?â
Walter smiled at the familiar, rubbery face of Dick Jensen, and felt like putting an arm around him. âYou sure can, brother. I want one, too. Letâs go in the kitchen.â
Claudia was busy with the cold roast beef. Walter told her it was too early to start serving, and that sheâd better see who needed another drink.
âMrs. Stackhouse told me to bring the food on now, Mr. Stackhouse,â Claudia said with a neutral resignation.
âThere you are,â Dick said. âOverruled by the Court.â
Walter let it go. Even Dick knew that Clara meant to prevent anybodyâs getting drunk tonight by serving the buffet at an early hour. Walter made Dick a whopping drink and a generous one for himself. âWhereâs Polly?â Walter asked.
âOut on the terrace, I think.â
Walter made a drink for Polly, in case she didnât have one, and went out on the terrace. Polly was leaning against the terrace rail, watching the TV, but she smiled and beckoned to Walter when she saw him. Polly was not beautiful. Her hips spread, and she did her hair in a dull brown bun at the back of her neck, but she had the most pleasant personality in the world. For Walter simply to be near her for a few moments satisfied a deep craving, like the craving he felt sometimes to lie naked in the sun.
âHow does it feel to be married to a real estate tycoon?â Polly asked with her big toothy grin.
âGreat! Now I havenât a financial worry in the world. Iâm thinking of retiring soon.â Walter had just begun to notice his drinks. He felt a little warm in the face.
Dick came up and took his wifeâs arm. âSorry, I have to borrow this. I want her to meet Pete.â
âWhy canât Pete come out here?â Walter asked.
âHeâs deep in some discussion in there.â Dick took Polly off.
Walter picked up the extra highball that Polly hadnât wanted, and looked around for someone to offer it to. His eyes stopped on a girl who was looking at him from the far corner of the terrace. It was Peteâs girl, all by herself. Walter went over to her.
âYou donât have a drink,â he said. He couldnât think of her name.
âIâve had one, thanks. I just came out to enjoy your country air.â
âWell, youâd better have another!â He handed it to her and she accepted it. âAre you from New York?â he asked.
âI live there. Just now Iâm looking for a job thereâor anywhere.â Her eyes looked up at him directly, warm and friendly. âIâm a musician. I teach music.â
âWhat do you play?â
âThe violin. Piano, too, but Iâm more interested in the violin. I teach music to children. Music appreciation.â
âMusic to children!â The idea of teaching music to children seemed suddenly enchanting to Walter. He wanted to say: what a shame we havenât any children for you to teach music to.
âIâm looking for a job in a public school, but itâs tough without a lot of degrees and qualifications. Iâm just about to try some private schools.â
âI hope you have luck,â Walter said. The girl looked about the same age as Peter. There was a simplicity about her, a peasantry robustness that Walter supposed suited Peter to a T She was suntanned and there was a faint highlight down her nose. When she smiled, her teeth looked very white. âHave you known Pete long?â
âJust a few months. Just after he started working for you. Heâs very happy there.â
âWe like him, too.â
âHe started talking to me on the bus one
Elizabeth Amelia Barrington