"You should go."
"No. It would be unseemly."
"Don't be silly. Grace would want you to go. And besides, you need a change of scenery. You haven't left this house all week."
"What if she calls?"
"Eunice is here to relay any messages."
"But to go out and have a good time—"
"I thought you told me you never had a good time at these affairs."
Nellie smiled, and that was good to see. "True… very true. Well, I rather suppose you're right. Perhaps I should go. But only on one condition."
"What's that?"
"You go with me."
Gia was startled at the request. The last thing in the world she wanted to do on a Saturday night was stand around in a room full of U.N. diplomats.
"No. Really, I couldn't—"
"Of course you can!"
"But Vicky is— "
"Eunice will be here."
Gia racked her brain for excuses. There had to be a way out of this.
"I've nothing to wear."
"We'll go out and buy you something."
"Out of the question!"
Nellie pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket and dabbed her lips. "Then I shan't be going either."
Gia did her best to glare angrily at Nellie, but only managed to hold the expression for a few seconds, then she broke into a smile.
"All right, you old blackmailer—!"
"I resent being called old."
"—I'll go with you, but I'll find something of my own to wear."
"You'll come with me tomorrow afternoon and put a dress on my account. If you're to accompany me, you must have the proper clothes. And that's all I shall say on the matter. We shall leave after lunch."
With that, she turned and bustled away toward the library. Gia was filled with a mixture of affection and annoyance. Once again she had been outflanked by the old lady from London.
3
Jack walked in the main entrance of the Waldorf at six precisely and went up the steps to the bustling lobby. It had been a hectic day but he had managed to get here on time.
He had arranged for analysis of the contents of the bottle he had found in Grace's room, then had gone down to the streets and looked up every shady character he knew—and he knew more than he cared to count. There was no talk anywhere about anybody snatching a rich old lady. By late afternoon he was drenched with sweat and feeling gritty all over. He had showered, shaved, dressed, and cabbed over to Park Avenue.
Jack had never had a reason to go to the Waldorf before so he didn't know what to expect from this Peacock Alley where Kolabati wanted to meet him. To be safe, he had invested in a lightweight cream-colored suit and a pinkish shirt and paisley tie to go with it—at least the salesman said they went with it. He thought at first he might be overdoing it, then figured it would be hard to overdress for the Waldorf. From his brief conversation with Kolabati he sensed she would be dressed to the nines.
Jack absorbed the sights and sounds of the lobby as he walked through it. All races, all nationalities, all ages, shapes, and sizes milled or sat about. To his left, behind a low railing and an arch, people sat drinking at small tables. He walked over and saw a little oval sign that read "Peacock Alley."
He glanced around. If the Waldorf Lobby were a sidewalk, Peacock Alley would be a sidewalk cafe, an air-conditioned model sans flies and fumes. He didn't see anyone at the outer tables who fit his image of Kolabati. He studied the clientele. Everyone looked well-heeled and at ease. Jack felt very much out of his element here. This was not his scene. He felt exposed standing here. Maybe this was a mistake—
"A table, sir?"
A middle-aged maitre d' was at his shoulder, looking at him expectantly. His accent was French with perhaps a soupçon of Brooklyn.
"I think so. I'm not sure. I'm supposed to meet someone. She's in a white dress and—"
The man's eyes lit up. "She is here! Come!"
Jack followed him into the rear section, wondering how this man could be so sure he had the right party. They passed a series of alcoves, each with a sofa and stuffed chairs around a cocktail table, like tiny living rooms all in a row. There were paintings on the wall, adding to the warm, comfortable atmosphere. They turned into a wing and were approaching its end when Jack saw her.
He knew then why there had been no hesitation on the part of the maître a", why there could be no mistake. This was The Woman in the White Dress. She might as well have been the only woman in the room.
She sat alone on a divan against the rear wall, her shoes off, her legs drawn up sideways under her as if she were sitting at home listening to music—classical music, or maybe a raga. A wine glass half-full of faintly amber liquid swirled gently in her hand. There was a strong family resemblance to Kusum, but Kolabati was younger, late twenties, perhaps. She had bright, dark, wide-set, almond-shaped eyes, wide cheekbones, a fine nose dimpled over the flare of the left nostril where perhaps it had been pierced to set a jewel, and smooth, flawless, mocha-colored skin. Her hair too was dark, almost black, parted in the middle and curled at the sides around her ears and the nape of her neck. Old fashioned but curiously just right for her. She had a full lower lip, colored a deep glossy red. And all that was dark about her was made darker by the whiteness of her dress.
The necklace was the clincher, though. Had Jack the slightest doubt about her identity, the silvery iron necklace with the two yellow stones laid it immediately to rest.
She extended her hand from where she was seated on the couch. "It's good to see you, Jack." Her voice was rich and dark, like her; and her smile, so white and even, was breathtaking. She leaned forward, her breasts swelling against the thin fabric of her dress as it shaped itself around the minute nipple-bulge centered on each. She did not seem to have the slightest doubt as to who he was.
"Ms. Bahkti," he said, taking her hand. Her nails, like her lips, were a deep red, her dusky skin soft and smooth as polished ivory. His mind seemed to go blank. He really should say something more. "Glad to see you haven't lost your necklace." That sounded good, didn't it?
"Oh, no. Mine stays right where it is!" She released his hand and patted the cushion next to her. "Come. Sit. We've much to talk about."
Close up, her eyes were wise and knowing, as if she had absorbed all the wonders of her race and its timeless culture.
The maître d' did not call a waiter but stood by quietly as Jack took his place beside Kolabati. It was possible that he was a very patient man, but Jack noticed that his eyes never left Kolabati.
"May I get M'sieur something to drink?" he said when Jack was settled.
Jack looked at Kolabati's glass. "What's that?"
"Kir."
He wanted a beer, but this was the Waldorf. "I'll have one of those."
She laughed. "Don't be silly! Bring him a beer. They have Bass Ale here."
"I'm not much for ale. But I'll take a Beck's light if you've got it." At least he'd be drinking imported beer. What he really wanted was a Rolling Rock.
"Very good." The maître a" finally went away.
"How'd you know I like beer?" The confidence with which she had said it made him uneasy.
"A lucky guess. I was sure you wouldn't like kir." She studied him. "So… you're the man who retrieved the necklace. It was a seemingly impossible task, yet you did it. I owe you a debt of undying gratitude."
"It was only a necklace."
"A very important necklace."
"Maybe, but it's not as if I saved her life or anything."
"Perhaps you did. Perhaps return of the necklace gave her the strength and the hope to go on living. It was very important to her. Our whole family wears them—every one of us. We're never without it."
"Never?"
"Never."
Full of eccentricities, these Bahktis.
The Beck's arrived, delivered by the maitre a" himself, who poured the first glassful, lingered a moment, then wandered off with obvious reluctance.