Designer Knockoff (17 page)
“Of course, how silly of me,” Lacey said. “It’s funny I never heard about you.”
Honey continued to gaze at the photo. “Why should you, my dear? It was so long ago. I was very caught up with my new role as a Navy wife. All my time was spent trying to learn how to cook. I was going to be the perfect housewife when he got home from the war.”
“Do you remember when Gloria disappeared?”
Honey focused on Lacey. “It wasn’t like she disappeared suddenly. No one heard from her for a while. She was in New York and we didn’t hear from her every week. But time went by and then Mimi started asking questions. She was at loose ends, you see. She needed to forget about Eddie. A year had gone by, but she was still devastated.”
“Tell me about Eddie.” Burning with curiosity, she wished she could remember everything without the tricks of memory coloring part of the tale and fading others.
“Eddie Franconi. It was terrible; they had just decided to marry. I was going to be a bridesmaid.”
“What was he like? Was he handsome?”
“Oh, yes,” Honey said, smiling. “He was dark and handsome and charming, long lashes and the most unexpected blue eyes. They were all so handsome in their uniforms.” Honey took a moment and sipped her tea before continuing. “He was a paratrooper, and his parachute failed to open. A streamer. That’s what they called them as they streamed down. Eddie was a streamer. And then, one day we realized that Gloria had vanished.”
“Did Mimi try to find out what happened?”
Honey shrugged. “That job of hers at OPA gave her ideas. Everyone hated OPA. It was a terrible agency, fining little old ladies for abuse of ration tickets. And sending men to prison for buying their girls a few nylons in the black market. But Mimi got caught up in it. She was idealistic.”
“Where does Hugh Bentley fit in?”
Honey looked around her garden. She rose from her chair. “Would you like some flowers to take home? I bet you would.”
“They are gorgeous.” Lacey let Honey tell it her own way. The old woman slipped on her gardening gloves and retrieved a pair of garden shears from a side table. Carefully she selected a pale yellow rose and snipped it. Then another and another.
“I heard a lot about Hugh Bentley,” Honey finally said. Mimi had met him in the course of government business. Hugh had to deal regularly with the War Production Board and the Office of Price Administration in producing military clothing for the war effort. He wanted to raise prices, but he was denied. Mimi had gone out with him a few times before she was engaged to Eddie Franconi—and before she heard that the dashing Mr. Bentley had a fiancée in Connecticut.
“Was it a torrid affair?” Lacey blurted out. “And why did Mimi end up hating Hugh? I know she recommended Gloria for a job with him.”
“If they had an affair, she didn’t tell me. I think she was certainly attracted to him, until she found out about the fiancée, and then she felt downright foolish. There were lots of reasons to hate Hugh Bentley. He was something of a rogue, I heard.”
Honey set the flowers down and picked up the photo again. “You might think by looking at this picture that Gloria—‘Morning Glory,’ we called her—wasn’t terribly attractive, but she was. She was so full of spirit that she drew people to her. Maybe the wrong sort. She probably threw herself at him,” Honey surmised.
“What about Hugh’s fiancée? Didn’t that bother Gloria?”
Honey turned again toward a bed of brilliant dahlias in autumn colors. “In a way it’s hard to blame Gloria; there were so few men around. All our strong young boys were shipped off to foreign places with names we couldn’t pronounce. And here comes a handsome rascal like Hugh Bentley with money to buy nice dinners and a tankful of gas. That alone might tempt you to let him buy you dinner and take you for a drive in the country.”
“If he had so many women on the string, what did his fiancée, Marilyn, see in him? Why did she put up with that?” Lacey asked. “She must have known.”
“Some women are very good at turning a blind eye when they put their minds to it. You must remember that everywhere you turned there were women. Women taxi drivers. Women running service stations. That’s not a bad thing, of course, but sometimes you have a hankering to see a good-looking man, a young man with all his limbs.” Honey snipped a pair of dahlias, bright orange with yellow tips.
“But there must have been lots of men in Washington during the war,” Lacey protested.
“Washington was stuffed to the gills. Mimi shared a room with three other girls on bunk beds. But it seemed to me that the men were all so old. There was a song at the time, ‘They’re Either Too Young or Too Old!’ Or else they were taken or married or unfit for active duty or just plain dull. Bureaucrats, you know. I suppose it was natural for Gloria to throw herself at Hugh. I simply never believed she had a chance.”
