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“I see you are like Dick,” she retorted. “always with your compliments. Now I want to show you the room. Dick gave it to me. It’s all mine, you see.”
“And the pictures?”
“I selected them,” she nodded, “every one of them. They’re beautiful, aren’t they?”
Graham was prepared to talk on pictures, when Donald Ware entered. His violin was under his arm, and he crossed to the piano.
“We’re going to work till lunch,” Paula explained to Graham. “We’ll see you there. You can stay if you care, of course; but I warn you it’s really going to be work. And we’re going swimming this afternoon. Four o’clock at the pool, Dick says. Also, he’s got a new song he’s going to sing then. What time is it, Mr. Ware?”
“Ten minutes to eleven,” the musician answered briefly.
“You’re ahead of time—the engagement was for eleven. And till eleven you’ll wait, sir. I must see Dick, first. I haven’t said good morning to him yet.”
Paula knew her husband’s timetable. Her notes reminded her that he had coffee at six-thirty; was inaccessible between nine and ten, dictating correspondence to Blake; was inaccessible between ten and eleven, conferring with managers and foremen[59].
At eleven, unless there were unexpected telegrams or business, she could usually find Dick alone. Passing the secretaries’ room, she pressed the button that swung aside a section of filled book-shelves and revealed the tiny spiral of steel steps that led up to Dick’s work room. A shade of vexation passed across her face as she recognized Jeremy Braxton’s[60] voice. Jeremy was the general superintendent of the Harvest Group[61]. And the news he was telling was not good. She paused in indecision and stole back down the spiral on her way to the music room. She was depressed, due to her missing her morning greeting to Dick. But this depression vanished at seeing Graham, who had lingered with Ware at the piano.
“Don’t run away,” she urged. “Stay and watch the people work. Maybe you will start that book Dick has told me about.”
11
On Dick’s face, at lunch, there was no sign of trouble over the Harvest Group. After lunch everybody went out for a walk.
Paula wore a tan linen blouse with white turnback collar[62]. A short skirt reached the knees. Skirt and trousers were of fawn-colored silk corduroy. Soft white gauntlets on her hands matched with the collar in the one emphasis of color. Her head was bare.
“I don’t see how you can keep such a skin and expose yourself to the sun this way,” Graham said.
“I don’t,” she smiled with a dazzle of white teeth. “That is, I don’t expose my face this way more than a few times a year.”
As four o’clock approached, Donald Ware returned in a car to the Big House. Dick was at the pool when the party arrived, and the girls were immediately insistent for the new song.
“It isn’t exactly a new song,” Dick explained, his gray eyes twinkling roguery, “and it’s not my song. It was sung in Japan before I was born, and, I think, before Columbus[63] discovered America. Also, it is a duet—a competitive duet with forfeit penalties[64] attached. Paula will sing it with me—I’ll teach you. Sit down there, that’s right—now all the rest of you gather around and sit down.”
Paula sat down, facing her husband, in the center of the sitting audience. Then he sang the song, which was short and which she quickly picked up[65], singing it with him and clapping the accent. It was chanted slowly, almost monotonously:
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