New York_ The Novel - Edward Rutherfurd [443]
“You like this party?” she asked.
“Of course. Don’t you?”
She shrugged. “Too much conspicuous consumption for my taste.” She looked at him thoughtfully, rather in the way, he supposed, that she might look at a painting she was appraising. “You should come by the gallery some time,” she said. “I’m there most afternoons. Monday the gallery’s closed, but I work there alone all day. Monday is a good day to call on me.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a card. She glanced at her husband, but he was talking to someone else. “Actually,” she said to Gorham quietly, “I have something of your father’s I want to give you. Would you call me on Monday?”
“I’ll do that,” he promised, then saw the time. “I’m really sorry, I have to go—we have a dinner party.”
“In that case, you’re probably late already.” Sarah Adler smiled. “Go. Go.” But just before he turned, she added: “Promise to call me, Monday.”
She was right. He was late. He got an exasperated look from Maggie on his return. But fortunately only one of the couples had arrived, and these two were his favorites, Herbert and Mary Humblay. Herbert was a retired clergyman, and they lived in a nice old co-op on Sutton Place. The Humblays were good people to have at a dinner party. Their circle of friends in the city was huge, they had wide interests, and if there were any latent tensions between the dinner guests, their kindly presence seemed miraculously to defuse them.
So when he arrived, the Humblays were just asking to see Emma to say hello, and Mary Humblay was saying, “Now I hope you haven’t made her get all dressed up just because we’re here, because that would be a shame,” and Herbert was remarking that it was as much as anyone could do to get their own granddaughter to clean up even to go to church. And Gorham felt himself relax, and was glad that it was the Humblays and not the Vorpals who’d arrived first, to set the tone of the evening.
Anyway, Emma came in with her friend Jane, who was there for a sleepover, and they were wearing similar dresses in pink and blue and looking very sweet. They brought the puppy with them.
Until a year ago the co-op had been a “no pets” building. Gorham couldn’t remember why, but it had always been that way. Then Mrs. Vorpal had wanted to have a dog, so Vorpal had persuaded the board to change the rules.
The two girls had just started to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Humblay when the Vorpals arrived. Kent let them in and smoothly took their drink orders before ushering them into the living room. Mrs. Vorpal wanted a vodka martini; Vorpal took Scotch on the rocks.
“Well, good evening, Emma,” said Vorpal, who pretended he liked children.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. Vorpal,” said Emma.
Gorham introduced the Vorpals to the Humblays.
“We were just looking at this fine puppy,” said Herbert.
The puppy, it had to be said, was cute. A tiny, fluffy white ball, peeping out with large eyes from beside Emma’s cheek.
“You should thank Mr. Vorpal,” said Maggie. “It’s because of him that you’re allowed to have a puppy.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vorpal,” said Emma.
Vorpal’s sword-like face broke into a smile. “It was my pleasure. I just think it’s nice for the children in the building to be able to have a pet.”
“That’s so nice,” said Mary Humblay.
“Have to agree with you there,” said Herbert.
“Okay, girls,” said Maggie, “you can go if you want. But mind the noise, please.”
The waiters brought the canapés round. The next guests, the O’Sullivans, arrived. He was a partner at a big law firm, quiet, judicious, but always good company; his wife Maeve was a slim, strikingly elegant Irishwoman who ran her own small brokerage house. Lastly came Liz Rabinovich and her boyfriend Juan. Liz was a speechwriter. She’d worked for some big-name politicians, though she had mostly corporate clients at present. But you never knew with Liz—she was something of a free spirit. As for Juan, he was