Eddie grinned. "Tell me quick—the plot of a play you've seen that I can say I just saw, in case they ask."
"I wish I could go with you," Caroline said sadly.
"So do I."
"This has been the happiest day of my entire life," Caroline said, putting her arms around him. "If I'd wanted to imagine it I couldn't have, it's been too lovely."
He kissed her. "I'll see you tomorrow too, and the next and the next. I'll call you in the morning. And we'll have lunch."
"Yes."
"And dinner."
"Yes."
"Why do people always congregate around food?" he said. "Have you ever thought about that? They meet for cocktails, or dinner, or lunch, or coffee—always gathered together to gobble something."
She laughed. "We don't."
"No, we don't, do we? We must be antisocial."
"Good."
"I love you, Caroline."
'1 love you, darling. I'm glad you've come back."
After Eddie had gone Caroline realized for the first time how tired she was. She was exhausted. More had happened to her in this long day than in any other single time in three years. As she washed her face she thought fleetingly of how wonderful it would be to be able to go along with Eddie when he went to see business acquaintances, as his wife, and not be left alone here to wait. It was so hard to be the outsider, the hidden woman. It was a role for which she was unsuited. But it wouldn't be for long, and soon she would be married to Eddie, and he would never have to hide her again. And meanwhile she would sleep, because tomorrow they would be together again, and that was more important to her than anything else.
They met the next day in Eddie's suite for lunch, and it was as it had been the day before. The same excitement, the same pounding of the heart preceded the moment he opened the door, and today there was something new: the joy of knowing in advance that everything would be all right. There had never been anything he could not say to her, even in the old days when he was worried or moody and did not want to speak to anyone else, and there had never been anything she could not say to him. But now Caroline was conscious of the unavoidable difference: tliere were two things of which Eddie could not speak, Helen and his daughter. She wanted more than anything to see a picture of his baby, and yet she was afraid to ask and afraid if she did he would show one to her. Eddie's child, who might have been hers instead. It would be a little like looking into a mirror of the future. The most Caroline could bring herself to ask was "Does your little girl look like you?"
"Exactly, poor child."
"Oh . . ." And she was sorry she had asked, because that hurt. She wished the child might have looked exactly like Helen, with nothing of Eddie in her face, so that she herself would not feel this strange, personal longing come upon her.
"I want to give you something," Eddie said "Let's take a walk, do you want to?"
"Yes. What is it?"
"Something significant and permanent. I don't know what, exactly. Let's just walk and see what happens."
They walked across Fifth Avenue, close together but not touching,
and in the bright dayhght of this crowded noon hour they might have been merely co-workers in an office who had decided to lunch together and were walking to a restaurant. The secret pleasure of knowing tiiat they were on their way to do something infinitely more exciting and meaningful filled Caroline with joy. She could not stop smiling and she felt she might laugh out loud for no reason at all. She hardly noticed the people who hurried by them, everything was a blur except Eddie walking beside her. They walked past Tiffany's to Bonwit Teller and then Eddie stopped. "I like this," he said, and he led her inside. They wandered about for a while in the crowd of perfumed women shoppers, and finally Eddie stopped in front of the counter that sold the real jewelry—rings and bracelets and pins of gold set with precious stones. "Quick—go over there," he said, smiling, gesturing at the scarf counter across the aisle.
"What, again?"
"I want to surprise you."
She was so happy she felt like a child again, with a resurgence of that long-vanished feeling that a present is magic. She could hardly resist looking at Eddie out of the corner of her eye as she pretended to be glancing at scarves. How handsome he was, how tall, how beautifully put together. It was simply unbelievable luck that everything about him should be so beautiful. She could not imagine how anyone else who noticed him there could help but see it too. And those other women would know that he was choosing a present for someone he loved, bent over the glass showcase so earnestly, with a look of pleasure on his face. There were rings beneath the glass where Eddie was leaning his forearms, plain gold rings and some with many stones. Buy me a ring, Caroline thought, shutting her eyes, as if she might wish it true. It doesn't have to look anything like an engagement ring, a plain gold cocktail ring would be much better, and no one will know but the two of us until it's done. Her finger almost ached, as if she had worn a ring on it every day for years and then suddenly lost it. Please, a ring . . .
