Goldengirl

The three moved briskly out of the rotor’s unsocial orbit, leaving one of Armitage’s staff collecting hand luggage from the pilot. They passed out of sight behind the projecting bay of the restaurant, the girl still laughing, more careless of her wind-blown hair than Armitage, who had clamped his to the back of his neck.

On returning to the lounge, he told Dryden the party was complete. ‘Gino Valenti’s car was moving up the drive as I left Doc Serafin unpacking. They’ll join us very soon.’

‘The girl?’ inquired Dryden.

‘An unscheduled bonus. Her name is Melody Fryer. Some chick.’

‘She’s not by any chance the Olympic hope?’

Armitage gave a broad grin. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. The sport she’s built for doesn’t need spiked shoes. Not for my taste, anyhow. No, the Doc informs me Melody is his personal assistant, and in case, like me, you jump to conclusions, I can tell you they asked to be accommodated in separate casitas.’

As it was past eight when the party finally assembled, they took their drinks to the dining table. The restaurant, empty now, but with seating for a hundred or more, was partitioned with white lattice screens. Circular tables of wrought iron, also painted white, suggested a period theme reinforced by photomurals of tennis action between women in bonnets and flounced skirts, and mutton-chopped partners in straw hats and long flannels.

Armitage steered his guests around a small water garden with fountain and lilypads. ‘I thought we’d use the table at the end. The large lady with the winning smile is May Sutton, the first U.S. girl to take the Wimbledon title. She came from California and she was just eighteen years old when she won in 1905. I’m told she had a devastating forehand drive.’

Dr. Serafin put on bifocals to examine the blowup. ‘The photographic evidence, so far as it goes, confirms what you say. This garment she is wearing has padded shoulders, of course, but the biacromial measurement must still have been formidable. I’ll sit with my back to her, if you don’t mind. Melody, would you take the place on my right?’

Dryden drew back the chair for Melody.

‘You just have to be English,’ she told him, smiling over her shoulder as she sat down. She had disciplined the wayward hair, but it was too fine to lie still against the silk grosgrain of her dress. The movement of her head caused some to slip around her throat. She flicked it off her breasts without glancing down. There was no need to draw attention to them.

‘Crazy about sports, you mean?’ said Dryden. ‘Yes, it won’t bother me facing Miss Sutton’s forehand through dinner if I can sit here.’ He took the place beside her, shaking open the napkin with a decisive action.

She smiled without looking at him as she started unwrapping hers. Her arms were pale against the classic blackness of the dress, cut straight across the bodice, with shoestring shoulder straps.

The other guest, Valenti, seated himself by Dryden’s right and made it clear from the outset that he expected conversation irrespective of Miss Fryer’s claims. ‘So you’re the super salesman. What is it — merchandising agent?’

‘That’s what I put on my tax forms,’ Dryden said, ‘but it’s an area of employment that’s variously described. Some of my colleagues are sensitive about the word ‘agent.’ They prefer to be known as managers or consultants. It doesn’t trouble me.’

‘All this fancy labeling,’ said Valenti. ‘I’m in pharmaceuticals and I don’t give a damn if you call me a dope peddler so long as you buy my products.’ Plenty did, if appearance was any guide. Valenti’s suit had the Brooks Brothers finish, and the several rings on his hands indicated a predilection for rubies. They weren’t paste. ‘Myself, I don’t have much time for PR. I handle the production side and hire guys like you to do the selling. When Dr. Serafin invited me to join the consortium, I told him straight I’d be a sleeping partner. I wouldn’t interfere — just put up a few grand as an investment. And you can’t say I haven’t kept to it, eh, Doc? But when I heard they were figuring on hiring a — what do you call yourself? — I thought I’d like to know who was getting into bed with us. You run that Brooks Stevens job I saw outside, do you?’ He stabbed a glittering finger in the general direction of Dryden’s car.

‘That’s mine, yes,’ said Dryden, and to make it clear he didn’t expect a one-way interrogation over dinner, asked, ‘What do you drive?’

‘Nothing,’ said Valenti. ‘I have a chauffeur. We used the Cadillac this trip. Here’s the menu. What are you ordering? Myself, I’m starting with prawns in aspic.’

‘In case it influences your choice, we have nothing strenuous planned for the rest of the evening,’ Armitage told his guests. ‘A film and, I believe, a progress report from Dr. Serafin.’