“Why didn’t she have a chance?”
Honey raised her face and gave Lacey a look. “Hugh Bentley was just her fantasy. He had his pick of women. And I was afraid that Gloria fell in with a fast crowd in New York, you know.”
Lacey followed Honey to another batch of bright blossoms. “What made you think that?”
“Gloria had acquired some expensive things at a time when they were especially hard to come by. Now, Gloria’s people in Falls Church didn’t come from money, but she showed up with a new camera. One of those German Leicas. And I noticed one time that she was wearing diamond earrings. Gloria told me they were rhinestones. Rhinestones indeed. They were small, but they were diamonds.” Honey set the shears down, shook her head, and took a sip of her iced tea. “My father was a jeweler and I worked in his shop. As if I would be fooled by rhinestones.”
“So there was a man? Was it Hugh Bentley?”
“That’s what we thought, because factory girls didn’t make enough to be buying a camera and diamond earrings. But Gloria said she worked so hard there was no time for a man.”
“Did Gloria Adams want to design clothes?”
“Oh, my, yes. It was all she talked about. That’s why she went to New York.”
“Did she make anything for you?”
“Well, no, she didn’t.”
“Do you think she had the talent for it?”
“She was clever with a needle. She always made her own clothes. And she was quite a fashion plate, even with the cheaper materials. I remember, it must have been that Easter, she made clever pinafores for her little sisters out of tablecloths, the kind with printed borders, clusters of red cherries. They looked as charming as if they had come from Garfinkel’s department store. But as for the rest, I’m no judge. Mimi was her special confidante.” Honey seemed to run out of steam and concentrated on some memory outside her garden. “And then one day she went missing.”
“And the Three Musketeers fell apart?” Lacey prodded. Honey moved to a patch of chrysanthemums that ranged from pale to deep reds and added them to the pile of flowers. Lacey found herself agog at the sight of the bouquet Honey was making for her.
The shears paused in the air. “With all our boys overseas who were dying and maimed ... quite frankly I didn’t think Gloria deserved the attention.”
Maybe Honey was the odd man out in their little trio. “You didn’t like Gloria, did you?”
“I thought she was a tramp. Maybe I wouldn’t think that today.” A cool breeze ruffled Lacey’s hair. “Things happen, my dear. Life goes on. It was years and years ago.”
“What if we could find out what happened to her?”
“If Mimi couldn’t find out what happened, I don’t think you can.” Honey said it a little sharply; nevertheless, she smiled warmly and placed the bouquet of flowers in Lacey’s arms, grabbing a piece of newspaper from a side table to wrap the ends in. “I’m feeling a chill. Now you place those in water as soon as you get home, dear. So nice of you to visit me. I’ll have Ruby call a taxi for you.” Then Honey disappeared into the house, saying she had dinner plans and she simply had to get ready.
The flowers fragrant in her arms, Lacey was dismissed.
chapter 11
Bouquets weren’t part of the office’s usual decor. Lacey scrounged through
The Eye Street Observer’
s kitchen cabinets for a vase, finally settling on a chipped red ceramic pitcher stashed under the sink behind some cleaning supplies. She heard the distinctive beat of cowboy boots. She glanced behind her. Today they had lizard toes and calfskin uppers. “Nice boots.”
The Eye Street Observer’
s kitchen cabinets for a vase, finally settling on a chipped red ceramic pitcher stashed under the sink behind some cleaning supplies. She heard the distinctive beat of cowboy boots. She glanced behind her. Today they had lizard toes and calfskin uppers. “Nice boots.”
“Nice buds,” Tony said. “So who’s the guy, Lacey?”
“Bored, Tony?” She tried to arrange Honey’s flowers artfully.
“Just nosy, as you know.” Tony was content to watch and hand her the occasional flower to insert. “Very pretty. So who is this guy who gives you flowers?”
“No guy. A little old lady with a ferocious green thumb.”
“Aha. So I guess the famous Vic Donovan is still missing in action?”
“That’s what I like about reporters: We’re so subtle and diplomatic.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“He doesn’t call, he doesn’t write.”
“Maybe he can’t spell.”
