Shattered Silk (10 page)

Part of Karen's pleasure was purely sensuous. It was good to handle the natural fabrics, linens and cottons and silks, and to see them transformed as if by magic from dingy, crumpled wads of cloth to garments dazzling in their whiteness and perky with starch.

There was another reason why she enjoyed a job she would once have considered unworthy of her intelligence. This job had visible, tangible results. They hung in lacy elegance from hangers and rods, and danced on the drying lines strung across the garden. They were the product of her own labors and her own good sense, and they would mean money in the bank-money she had earned. All she had ever gained from her long hours of labor for Jack was an occasional line in the finished book. "And finally I must thank my wife, who typed the manuscript…"

In the morning light the laces she had bought the previous night looked even better than she had hoped. She washed and bleached and rinsed again; by midmorning the clotheslines in the garden were full. Karen rewarded herself with a second cup of coffee-black-and sat down on the terrace to relax for a few minutes and admire the results of her labors.

She wondered how long it would be before the neighbors complained. The look was definitely not Georgetown, and even though the high fence ensured a degree of privacy, old Mr. DeVoto, who lived in the house to the north, was a first-class busybody. Let him object, she thought defiantly. But it would be nice to have her own place, in the country or in a small town, where the air was free of exhaust fumes and smog. She couldn't go on living with Ruth and Pat. Even if pride had not forbidden such a course, her uncle's temper would surely crack if he had to fight his way through dangling linens and laces every time he wanted to sit on the terrace or use the bathroom.

Karen arrived at the shop promptly at eleven, to find that Rob had already opened for business. Her surprise and pleasure at this unexpected development were cut short when Rob informed her that he was taking the afternoon off. He brushed her protests aside with an airy wave of the hand. "Darling, you must have more confidence in yourself. It's a piece of cake. I mean, sweetie, what's the problem?"

The problem was that Saturday was the busiest day of the week, when it would have been advantageous to have two people on duty. Rob knew this as well as Karen did, but although she was sorely tempted to give him a piece of her mind, she decided it was not worth the effort. She had no authority to hire or fire employees; if Rob took umbrage at her criticism and quit she would be left with no help at all. Like Alexander, he wasn't worth much, but he was better than nothing. She wondered how he managed to keep his job. He must have some hold over Julie, to get away with such a casual attitude; she had seen him do the same thing before. She couldn't believe Rob and Julie were lovers, though. Surely Rob wouldn't flaunt his affairs so flagrantly if that were the case. Perhaps there had been something between them in the past.

Rob left at two, reeking of some strong, supposedly sexy aftershave, and smirking in a way that made Karen want to throw something at him. Business was brisk. She didn't sell much, but the shop bell never stopped tinkling and she didn't have a moment to sit down. Finally, at around four, the traffic began to slow. The sunshine without was hazy with heat, and most people were heading for Happy Hour.

Karen had just collapsed into a chair when the telephone rang. Instead of reaching for it she eyed it warily; she was still smarting from the last call, from a dealer who had some urgent business with Julie-an appointment she had obviously forgotten, since she had said nothing about it. The dealer, not a well-bred man, had taken his ire out on Karen and she was in no mood for another such encounter.

However, the phone had to be answered. The voice that replied to her formal "Old things. May I help you?" was familiar.

"Karen? This is Cheryl. Mark's sister."

"Oh, hello."

"Hello. I just happened to be in… I mean, I was wondering… I thought maybe you'd like to go to dinner or a movie or something tonight. I know it's awfully short notice-"

"That's no problem," Karen said. "I'm not exactly the most sought-after female in Washington."

"That makes two of us. Anyway, we're not alone; what's the ratio of women to men in this town-three to one?"

"More like ten to one, I think."

"I guess it feels that way to lots of women," Cheryl agreed. "Look, you don't have to say yes just for politeness. If you had other plans-"

"To tell you the truth, I had planned to spend the evening washing and ironing clothes. Not exactly a wild and frivolous time."

"It sounds absolutely thrilling compared to what I was looking forward to."

