Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [52]
She explained she was expecting an acquaintance at any moment, but if the stars were aligned we might have time for a drink. She instructed her secretary, Bryce, to prepare some martinis and excused herself to the bedroom. Bryce went to a fine maple cabinet, which held a bachelor’s bar. He plucked ice cubes from the bucket with a pair of silver tongs and mixed martinis, stirring the liquor with a long spoon, showing care not to clank the sides of the pitcher. He set two glasses on the table along with a dish of pickled onions. As he was about to pour, Anne came out of the bedroom.
—I’ll get that, Bryce. Thank you. That will be all.
—Shall I complete the letter to Colonel Rutherford? he prodded.
—We’ll talk about it tomorrow.
—Yes, Mrs. Grandyn.
The unusualness of a woman telling a man what to do with such blunt authority was only slightly diminished by the relative primness of Bryce’s demeanor. He gave a formal nod to her and a perfunctory nod to me. She sat back on the couch.
—Let’s to it! she said.
She leaned forward in one of her quick synchronized movements—resting an elbow on a knee, reaching for the pitcher. She poured.
—Onion? she asked.
—I’m more of an olive girl.
—I’ll remember that.
She handed me my glass and plopped two onions in her own. She put her left arm over the back of the couch. I raised my glass to her, trying to look as at ease.
—Congratulations on Pasteurized.
—None are in order. I bet on the long shot, just as I promised.
She smiled at me and took a drink.
—So tell me: What brings you to this part of town on a Wednesday afternoon? I seem to remember that you were at Quiggin & Hale. Did you take a new job?
—No. I’m still with Quiggin.
—Oh, she said with a hint of disappointment.
—I was with one of the attorneys at a deposition a few blocks from here.
—That’s where you get to ask pointed questions before the trial and your opponent has to answer them?
—That’s right.
—Well, at least that sounds like fun.
—It really depends on the sorts of questions that are being asked.
—And who’s asking them, I suspect.
She leaned forward to put her glass on the table. As she did so her blouse separated a little where the top button had come undone. I could see that she wasn’t wearing a bra.
—Do you live here? I asked.
—No, no. It’s just an office. But it’s so much more convenient than having space in a professional building. I can have dinner sent up. I can shower and change before going out. It’s easy for people from out of town to come and see me.
—The only person from out of town who’s ever come to see me is the Fuller Brush man.
She laughed and picked up her drink again.
—Was it worth his trip?
—Not really.
As she held the glass to her lips, she studied me out of the corner of her eye. When she put the glass back on the table she offered rather casually:
—I gather Tinker and Eve have gone abroad.
—That’s right. I think they’re spending a few days in London and then heading to the Riviera.
—The Riviera! Well that should prove quite romantic. All that warm water and lavender. But then romance isn’t everything, is it?
—I gather you’re still unconvinced by their relationship.
—It’s none of my business, of course. And they certainly seem to light up a room. In fact, they could probably light up Buckingham Palace. But if deposed, I’d have to admit, I’ve always imagined Tinker with someone who would challenge him a little more. Intellectually, I mean.
—Maybe Eve will surprise you.
—A surprise is what it would take.
The doorbell rang.
—Ah, she said. This must be my guest.
I asked if there was somewhere I could freshen up and she sent me to the bathroom adjoining her bedroom. Wallpapered in a William Morris style, it was petite but glorious. I put cold water on my face. On the marble counter her bra was folded neatly in a square. An emerald ring sat on top of it the way a crown sits on a coronation day pillow. When I came back out, Anne was standing near the couch with a tall ashen-haired gentleman. It was John