“He can spell. And he’s spelling it out quite clearly.”
“Doesn’t mean he doesn’t care. You know guys. A guy figures that
not
saying he
doesn’t
love you is the same thing as saying he loves you. Some guys, anyway.”
not
saying he
doesn’t
love you is the same thing as saying he loves you. Some guys, anyway.”
“Thanks for that puzzling insight into interspecies communication, Tony.” She had to move the conversation away from Vic. “So. Any more news on Esme?”
“Nothing much. The reward’s gone up another ten grand. Van Drizzen’s been on CNN all day. And his wife is returning to Washington.”
“The old stand-by-her-man ploy.”
“Until she finds the smoking garter. Or the little blue Gap dress.”
“Political wives: They’re a breed apart.”
Lacey picked up the vase and headed back to her desk. She had to admit that the bouquet, with its white and yellow snap-dragons peeking through peach and blush-colored roses, regal dahlias, sturdy chrysanthemums, and sprays of bittersweet, in a full spectrum of autumn hues, classed up her shabby environment at
The Eye.
It was a very impressive show. But now that Tony had mentioned Vic, they only reminded her of him. Vic had never given her flowers. Maybe he had changed his mind about coming back to Virginia. She imagined him sucked into a giant Montana fly trap.
The Eye.
It was a very impressive show. But now that Tony had mentioned Vic, they only reminded her of him. Vic had never given her flowers. Maybe he had changed his mind about coming back to Virginia. She imagined him sucked into a giant Montana fly trap.
Nearby, Felicity watched with interest as Lacey cleared off her desk and set the vase of flowers down. Felicity made herself look busy.
“How did your story go, Felicity?”
The food editor shrugged. “It didn’t pan out. No big deal.”
Darn, looks like her job interview fell through. Maybe I should offer to punch up her résumé for her.
As Lacey moved the flowers to block her view of Felicity, she noticed her phone message light blinking and was surprised to discover that Jeffrey Bentley Holmes had left her a voice mail.
Now what have I done?
To her surprise, when she returned the call, he asked her out to dinner. She was immediately on guard.
As Lacey moved the flowers to block her view of Felicity, she noticed her phone message light blinking and was surprised to discover that Jeffrey Bentley Holmes had left her a voice mail.
Now what have I done?
To her surprise, when she returned the call, he asked her out to dinner. She was immediately on guard.
“I don’t know, Jeffrey. I can’t be too popular among the Bentleys.”
What’s your angle?
What’s your angle?
“Nonsense. With you around, Uncle Hugh won’t need a pacemaker. And Aaron will.”
“You’ve read my stories, then?”
“Every word. Darn those rascally Bentleys: designing visionaries, philandering womanizers questionably involved with a missing intern, grossly insensitive employers. What can I look forward to tomorrow?”
She groaned, and she heard him laugh. “I think dinner would be a bad idea, Jeffrey.”
“Don’t be ridiculous; I’m not upset. After all, you didn’t mention me. And really, Lacey, I’d love to take you to dinner.”
“Why, may I ask?”
“Why not? You might be one of the few honest people in Washington.”
“You’re not spying for your family? To ferret out what I might write next?”
“Maybe I’m a counterspy or a double spy. Would that help you make up your mind?”
A vision of Vic whooping it up with his ex-ex-wife crossed her mind along with a chill of loneliness. The thought of having dinner with a terribly attractive man would be pure balm to her ego. It was against her better judgment.
But what has better judgment ever gotten me?
But what has better judgment ever gotten me?
“Just dinner, Jeffrey. No stone throwing allowed.”
The salmon was fresh and the view of the Washington Monument fabulous at the Hotel Columbia’s Pinnacle Room, close to the Willard, where Jeffrey was staying. It was disconcerting that he looked so perfect. But she wore self-assurance as well as her elegant navy dress. Heads turned as they walked into the dining room. He was wearing gray flannel slacks, a navy blazer, an impeccable white shirt, and a blue-and-green-striped tie. He exuded utter confidence. This was a way for her to see how the other half lived, she rationalized, and not think about how much the entrée cost. It wasn’t exactly like snagging a bowl of chili and a beer at Hard Times Café in Old Town and listening to Marty Robbins on the jukebox, as she often had with Vic.
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