A Cup of Tea - Amy Ephron [6]
Eleanor Smith just stared at her. She sat with the angled posture of a ballerina, slightly bemused, her head slightly tilted to one side, her hair falling perfectly around her face. She was not surprised that this had happened. She had almost a faint smile. She knew why she was being asked to leave.
“Are you sure you’ll be all right?” asked Rosemary, wishing the girl would say anything and not just stare at her like that.
When she did answer, her voice was soft, extraordinarily composed and self-assured. “Yes, I’ll be fine.” She slipped the coat on over her shoulders. “Thank you—ma’am.” The ma’am was almost an afterthought.
Philip and Jane had switched to champagne when Rosemary walked into the library. She opened the door and leaned against the door frame and looked at them with her dazzled, exotic gaze. “Miss Smith,” she said, “will not be joining us for dinner.”
Philip looked surprised. “But,” he said, “I thought—”
Jane Howard interrupted. “I can’t stay either,” she said, standing. “I’ve stayed too long already.” Jane set her glass down on a table, blew a kiss with two fingers, and rushed out of the room.
After they left, the prospect of staying alone with Philip and filling the night up with simple conversation seemed too much for Rose. The air in the house felt thick as though something untoward had settled there. “Why don’t we try that sweet little Italian place on the corner,” she suggested, smiling up at Philip. “I don’t feel like staying in.”
It was just drizzling as Jane Howard hurried down the darkened street. She had no umbrella, just a hat, but she was not the sort to be bothered by the rain. She saw what she was looking for, the shape of a woman on the next block, and almost ran across the wet cobblestones which seemed to shimmer like cut glass.
“Wait!” she called out. “Miss Smith. I’m so glad to have caught you. It would have been terrible not to have seen you again.”
Terrible not to have seen her again? Jane didn’t give her an opportunity really to answer. She went on, “It’s almost a pretty night out, if it wasn’t so wet, that is. I always like the way it smells after a rain, don’t you?” Jane continued to walk, long, mannish strides, so that Eleanor was forced to keep pace with her. “You might not like the way it smells after a rain. Not everyone does.” This made Eleanor smile. There was something about the way Miss Howard rattled on. “I have a—I don’t mean to intrude—but we have intruded, haven’t we. Are you going to be all right?”
“I’ll be fine,” said Eleanor.
Jane Howard didn’t look convinced. She stopped on the sidewalk unmindful of the rain which was coming down almost like a mist around them. She looked at Eleanor. “I have a friend,” she said, “who owns a hat shop. Dora’s, on Sutter. Here, I’ll write it down for you. Tell her that I sent you, Jane, Jane Howard, and that I thought she might have a job for you. You’d be good at that, I think, selling hats.” She smiled at Eleanor.
Eleanor was unsure what to make of this. She was not used to people taking care of her. This was what it was, then, to make a connection? To be given a helping hand? And, yet, it had a similar sting to when her mother had been forced to rummage shoes for her from the rector who’d always, after that, looked at her pityingly as if to say, her father can’t even put shoes on her feet, would rather spend it on a Friday night at a local pub.
“I won’t tell her anything about you,” said Jane. “I’ll leave that part up to you.”
“Nothing is for free, Leni,” her mother had said to her as they’d walked away from the parish, the new shoes snugly on her feet. “It’s always best not to take something from someone, if you can help it. But there’s some times when y’can’t help it.” But wasn’t that the chance she was being given here, to work for a living, to have an honest job, to be dependent on no one but herself.
“Thank you,” she said almost shyly. “I might stop by.”
“Well, only if you think that it’s a good idea,” she said, having actually no idea what the girl did think. Jane Howard