determined.
“My dear,” he said, patting her hand, “you’re a charming girl and I have no desire to cause you embarrassment. I’ll take care of my account tomorrow. It’s just that I’ve encountered a temporary cash flow problem; all of that is cleared up now.”
The muscles jumped in Quinn’s cheeks and her voice chilled. “I’m sorry, Mr. Claiborne, but I have my orders.
Frankly, I wish I could accept your signature tonight I’m quite fond of Miss Mueller and I realize your embarrassment would be hers as well.
…”
“No matter, my dear,” Claiborne said lightly, “I’ll be very glad to take care of the bill by cash tonight.”
Quinn smiled. “That will be fine, Mr. Claiborne-I’m sorry these things happen. Do have a pleasant evening.”
“I’m sure we will, Miss Reynolds.” He retraced his steps to the table, thinking grimly: It has to be tonight.
Much as he liked Lisolette, there was no other way out -he might even be evicted from the building tomorrow.
He was sure, when the time came to pay the bill, that he could pretend he had left his wallet below. Miss Reynolds’wouldn’t cause a fuss, if for no other reason than out of deference to Lisolette. But she would report it to the manager. And, of course, there would be no chance that he would be seated in the future.
Lisolette looked up at him as he sat down. “Any trouble, Harlee?
You were gone so long…”
“Trouble? Of course not, my dear no,real problem at all. You’ll have a cocktail, of course?”’ “You’re trying to lead me astray,” Lisolette said, her eyes sparkling.
He laughed. “Perhaps.” She ordered a frozen daiquiri and he hesitated a moment, then asked for a double martini. “The chill,” he said, pointing out the window.
“I need the fortification.”
There was a doubt in her eyes which she quickly masked. “You seem distressed,” she said noncommittally.
“Not really,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “I suppose I’m basically a tragic man-in the midst of pleasure and the joys of good companionship, I remember how soon these things must end.” The drinks came and he sipped his while she tasted her own.
“The Germans have a word for it,” Lisolette said.
“They call it Weltschmerz-world weariness.”
He laughed. “That’s too grand a term for it.”
“Perhaps it’s something more on the order of what Sudermann once wrote about. Are you familiar with Sudermann?”
“I’m afraid I’m not,” he said, somewhat wary. This was a side of Lisolette that he hadn’t quite expected and wasn’t prepared for.
“Well, he was once a most popular writer. I was thinking of his Frau Sorge, which translates roughly as Dame Care. It’s about a boy cursed throughout his life with care o and sorrow. Sudermann was much like Thomas Hardy in his outlook-Frau Sorge is actually the Germanic counterpart of Jude the Obscure.”
She was beyond him, he thought. His ladies had been gentle and charming and generous but seldom intellectual.
He felt like somebody who was fond of white wine and had just been introduced to champagne. “Poor Jude,” he laughed.
“No, Lisolette, I’m afraid that even there I don’t stand up to such a grand comparison. I’m not a sorrowful man by nature-rather an optimistic one, in fact.”
“Very much like my father,” she said thoughtfully.
“You would have liked him. He was a master brewer in St. Louis, at the Schwartz Brau Brewery. He was a very fierce, and very loving, man.”
“He produced a lovely daughter.”
“No obvious flattery, Harlee.” She laughed, then was thoughtful again. “He was … formidable. He came over here from Frankfurt am Main-bud Deutsch and very proud of his cultural heritage, something he passed on to me.” The shadow of a more tragic memory passed over her face. “He was a very brave man, too; he almost died for it in the late thirties.”
“Oh?” Claiborne said gently. She obviously wanted to talk and he was perfectly willing to let her.
“Those were the days of the German-American Bund and they were very strong in South St. Louis. One could go to the Schwartzwald, the Black Forest, and see swastikas and oak leaves all over the walls and men marching around in brown shirts with armbands, belts, and SS caps -all of that dreadful type of costume.” She suddenly seemed depressed.
“That was a long time ago, Lisolette.”
“Perhaps not to me. Papa and I went to the park one time-I must have been twenty-one or -two at the time… . I was just getting into my graduate work-and there were a group of them marching and doing close-order drill. Papa called them a disgrace to the land of Schiller and Beethoven and he got into a dreadful fight with their officer …
then the rest of them started beating him. The police came but it was too late and Papa almost died.”
“Did they hurt you?” Claiborne asked after a moment of silence.
Lisolette smiled; for once it wasn’t a kind smile. “There was a metal stake thrust into the ground near a trash can. I pulled it up and attacked one of them who was trying to kick Papa with his foot. I put him in the hospital.” There was a somewhat sad triumphant look in her eyes. “Perhaps it was a terrible thing to do but I couldn’t let them do that to Papa, could I?”
He looked at her and suddenly remembered his long dead wife, Adele.
Both Lisolette and Adele were possessed of the same sort of fierce pride. It was exactly the sort of thing Adele might have done. A formidable woman, he thought. He toasted Lisolette silently and she joined him, her eyes misty with memories. “I’ve missed Papa over the years,” she said slowly. “Mama died when I was very young and he was .
. . quite important to me all of my life.”
“Did you ever marry, Lisolette?”
She shook her head, staring down at her drink. “Papa never recovered from the beating; I had to take care of him. It wasn’t that I was never asked, you know.” She looked up, the sparkle back in her,eyes.
“Would it surprise you if I said I’m not a virgin?” She smiled warmly.
“Do I shock you?”
“Hardly,” e said, laughing.
“Well, I’m not,” she said proudly. She pressed a hand to her mouth.
“A little alcohol and I say too much-you must excuse me, Harlee.
Nevertheless, it’s true and I feel pleased that I knew what love was.
But there was Papa, and, of course, the children … all the dear children I taught, all the fine young girls and boys. I suppose that became my life instead.”
Remarkable, he thought, there was so much within her that he found himself admiring. So much strength. She seemed giddy at times, but underneath there was that rawboned strength.
“Now tell me about your stocks-before they bring the food so that we can enjoy our dinner.”
She had taken him by surprise; he had almost forgotten why he had asked her to dinner. “Perhaps later on,” he stalled.
“I think now would be better,” she said. “There’s so much you’ll have to explain to me.”
He took out the envelope and spread the contents on the table.
She listened attentively, taking it all in, but for some reason his heart wasn’t in it. Her obvious trust in him made him feel uncomfortable; it took away the pleasure of the game, of the conquest.
