How much more attractive they would be in dancing slippers! he told himself. He got up and stretched. The dark shadows falling across the room no longer disturbed him. Charley’s presence was complete and welcome. No more nagging voice begged him to resist.
As Charley willingly receded into the dark cave from which he had emerged, he reread Erin ’s letter and ran his fingertips over her picture. He laughed aloud as he thought of the beguiling ad that had summoned Erin to him.
It began: “Loves Music, Loves to Dance.”
II TUESDAY February 19
Cold. Slushy. Raw. Terrible traffic. It didn’t matter. It was good to be back in New York.
Darcy happily tossed off her coat, ran her fingers through her hair, and surveyed the neatly separated mail on her desk. Bev Rothhouse, skinny, intense, bright, a night student at Parsons School of Design and her treasured secretary, identified the stacks by order of importance.
“Bills,” she said, pointing to the extreme right. “Deposit slips next. Quite a few of them.”
“Substantial, I hope,” Darcy suggested.
“Pretty good,” Bev confirmed. “Messages over there. You’ve got requests to furnish two more rental apartments. I swear, you certainly knew what you were doing when you opened a secondhand business.”
Darcy laughed. “Sanford and Son. That’s me.”
Darcy’s Corner, Budget Interior Design was what the placard on the office door read. The office was in the Flatiron Building on Twenty-third Street. “How was California?” Bev asked.