The American Lady(13)

Harold couldn’t make himself laugh along. “You’re impossible! Why didn’t you go straight to Dittmer if you had the slightest doubt?”

“I never even thought of that,” she admitted and shrugged. “If you knew Monique and her crowd as well as I do, you wouldn’t even ask the question. There’s no end to their foolish ideas!”

He shook his head. On the one hand, Wanda liked to pretend that she couldn’t care less about being one of the upper class. On the other, she exploited her privilege shamelessly when it suited her. Rather than simply doing what was asked, she acted of her own accord, and never even thought about the consequences. This sort of behavior could be quite charming in a woman—but it was right out of place at Dittmer’s deli, or in any other job.

Wanda heaved a long sigh. “Oh, Harold, it’s so unfair! Why do these things always happen to me? I wanted nothing more than for it to work, this time.” She slumped in her seat. All her nonchalance had vanished and she looked young and vulnerable.

“Mason Dittmer can go to the devil! He’s a lout, and he doesn’t deserve you,” Harold heard himself say vehemently. Why do I always let her wind me around her little finger like this? he wondered, as he took Wanda’s hand and uttered soothing words.

They had met at the Spring Ball that his employer—the Stanley Finch Bank—threw for the company’s most important clients every year. Steven Miles had brought his family. When he saw how Wanda spoke to her parents, Harold had realized that she clearly did as she liked and got away with it, with no regard for the rules, thanks to her beauty and charm. He had resolved to be stricter with Wanda than everybody else was; if he wanted to make an impression on her, he had to play tough. It wasn’t an easy resolution to keep, however, for every time he looked at her lovely face he felt an urge to lay the world at her feet. But even he could do nothing to change the fact that this was the fourth job in a row she’d lost.

“Perhaps it just wasn’t meant to be,” he said. “Perhaps you’re not cut out for that sort of work.” He shook her arm gently. “Any one of your colleagues would have shown the order to Mr. Dittmer, but you went right ahead and did things on your own. As you always do. And that was your downfall. Not for the first time, I might add. Let me just remind you of Arts and Artists, and how you—”

“All right, all right. You don’t need to list my failures,” she cut in icily. “I hate it when you sound like my father.”

For Harold, this was almost a compliment. There were few men he admired as much as Steven Miles. He made no secret of his ambition to be just as rich and influential one day.

Ignoring Wanda’s sulky expression, he told her, “Your parents certainly won’t be angry if you give up the idea of working once and for all. And when we’re married, I’ll earn enough for both of us anyway. My darling—there are so many other ways a woman can keep busy! Especially a woman as charming and clever as you.” He nodded encouragingly.

She withdrew her hand. “I know you’d like it if I were like my mother and found one hundred and one ways to do nothing all day long. But I have to disappoint you there. I want to do something meaningful with my life,” she said loudly.

A few heads turned to look at them.

“Why shouldn’t I be able to do what thousands of seamstresses, chambermaids, and governesses do every day of their lives? Why shouldn’t I hold down a job? Am I not as clever as them, perhaps?”

“Nobody’s saying that. But why don’t you mention the real difference between yourself and these other women?”

“And what would that be?” she asked suspiciously.

Harold shrugged. “They have to work, but you don’t!” They’ve never known any other life—he could have added—they’ve worked from morning till night ever since they were small. But one look at her downcast face told him it was better not to say anything more.

“But I can’t spend all my time sitting about at home!”

“For my part, I really wouldn’t mind being a gentleman of leisure,” he answered with a grin. Once he saw her frown again, he hastily changed the topic. “By the way, am I mistaken or wasn’t your aunt supposed to be arriving from Germany today?”

“Six o’clock this evening. You’re mistaken, though, if you think I’m going to help with taking our small-town relative around New York. Mother can show her sister the city—I won’t be in any hurry to help, that’s for sure. From everything I hear about Aunt Marie, she’s a real oddball.” Wanda frowned. “What else could you call someone who’s never left her hometown in her life?”