... French heels!
Hadn't she been wearing sensible, Cuban-heeled Oxfords all other days of
this first week of his "attachment" to the district attorney's
office?... Cunning little thing, for all her thorniness and her
sharpness with him, which he now saw that he had deserved.... Pretty,
too.... Damned pretty!... What color was that dress of hers?... Ummm,
let's see ... Chartreuse, didn't they call it? Chartreuse with big brown
dots in it. Bet it was sleeveless under that short little jacket of
golden-brown chiffon velvet.... By Jove--and Dundee lapsed into one of
the Englishisms he had picked up during his six months' work in England
as a tyro in the records department of Scotland Yard, before he had come
to Hamilton to make a humble beginning as a cub detective on the
Homicide Squad--yes, by Jove, she was all dressed up, for some reason or
other.
"Of course! Because it's Saturday and you have the afternoon off!"
Dundee finished his reverie aloud, to the astonishment of the small
person trying to reach a file drawer just a little too high for her. "I
mean," he hastened to explain, "that I've just noticed how beautiful
your costume is, and found a reason for it."
There was sudden color in the creamy face. The French heels tapped an
angry progress across the big office, and Penny sat down abruptly in her
swivel chair, reached across the immaculate desk, snatched up a morning
paper and tossed it, without a glance, in the general direction of her
tormentor.
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