"Yes," he said, forcing a smile. "Very much."
"These are our finest pigskin gloves," the sales clerk informed
them.
"I'll take them."
"Very good," said the woman, accepting the gloves from Laurence.
She closed the cabinet and locked it, and they followed her back
down to the lower level. Before Laurence could withdraw her
charge card from her wallet, Matthew reached for his own.
"Wait, Lauri. I want to buy those for you."
"Don't be silly."
"Please. A small token of my appreciation," he said. "Please?"
The clerk accepted his credit card.
"I'll treasure them," Laurence said with a pleasant smile. "Thank
you."
They strolled back to the hotel, where they were immediately
seated in a booth in the rear of the Campton Place. There were
few other diners; it was late in the afternoon, and most of the
see-and-be-seen crowd was already gone.
"How about Champagne?" Laurence asked. "A toast your success."
The wine steward uncorked a bottle of Veuve Cliquot and they
toasted, and while they enjoyed an excellent lunch, she spoke
again about horses and polo.
"I would love to go to France. I've never been there. I would
give anything to see the championship tournament that's held
every summer in Deauville."
Hearing her talk about it, he thought that it might be exciting
to go there. With her? Was that why it would be exciting? What
had happened in the last couple of hours? What was it she had
said or done to break down the restraint he had exercised for the
past couple of months, which he now fully acknowledged?
With this thought, and all their talk about horses, he thought
again of his wife, and the realization that this pleasant
afternoon with Laurence would soon be over.
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