The Winding Road by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

Author:Cynthia Harrod-Eagles [Harrod-Eagles, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780748131280
Publisher: Little, Brown Book Group
Published: 2011-11-03T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Being without the shop and the business was an odd sort of relief to Polly. She had thought it was important to her, because it was something that she had done herself, with her own talent; but she discovered that she had less need now to prove herself. She was Ren Alexander’s wife, which was a source of envy to most people. He was rich and handsome, and he was ‘going places’: in this thrusting, ambitious country that was something to admire, whereas at home, she thought, you were more admired for being somewhere and staying there.

The extent of the envy was illustrated to her when at a literary luncheon in January 1928 she met Olga Graham, who gripped her shoulder with a claw-like hand and said, ‘My God, it’s little Mrs Renfrew H. Alexander! I can’t believe you’ve managed to hang on to that dangerous man for – how long is it?’

‘We’ve been married nearly three years, Mrs Graham.’

‘Oh, my child, it’s not Mrs Graham any more! I divorced Benny last fall. I’m on my third, now. I’m Mrs William J. Culver.’

Polly didn’t know whether to congratulate or commiserate, and made a neutral murmur.

Olga divined her difficulty and said, ‘Nobody stays married to number one any more. Fidelity is such a bore! That’s why I can’t get over the fact that I haven’t heard any rumours about the glorious Mr A – not one! What on earth is your secret? You look as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth, but you must be as hard as nails underneath to hang on to him. I hear you’ve sold your business.’ She laughed in a glittering sort of way. ‘What a shame! No more special gowns for me at cut prices!’

Polly had never given her a cut price, but did not point this out. ‘I hadn’t time for it, with all our other commitments.’

‘Oh, don’t tell me! Herbert Hoover’s making his big play, and Ren’s quite his blue-eyed boy. You’ll find it mighty expensive funding Hoover’s campaign for him. Ren may be a millionaire, but a million doesn’t go far in a presidential campaign.’

‘Ren isn’t paying for the campaign,’ Polly said, slightly shocked by the implication that it was for his money that Hoover patronised her husband.

Olga swiftly changed stance. ‘Of course not, dear. I’m just saying it comes expensive. Not that it isn’t an investment, in a way. But if anyone can lay his hands on the money, it’s your hubby. If there’s a banker he doesn’t know, I’ve never heard about it. Unless that’s why he made you sell your baby? Maison Polly, I mean.’ Her eyes raked Polly up and down. ‘Skinny as ever, my dear. No sign of any other sort of baby. But I suppose you don’t have time. It can’t be through any lack of devotion from Mr A, because I know I would have heard about it if he was straying. Still, there’s always time. The White House has its own allure, and you’ll have a harder job keeping him once he’s in there all day without you.

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