'Should we put the presents under the tree tonight or wait for tomorrow morning?' he asked.
'Let's wait. Edward, you go to bed whenever you like. I'll wait up for them.'
'I was sure you would,' he said, smiling.
'And I plan to keep you company.'
He sat relaxed in the high wing chair covered with bottlegreen leather, worn to a gloss. Monica wandered over to Diane Ellerbee's basket of flowers placed on their Duncan Phyfe desk. She made small adjustments in the arrangement.
'It really is gorgeous, Edward.'
'Yes-2' he started, then stopped. He rose slowly to his feet.
'What did you say?' he asked in a strangled voice.
Monica turned to stare at him.
'I said it was gorgeous.
Edward, what on earth is the matter?'
'No, no,' he said impatiently.
'I mean when the flowers first arrived and I brought them into the kitchen. What did you say then?'
'Edward, what is this?'
'What did you say then?' he shouted at her.
'Tell me!'
'I said they were beautiful and wondered if they were for the girls. You said no, they were for us.'
'And what else?'
'I asked if you wanted a buttonhole. You said you didn't.'
'Right!' he said triumphantly.
'I asked if you had ever seen me wear a flower. You said no, not even at our wedding.
Then I asked what you'd think if I showed up wearing a rose in my lapel.
And what did you say then?'
'I said I'd suspect you had fallen in love with another woman.
He smacked his forehead with an open palm.
'Idiot!' he howled.
'I've been a goddamned idiot!'
He went rushing into the study and slammed the door.
Monica looked on in astonishment. After a few minutes she settled down to watch a Christmas Eve program on television.
She resisted the temptation to look in at him for almost an hour, then, maddened by curiosity, she opened the study door just a few inches and peeked inside. He was standing at the file cabinet, his back to her, flinging reports left and right. She decided not to interrupt.
An hour later, figuring this nonsense had gone on long enough, she marched resolutely into the study and confronted him. He was slumped wearily in his swivel chair behind the desk, wearing his horn-rimmed specs. He was holding a sheet of paper, staring at it.
'Edward,' she said severely, 'you've got to tell me what's going on.'
'I've got it,' he said, looking up at her wonderingly.
'The man was in love.'
It was supposed to be a festive day. They all came downstairs in pajamas, bathrobes, and slippers and opened the tenderly wrapped packages stacked under the tree.
'Oh, you shouldn't have done it!'… 'Just what I wanted!'
Delaney had given Monica a handsome choker of cultured pearls which she immediately put on.
Then they all sat around the kitchen table for a big breakfast: juice, eggs, ham, hashed-brown potatoes, buttermilk biscuits, lots of coffee, glazed doughnuts, and more coffee.
Delaney moved through all this jollity with a glassy smile, his thoughts far away. At 10:00 A.M. he ducked into his study.to call Carol Judd, Simon Ellerbee's receptionist. No answer.
He called every hour on the hour. Still no answer. Where the devil was the woman? He sighed. Spending Christmas Day with the boyfriend, he supposed. She was entitled.
There were calls to the girls from Peter and Jeffrey. took an hour-at least. And then all the Delaneys sallied forth for a stroll down Fifth Avenue. They admired Christmas decorations, the tree at Rockefeller Center, and ended up having lunch at Rumpelmayer's.
They walked home up Madison Avenue, the girls stopping every minute to Ooh and Ahh at the windows of the new boutiques. Back in the brownstone, Delaney got on the phone again to Carol Judd. Still no answer.
They spent a pleasant afternoon hearing about the girls' lives at school, but although Delaney listened, he was in a fever of impatience and hoped it didn't show.
After dinner he dived back into his study and continued to call Carol Judd, without success. Trying to control his anger, he went to the files and pulled out certain notes that now had a significance he hadn't recognized before.
Finally, at 10:00 P.m he reached her.
'Edward X. Delaney here. I spoke to you a few weeks ago in connection with the police investigation into the death of Doctor Simon Ellerbee.'
'Oh, yes. Merry Christmas, Mr. Delaney.'
'Thank you. And a Happy Holiday to you.'
He was forcing himself to slow down, play it cool. He didn't want to alert this young woman.
'Miss Judd, a few questions have come up that I think only you can answer. I was wondering if you'd be kind enough to give me a few minutes of your time.'
'Well, I can't right now.'
That probably meant the boyfriend was there.
'At your convenience,' Delaney said.
'Umm… well, I'm working now.'
'Glad to hear it,' he said.
'With another psychiatrist?'
'No, I'm with a dentist on West Fifty-seventh Street.'
'I'll bet I know the building,' he said.
'Corner of Sixth Avenue?'
'That's right,' she said.
'Don't tell me your dentist is there?'
'No,' he said, 'but my podiatrist is. I have great teeth but flat feet.
Miss Judd, you've been so cooperative that I'd like to take you to lunch. Do you get an hour?'
'Early. At twelve o'clock.'
'There's a fine restaurant on Seventh Avenue just south of Fifty-seventh. The English Pub. Do you know it?'
'I've seen it but I've never been in.'
'Good food, generous drinks. Could you meet me there for lunch tomorrow at, say, twelve-fifteen?'
'Sure,' she said cheerfully.
'Sounds like fun.'
He was at the English Pub promptly at noon on December 26th. He took a table for two, sitting where he could watch the door. Carol Judd came in at 12:20 and stood looking around.
He rose, waved at her. She came over laughing. He held the chair for her.
'Hey,' she said, looking around at the restaurant, 'this is keen.
He hadn't heard anyone use the word 'keen' in twenty years, and he smiled.
'Nice place,' he said.
'There's been a restaurant here as long as I can remember. It used to be called the Studio, I think. Would you like a drink?'
'What're you having?'' 'Vodka gimlet.'
'I think I'd like a strawberry daiquiri. Okay?'
