"I mark only the sunny hours," Cheryl said. "I saw that written on a sundial. It's a well-trained memory that operates on the same principle."
"Mine must be better-trained than I thought, then. When I was talking to Miriam-"
"Who?"
"Miriam Montgomery. I told you about her, she's that friend of Shreve's."
"Oh, right. The one we toasted. How could I forget her?"
"Anyhow, she said she'd hate to live her youth over again. I agreed with her-and I still wouldn't want to go back-but neither would I want to forget these days entirely. There were some wonderful memories."
Cheryl glanced at her and then looked away. From the quirk of her lips, Karen knew she was wondering how many of those memories concerned Mark. But Cheryl was learning discretion; she didn't ask and Karen didn't elaborate.
Alexander rose with a grumbling growl and stretched. He sauntered off to investigate the garden and see if there were any new smells. Apparently he found some, for he burrowed under the azaleas and disappeared from sight.
"He must smell that cat of Mr. DeVoto's," Karen said.
"Uh-huh." Even the seductive summer air and the lovely long shadows could not distract Cheryl for long. "I hope we can have a yard someday. I don't mean right away; it looks as if we'll have to settle for an apartment and a stall in one of those antique malls at first. But maybe in a few years…"
"A yard is a lot of work. We won't be able to hire help, even in the shop, for a long time."
"I love yard work. We could buy a secondhand mower; they have them at yard sales sometimes. Your aunt sure keeps her garden nice. I suppose she has a gardener?"
"I suppose. No, I know she does, I send him a check every month. But he reminds me of the shoemaker's little elves. I never see him."
"We wouldn't want a garden as fancy as this. Roses take a lot of care. Well." Cheryl reached for a ledger. "I'd better get to work."
"Me too. There are several hours of daylight left, and a good breeze; those old linens would probably dry before dark if I hung them out right away." But Karen didn't move. It was too pleasant to sit in lazy contentment enjoying the peace of the secluded garden. Not that the future promised all clear sailing. There were patches of rough water, financial and emotional, ahead; Jack represented a big squall all by himself. But the worst seemed to be over, and she had no excuse for self-pity. Thanks to the loving help of friends old and new, she had been relieved of problems that might have sunk a vessel as heavily loaded as hers had been. But she had done some of it herself; at least she had the gumption to take advantage of the opportunities presented. Julie was off her back, and so was Rob. Poor Rob. She could pity him, but she still could not understand why he had done such cruel things. One could only feel sorry for a mind so burdened with malice-and be guiltily relieved that it was no longer a factor in one's life.
"You're looking pleased with yourself," said Cheryl. "What are you thinking about?"
"I'd be ashamed to tell you. I just had a bad attack of smugness. I guess I'd better drown it in hot water and bleach."
A telephone call from Jack later that evening was another salutary antidote to smugness, reminding Karen that he could not be airily dismissed with an apt metaphor. She was seething with rage when she hung up.
"Can you believe him?" she demanded of a sympathetic Cheryl. "He asked me to lunch tomorrow. He still thinks he can talk me into signing those papers."
"You turned him down, I hope."
"Naturally. It's getting dark; I'll bring in my laundry and then you can have your treat."
"Oh, goody. The cleaning."
"The cleaning. You may enjoy it, but I won't; I've got to pick out a dress for Shreve."
"You are going to sell her one, then."
"I have to. There was never any question of that. Those designer originals are my sole source of capital, Cheryl. It's only thanks to Mrs. Mac that I have them, but somehow it doesn't seem quite as bad as borrowing from Pat. Two or three more sales like the one to Miriam will bring enough money for me to contribute my half of our opening costs."
"Okay, okay. I'm on your side, remember?"
Karen bit her lip. "Sorry."
"I told you to stop apologizing. What time is she coming for the dress?"
"She isn't coming. I said I'd deliver it to her, at her house. Well, what else could I do, when she insisted?"
"Nothing," Cheryl murmured, following Karen to the door.
"She's so busy and so important," Karen went on. "And I'm just a scruffy little tradesman, after all. Lord, how I hate to hand over one of those gorgeous dresses to that…"
"Don't do it if it bugs you that much. There will be other buyers."
"I can't do that. If I begin getting sensitive about rudeness and bad manners, I'll never survive in business."
"Right."
Karen opened the back door. "I'll be right back. Put the kettle on, would you, please? We'll indulge ourselves in an extravagant cup of tea while we look at clothes we can't afford to wear ourselves."
I must stop doing that, she told herself, as she took the linens off the lines. I must have repeated every damn word Shreve said to me, twice over; Cheryl is sick of hearing it. No more bitchiness, no more sarcasm, no more self-pity. At least not tonight!
The bed in her room was stacked with boxes. Karen had determined to pretend she was as thrilled as Cheryl at the prospect of inspecting the dresses; when she lifted the lid off the first box she didn't have to pretend.
"Oh, gorgeous! He did a super job, even if he did charge an arm and a leg. Just look."
Silvery cloth glimmered under the light, the sleeveless, draped bodice molded by underlying tissue. A wide hip sash was studded with paste gems, ruby and emerald topaz surrounded by patterns of tiny jet beads. The sash ended in a two-foot fringe of the same jet beads.
"I cannot let her have that," Karen moaned, forgetting her recent resolution. "It's a Poiret original-one of his Egyptian models. That very dress is shown in one of my books."
In painful silence they replaced the lid and went on to the next box. "He said you wanted them stored flat," Cheryl said. "Not on hangers."
"That's right, you can't hang these beaded dressed without some support; it's too much of a strain on the fabric." Another groan came from Karen's lips as the lid came off to reveal a gown of black taffeta whose deep decolletage was framed by wide bands of intricately patterned crystal beads. The full skirt was looped and held in front by a glittering waterfall of beads lying in petaled festoons. "Lanvin," Karen murmured.
Cheryl snatched the lid from her and replaced it. "There are limits beyond which no woman can be expected to go," she announced firmly. "I'd just as soon cut off one of my fingers as give this up. What did the museums say, or did you have a chance to call them?"
"Museums prefer donations," Karen said. "A couple of them said they'd be in touch; the Costume Institute wants me to bring them to New York so they can have a look."
"Nuts to the Costume Institute. I don't even want the museums to have them. You know, Karen, we don't have to let all of them go. In fact, we'd be crazy to get rid of them. They could make the difference between our being just another old-clothes store and one of the top vintage clothing boutiques in the country. Which is what we're aiming to be, right?"
"Well, of course. But I don't see-"
"A collection like this is worth thousands in publicity, Karen. We can have fashion shows, and display these dresses in the shop as part of the decor; rent them, on rare occasions, to special customers-and charge the earth for the privilege-get write-ups in newspapers and magazines, maybe even TV interviews."
"Do you really think so?"
"Knowing we have things of this caliber will attract not only customers, but people who want to sell similar clothes. I'm telling you, we'd be making a big mistake to let them go."