Free The Rendezvous by Evelyn Anthony Page A

works.’
    â€˜I’ll try,’ Vera said. She smiled at him, and for a moment it was like it used to be and there was a warmth between them, a moment’s unity. She made a joke of it and this was an old means of communication between them. ‘I’d better, hadn’t I, if I don’t want to get a poke in the eye!’
    Karl Amstat had never meant to accept the dinner invitation. He had gone out of town for a few days on an assignment in Chicago for a department-store project, when the night he flew back, the phone rang and he heard her voice at the other end asking if he remembered meeting her and inviting him to dinner. Julia had already accepted and she was so looking forward to meeting him again. He had said yes, that would be delightful, and then reached for the telephone to call back and cancel it. But he hadn’t gone further than dialling the first two numbers. He wanted to go, and it was perfectly safe. He had brought the subject up several times to Julia and everything she told him confirmed the fact that he had nothing to fear. Terese hadn’t remembered him and never would. It was an ironical situation and he made the excuse to himself that it amused him to exploit it. It would be interesting to go to dinner with them, meet their friends and talk to her husband. He had known by instinct that he wasn’t going to like Bradford, and within a few minutes of arriving at the apartment he felt antagonism towards this impossibly rich, nice, good-looking man who had married Terese Masson. He tried not to go near her, but she sought him out immediately, taking him by the hand to show him the Gainsborough portrait her husband had bought her as a present.
    â€˜Isn’t it beautiful.’ She didn’t ask the question, she stated it, looking up at the picture.
    Personally he thought it very English, very stylised and didn’t care for it at all. It gave him the chance to look at her, while she was looking at it. The lack of change was remarkable; time had improved her without altering the air of frailty which he found so sexually disturbing. ‘It’s magnificent,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be honest with you, Mrs. Bradford, I prefer landscapes.’
    â€˜Most men do,’ she said, and smiled. ‘Please call me Terese. You know, I’m so glad you could come tonight. We had such an odd conversation that first evening, all about my sister-in-law’s husbands, do you remember?’
    â€˜I found it fascinating,’ Amstat said. ‘You haven’t invited them tonight?’
    â€˜No, you’ll have to meet them again another time. It’s just you and Julia and Joe and Vera Kaplan. They’re old friends of ours. He’s the sweetest man – you’ll like him.’ She wanted everyone to like each other; she wanted this particular small dinner party to be a real success, and she had taken a great deal of trouble over the food and wine, and spent the afternoon arranging flowers, which was an extra she usually left to the parlourmaid. Terese turned away from the portrait and Amstat followed her back into the small study where they gathered for informal parties. Immediately Bob came towards them.
    â€˜Darling, come and have a drink. Karl, you need a second helping of Martini – I know Terese when she starts a conducted tour!’
    â€˜And this is only a little pied-à-terre – you should see maison Bradford in Boston!’
    Vera Kaplan said it with a laugh that only emphasised the sting in the remark, and held out her glass to Bob. ‘It’s like a museum. Every piece of furniture came out of somebody’s palace, and as for pictures – my God, that latest acquisition you gave Terese would find itself hanging in the john!’
    It was so rude that for a moment nobody said anything. It was Terese who took the empty glass out of Vera’s hand and filled it.
    â€˜I have always heard your family were very rich