"I suppose Mark is busy," Karen said. Just like Mark, she was thinking-bringing the poor girl here to cook and keep house for him while he goes to all those glamorous parties…

"He has to work tonight, the poor guy. I try to keep out of his way when he's preparing a speech or writing a bill, or whatever it is they do up there on the Hill. He wanders around the house talking to himself and running into the furniture-"

"Here comes a customer," Karen said, as the door opened. "Can I call you back?"

"Well, uh… I'm at a phone booth, actually, and…"

"Which just happens to be in the neighborhood?" Karen remembered Cheryl's first unfinished sentence. "Why don't you come to the shop and we'll decide what we want to do."

The customer was looking for antique jewelry. Karen displayed Julie's few pieces of Art Deco and Art Nouveau, and the customer, who was only interested in Victorian and Georgian jewelry, departed. The next person to enter was Cheryl. Karen realized she couldn't have been more than two blocks away when she called.

Her curls were limp with damp and her perspiring face shone like a mirror, but her smile would have cheered the most confirmed misogynist. You can't help being glad to see her, Karen thought; she's so openly glad to see you.

"Boy, it's hot out there," Cheryl announced, with the air of someone who has just made a new scientific discovery. "Are you all alone? Where's your assistant?"

"It's a moot point as to who is assisting whom, or if anybody is assisting anybody," Karen said.

"That bad, huh?"

"Oh, not really, I'm just in a bitchy mood. This is my first day without Julie and Rob decided to take the afternoon off. I guess I'm a little nervous. It's a big responsibility."

"Good experience, though," Cheryl said. "For running your own place."

"It's teaching me what not to do, at any rate. All this clutter and confusion isn't my style. It's too hard to keep track of things and people."

"Do you have much shoplifting?" Cheryl sounded as if she were genuinely interested.

That was all Karen needed. She didn't stop talking until she was interrupted by another customer, and after she had dealt with him she was surprised to see that it was after five.

"We haven't even discussed what we're going to do this evening," she said, adding apologetically, "I didn't mean to monopolize the conversation. It's just that I have so much to do and it's on my mind all the time-"

"And it's so fascinating!" Cheryl said enthusiastically.

"I wouldn't say that." Karen began the complicated process of closing up. "The clothes themselves are fun, I love that part of it, but when I think about finding the right location and getting more stock and all the business end… I guess that's it. We can go now."

"What computer system are you going to get?" Cheryl asked, helping Karen pull the grille across the door.

"Oh, God, don't mention computers! I'm going to start with a few old-fashioned ledgers. Maybe I can deal with them, I know I can't learn how to handle a computer."

"But that's-" Cheryl stopped suddenly.

"All set," Karen announced, dropping the keys into her purse. "I have to go home to check on the dog anyway; why don't we have a drink there and discuss our plans?"

They never did discuss plans for the evening; they didn't get to a movie or even to a restaurant. By the time they reached the house Karen was talking nonstop, her half-formulated plans and unexpressed worries pouring out in a verbal flood. Missing Mrs. MacDougal for her laughter and her companionship and her support, she had not realized how much she also missed a sounding board for new ideas. Cheryl was a perfect audience, asking an occasional question at just the right moment.

Alexander was waiting at the door, and not until she actually saw his featureless furry face did Karen remember she had failed to warn Cheryl of his habits. She tried to grab him as he charged, missed as she always did; cried out in warning--

Cheryl's lifted foot caught Alexander square in the chest and tipped him gently onto his backside. For a moment he balanced, paws flailing in the air, jaws still moving; then he toppled over backward.

"I didn't kick him," Cheryl said earnestly. "He just ran into my foot; he isn't hurt."

"Only his dignity," Karen said, laughing as Alexander rolled over and strolled away. "Serves him right. He's not my dog, I was conned into keeping him for a friend."

"Mrs. MacDougal?"

"Why yes. How did you know?"

"She's a friend of Mark's. I've met her a couple of times; she's a sweetheart. Say, what's this story about her car being stolen?"

So it might well have been Mark she had seen at the airport, saying good-by. With red roses, yet…

Karen explained about the Rolls as they trailed an aloof Alexander to the kitchen and tended to his needs. She found that Cheryl already knew the details, for Mark had called the lawyer that morning after seeing a paragraph in the newspaper.