She waited until Eddie came up behind her and touched her arm. "I didn't wait to have it gift-wrapped," he whispered. "Let's go somewhere where I can give it to you."
They walked back up the street to the park and then crossed the wide thoroughfare where taxis and private cars came swooping down around the corner, to become jammed in the noon-hour bottle-
neck. There were a few hansom cabs waiting in front of the park, their horses blanketed and standing very quietly and patiently, steam rising from their breath in the chill air. It was easy to find an empty bench on a cold day like this one, and Caroline and Eddie sat close together while he reached into his pocket and handed her a tiny pasteboard box.
She pulled her gloves off and took off the top of the box. There was a layer of white cotton, which she lifted, and underneath, nestled in another layer of white cotton, was a very tiny gold heart on a fragile gold chain.
"Oh . . ." she said. She adored it because it was from him, and because it was a heart, and because he had chosen it himself, and yet she had the strangest feeling, as if she were almost afraid to touch it. It was the identical heart that Gregg had received from David Wilder Savage last Christmas, when what Gregg too had wanted had been a ring. Oh, but that was silly. "Darling," Caroline said, "thank you."
"Do you like it?"
"I love it."
"I'll fasten the catch for you," Eddie said. "Turn around."
He took off his gloves and she felt his fingers on her neck so that she forgot about the heart, and then he said, "It looks pretty."
She felt it with her fingers, at her throat, tiny and solid and reassuring. "I'll never take it off," she said. "Never."
That night they had dinner at another dark, obscure little restaurant, and sat for hours over cups of espresso coffee and talked in whispers while a fat, many-colored candle flickered beside them. Caroline was wearing a dress with a cut-out neckline, to show the golden heart. She was beginning to have a completely revised opinion of every dress she owned; they were either dresses that looked well with the gold heart or they weren't. She wore no other jewelry. Every now and then she would reach up to feel the heart with her fingers, to make sure it was still there, because it was very light and she could not feel the chain around her neck, and because knowing it was there made her feel that everything was in its place and right.
"I have to go to my parents' house for dinner tomorrow night," Eddie said. "They felt bad when I stayed at a hotel, and worse when I kept telling them I had to attend to crass commercialism instead of to them. They haven't seen me for six months; they came down to
see the baby last summer. But I'll try to get away early and then I can meet you."
If I were Helen, Caroline thought, I'd be invited too. "I wonder whether they still remember me," she said.
"How could they forget you?"
"And I can't even ask you to send them my regards. I wish I could."
He didn't answer. "I can get away by eleven o'clock," he said then.
"Eddie, why did you stay at a hotel?"
"When I got your letter I thought, I hoped, you'd still care about me. It was more of a daydream, really. But I wanted to stay at a hotel in case things for some unlikely reason really were the same between you and me, so I could go my own way without anyone's trying to make social arrangements for me. The man I came to see on business wanted me to stay at his apartment, he has eleven rooms. I didn't have a hard time getting out of that. I told him it would hurt my parents' feelings."
They went to Caroline's apartment later on in the evening, because Gregg was not there, and this time it was more familiar, as if she and Eddie were returning to their home. She switched on the overhead light and Gregg's cat ran to her, crying, and butted its head against her shin and ran around her feet, rubbing its sides against her ankles. Eddie bent down and picked it up, stroking its fur. "Poor thing," Caroline said, "she forgot to feed it again."
"I'll feed it," Eddie said. He found a can of cat food on the shelf in the kitchenette and opened it with a can opener and emptied it into the cat's dish. Then he filled another dish with fresh water.
"You look so domestic," Caroline said lovingly.
