Mother Martin looked as if she were going to have a fit. Mirelle tried desperately to think of something to fill in the deathly still silence.
"Neagu… Neagu…" Ann murmured, trying to make an association. "Oh, yes, of course!" Her eyes widened with astonished delight. "Was he your father?"
Helplessly, Mirelle nodded. She didn't dare look at anyone else. But she wanted to murder Sylvia and G.F. Couldn't they realize that accepting her bastardy so casually would only exacerbate the Martins' displeasure?
"You're so right, G.F., about a Neagu portrait being a status symbol," Ann went on. "I remember the Ambassador's wife… and she was the most awful bitch, too… paid a small fortune to be done by Neagu. He gave the most outrageous parties. How wonderful, Mirelle. Just wait till I tell Mother that I've met Neagu's daughter. Won't she be thrilled? Do be sure to tell Mother when you meet, Mrs. Martin, that your daughter-in-law is Lajos Neagu's daughter. She'll do anything to smooth your way then."
Mother Martin sat stiffly still in her chair, staring at Ann Blackburn with disbelief.
"Did you inherit any of the fabulous Neagu talent, Mirelle?" Ann was too excited to notice the reception of her remarks.
"Watch out, Mirelle," Red laughed indulgently for he had noticed the strained look, "Ann collects people the way others collect stamps."
"Oh, you!" Ann gave him a dirty look. "People are so fascinating. After all, you have to live with them and most of them are so dull and prosaic." She sighed. "I sometimes miss the diplomatic phase of my life. It could be very exciting."
"After being around the world six, or was it seven times, Wilmington is rather dull potatoes for my wife," Red said.
"It is not," she contradicted him with spirit. "There are interesting people all over the world and in Wilmington. Why, here are Mr. and Mrs. Martin about to remove themselves all the way to Florida."
Silently Mirelle blessed her for that.
"And Mirelle with a famous father," she continued, compounding her original errors. "Now, do you paint, Mirelle?"
"No, she sculpts," Steve said very distinctly. Mirelle stole a glance at him and saw that his teeth were tightly locked but she couldn't tell whether he was just angry or worried about the impression this conversation might be giving Red Blackburn.
"You should have seen her at the church bazaar," Sylvia said in her drawl. "Her booth was very popular. She worked small busts in clay right there."
"May I see some of your work?" Ann asked.
"Watch out, Mirelle," Red said, "she's a manager."
"Oh, you be quiet, Red Blackburn. For the first time in years you introduce me to one salesman's wife who isn't a complete and utter idiot."
"Ann!" Red exclaimed, a little startled.
"Oh, Mirelle's no dope, Arthur Blackburn," Ann said with a gay laugh. "She's been with the Company long enough to know the routine. Sales managers always contrive to meet the wives," and Ann rolled her eyes, "and then the sales managers' wives have to listen to what child got sick with what ailment at what age."
Sylvia laughed out loud. " 'Judy O'Grady…"
" 'And the Colonel's lady… ' " Ann picked it up jubilantly.
"… 'Are sisters under the skin!' " Mirelle capped the verse.
"You are all behaving outrageously," Red said.
"What a relief!" his wife replied. "Particularly if you like her broccoli."
"How long have you two been in Wilmington?" Sylvia wanted to know.
"Three years, and then five years in the southwest, and well, I've been travelling all my born days."
"We're more or less settled now, sweetheart," Red reassured his wife.
"I remember my father telling my mother that." Ann's attitude was distinctly skeptical.
"Didn't you say that they'd retired to Florida?" asked Dad Martin.
"I don't want to be seventy when we're finally settled," Ann answered tartly.
"Salesmen's wives of the world, unite!" Sylvia chanted, raising one hand dramatically over her head. "We have nothing to lose but our husbands' jobs!"
"My wife will find a cause anywhere in the world," G.F. said with tolerant amusement.
"Ooops, sorry. I get carried away."
"Yes, don't you just?" Mirelle responded with some asperity.
"Always and only the very best causes," Sylvia said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.
"Lost any lately?" asked Steve in a quiet voice.
"Touche!" G.F. said, and Sylvia had the grace to flush.
Ann and Red were aware of an undercurrent, aware, too, that the Martins had turned their entire attention to their plates.
"Didn't I see your name on a Democratic poster?" Ann asked Sylvia.
"Hmm, yes. I'm a ward-heeler. That's how I met Mirelle."
"Are you and G.F. both lawyers then?"
"Heavens, no." Sylvia was startled. "One cynic in the family is enough."
G.F. placed a hand on his heart in exaggerated hurt. "I am touched to the quick to think that my wife believes that my profession has made me cynical. Although it is true that I have seen the seamy side of life, I have been able to retain my naivete and joie de vivre !"
"Also your pose as a boulevardier" Mirelle added and Ann laughed.
"Did you ever get to Paris, Steve?" Red asked.
"No, I was too busy liberating Vienna," he replied, "and from what I heard on the ship home, I think I pulled the better duty."
"Well, I've heard that Vienna has quite a reputation, but there was this place on the left bank," and Red launched into a well told and, from the slightly glazed expression on Ann's face, an oft-repeated humorous incident.
That set G.F. off with a story which had happened to him on his arrival in the States in the late 40's and the men dominated the conversation. Dinner finally ended and Mirelle served coffee and liqueurs in the living room.
When Sylvia volunteered to help Mirelle clear the table, Mirelle demanded an explanation of her leading remarks during dinner.
"I watched your mother-in-law, Mirelle, and it's perfectly obvious that anything socially important counts with her. She sure didn't like your popularity at the Bazaar, but when she saw how much more important she became as your mother-in-law, you'd've laughed yourself sick to hear how much credit she was willing to take for encouraging you!" Sylvia's low voice was fierce with anger. "So G.F. and I decided to mention your very socially acceptable father. Just luck that Ann Blackburn - she's a find; I'll collect her myself - had also heard of Lajos Neagu. Mother Martin may not like it but I'll bet you anything she's now willing to lump it. And make good use of the Neagu connection with Mrs. Mergenthau. You might also take note of the fact, my friend," and Sylvia became less fierce as she covered Mirelle's hand with hers, "that it was never mentioned that your father and your mother were not married to each other. And no one on this side of the Atlantic is going to know unless you tell them."
Some of Mirelle's anger with Sylvia dissipated when she was forced to admit that Sylvia's ploy was logical.
"Evil is in the mind of the beholder, hon," Sylvia went on. "Not that your mother-in-law would believe good of you under the best possible circumstances."
"Oh, Sylvia!"
"Don't 'Oh Sylvia' me. At least she makes no pretense of any affection. She's of the ignorance-is-bliss school and she sure tries to ignore your existence. Say, I hadn't realized just how much Tonia looks like her? And did you see her face flush when Ann commented on the resemblance?"
"Yes, because Tonia also inherited Mother Martin's sense of importance."
"And the importance of being Mother Martin requires no imitations?"