"I don't think that lawyer appreciated having Mark call him," Cheryl said seriously. "I couldn't hear what he said, of course, but Mark answered him back in that cold, cutting way he has when he's mad. He said he never trusted that man-the chauffeur-and he wouldn't have hired him to look after a used Chevy, much less a car worth half a million bucks. I figure he must have been exaggerating, don't you? How could any car be worth that much?"

"He may have exaggerated, I don't know about such things; but it was valuable-custom-built, and very expensive to begin with."

"You saw the guy, didn't you? Did he look like a crook?"

Karen was not anxious to discuss Horton, but the naive question made her laugh. "Crooks come in all shapes and sizes. Horton was definitely a large size. Handsome, if you like bulging muscles and wet red lips and fleshy cheeks…"

"Which you obviously don't. Did he say anything-do anything-unusual?"

"He didn't make a pass at me, if that's what you mean." Karen knew that was what she meant, but she wondered what had prompted Cheryl to ask. Was it possible that Mark… No, it wouldn't have occurred to him to worry about something like that. He was only concerned about the car.

She went on to tell Cheryl how Horton had reacted to her offer of a tip, adding, "Looking back on it, I realize why he was so amused, but I couldn't possibly have anticipated what was going to happen."

"Of course not."

"Anyway, it's no great tragedy. I'm sure the car was insured. Mrs. Mac would really be upset if someone had been hurt, but fortunately that wasn't the case. Would you let Alexander in, please, and we'll decide where we're going to go."

When Cheryl opened the door she saw the linens draping the clotheslines in back, and offered to help bring them in. Two hours later they were still sitting in the kitchen eating crackers and cheese and talking clothes, and it was Karen who finally changed the subject. "I'm being very rude. You must be starved."

"Not really. But you-"

"I'm trying to diet anyway. I'm sure I can find something here-salad, tuna-"

"I couldn't impose on you like that." Karen smiled. "Cheryl, you don't really want to go to a movie, do you?"

"Sure, if you do."

"There's nothing around I want to see." "And everyplace is so crowded on Saturday night…"

"It's such a pain getting dressed to go out…"

Karen couldn't keep her face straight, and after a moment Cheryl grinned back at her, albeit somewhat shamefacedly. "I'm so damned obvious. You knew all along I invited myself over here so I could play with your toys." "Saturday night is a bad night to be alone," Karen said, sobering. "You did me a favor. I am getting hungry, though. Let's see if there is anything fit to eat in the fridge."

Alexander approved of their staying home. He followed them upstairs of his own free will after supper and settled down in his velvet-lined bed. When Cheryl stooped to fondle his head he emitted a strange sound like a hoarse, magnified purr.

"He's a sweet little doggie," Cheryl said.

"He is not a sweet little doggie. But he seems to like you, for some reason… Don't get me wrong, that wasn't an insult to you, but to Alexander. He hates everybody except Mrs. Mac."

"I expect he misses her."

"It's hard to tell what Alexander thinks or feels. His manners seem to be improving slightly, though. Maybe a good swift kick now and then is what he needs."

"I'm glad you have a dog," Cheryl said. She glanced at the windows, now black with unrelieved night. Moon and stars had little chance of penetrating the cloud of smog and humidity that hung over the city. "You aren't nervous here alone?"

"No."

"I didn't mean you should be. There's nothing to be scared of, nothing at all-"

"There's plenty to be scared of," Karen said bluntly. She began taking clothes out of the wardrobe, for she had promised Cheryl a fashion show of Mrs. MacDougal's designer gowns. "Burglars and muggers and rapists and perverts. But that's true of any big city, and if you spent all your time worrying about what might happen, you'd never accomplish anything."

Cheryl, who had stretched out across the bed, rose up with a shriek. She was not disagreeing with Karen's remarks, but reacting to the Schiaparelli Karen held.

"Oh, Lord, it's the most beautiful thing I ever saw! Is that real mink?"

"Try it on," Karen invited.

"Could I? Oh, no, I shouldn't. It's too delicate-"

She allowed herself to be persuaded. The dress was too big for her, but as she pirouetted and turned in front of the mirror her face shone with delight. "I never in my life wore anything this classy," she breathed. "I never expected I would. How much is it worth?"