"It's a nice Httle alley cat."
"This is our home, and that's our cat, and soon we'll lock the door and it'll be night outside, and in here we'll be warm and happy."
"And safe," Eddie said. "And happy for ever after."
They walked into each other's arms simultaneously, as though there were no other place in the room that could possibly exist for them. "We'll be happy," Caroline whispered. "Happy . . ."
Not ever in her life before had she been so bewitched, so lost, as she was in these moments with Eddie. And even when she was away from him, as she discovered the next morning in the oflBce, there was no thinking of anyone or anything else. She would think of a
dozen things she wanted to say to him, and then when they were separated again for the routine of their business day she would think of a dozen more. Her mind was going in all directions at once, but at that height of awareness she had always felt when she was near Eddie. It was as if, with other people, there were several layers of apathy and fumbling noncommunication weighing her down, light but immovable, and then widi Eddie those layers were stripped away, so that she would realize suddenly how limited her relationships were with everyone else. Every thought she had seemed important because he would understand, every idea important because he would be so quick to respond. No one had ever understood her as Eddie did, no one had ever known her so well. As she sat at her desk Caroline imagined what he was doing as he went about the city, meeting someone, talking, always expressive. She sat at her desk lost in thought, her fingers automatically feeling the tiny gold heart at her throat, waiting for their next hour of meeting, and nothing else had any meaning for her at all.
That evening when she waited for Eddie to come to her apartment after his dinner with his parents Caroline took her second bath of the day and put every dress she owned on the studio couch to see which one would be good enough for him to see tonight. How different it was to try to make herself look beautiful for someone she loved, it was more fun than almost anything.
When her telephone rang she picked up the receiver automatically, although she really did not want to make conversation with anyone who did not know any of this all-consuming, marvelous secret. At first she hardly recognized the voice at the otlier end.
"Well!" Paul Landis cried jovially. "At lastl I've been trying to get in touch with you all week."
"Oh?" Caroline murmured. Her first reaction was one of annoyance, because he liked to have long conversations with her in the evening, and tonight there was nothing she wanted to say to him.
"You've been very popular this week," Paul said.
"Yes."
"Have you been having fun?"
"Yes."
"That's good. I even tried to get you at the o£Bce yesterday, but you were still out to lunch."
"Oh . . . yes."
"Three-hour lunch hours," Paul teased. "I told you you were going to get to be like Miss Farrow."
She didn't even have the energy to answer back. "I was just getting dressed to go out," Caroline said.
"Another date? My! I'd better get my bid in or you won't want to see me at all next week."
"I can't see anyone next week," Caroline said quickly. "I mean, I'm already tied up."
"What a shame. I thought we'd go to the very early show at a good movie on Wednesday night, when it isn't crowded, and then have a nice leisurely dinner."
"I'm sorry. I already have a date."
"Well, Thursday then."
"I don't know."
"When will you know?"
It had not occurred to her to ask Eddie when he was going back, she had been too busy being happy. But of course he would go back, he had to talk to Helen, he had to report on this business trip and make arrangements about his work. If he would no longer be married to Helen Lowe, Caroline was siure he would no longer be working at the Lowe Oil Company; it would be too embarrassing for all concerned. He might go back to Dallas on Wednesday night, or, at the latest, Friday.
"I don't know," she said again.
"What's the matter? You sound in a fog."
"No . . ."
"You must be tired from all those late nights. Why don't you stay home once in a while?" Paul said. He sounded a little jealous and a Httle sanctimonious. Caroline could not tell which feeling was the one he meant and she really did not care.
"It's the Christmas season," she said lightly. "You know how it is."
"Yes, I guess so."
"Besides, it's only been two nights. I don't know why you act as if that's so many." She was beginning to revive enough to banter with him. This is Paul, she told herself, Paul, remember? Your friend. You like him.
"I suppose that's not so many," Paul admitted. He sounded happier. "But you're going to drink grog with me New Year's, aren't you?"