still spend plenty of time together. There are the ski slopes; John and I will be out there helping you learn to ski so you can keep up with the rest of them. Then maybe we can have a few drinks or dinner together one night. It will all be great fun, and,” she added, her tone elaborately casual, “if Logan Longcross should be somewhere in your vicinity, I won’t complain! I’m not exactly immune to his charm.”
“And what, I wonder, would your John say to that?” Clare teased.
“He would say it was fine with him, so long as I didn’t get too serious. It’s not a bad attitude, now that I think about it. Don’t you get too serious either, will you, Clare? I would hate to see you get hurt.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Clare said, but she was uncomfortably aware that she had not mentioned to Beverly that gentle loss before Logan had left her room the night before.
The morning was sunny and bright, blindingly bright, Clare and Beverly, bundled up to the ears, spent the remainder of it seeing to the business of estimates and insurance forms on her car repairs, and afterward visiting some of the shops in the little Victorian mall. If Clare was going to learn to ski, she would have to have the proper attire. She had debated using waterproofed jeans and sweaters, then decided against it. Janine, she was certain, would be wearing the latest from the ski resorts of Europe, Clare could not hope to compete, of course; still, she did not intend to be entirely outclassed.
She had left the hotel that morning without informing Logan. To begin with, she did not want to give him reason to think she expected his escort everywhere she went. In addition, though she might receive better service following in Logan’s wake, she did not particularly care to have her expedition turned into a three-ring circus. There was one other thing. Logan could see to the everyday expenses of the next few days if he pleased, but she did not mean to have him pay for the clothes she wore. There might not be much of the money she had saved for this vacation trip left when she had outfitted herself, but what she wore would be her own. And if she needed justification for such an outlay, she could always tell herself that she would be coming back to visit Beverly; there would be other skiing holidays.
The down-filled parkas, the bib overalls, and the coveralls and matching sweaters seemed to come mainly in vivid primary colors of bright yellow and green, blue and red, or in darker earth tones. It was difficult choosing among them. At last, after much discussion and a trip to the dressing room, Clare decided on an ensemble of warm but lightweight red nylon with sweater-knit cuffs and collar of soft gray and white, and a coordinated sweater and cap of alternating bands of red, gray and white. Beverly, looking at this and that while Clare shopped, had found a matched set of gloves, scarf, and cap that she could not resist. They carried their purchases to the checkout counter.
The woman attendant turned from serving another customer, gave Clare a warm smile that seemed to hold more than a little interest, and began to fold her things, writing down each article on a sales pad. That done, she tore off a copy of the sales slip, stapled it to the bright-colored plastic bag with its ski motif, and handed it across the counter.
Clare stared at her. “But you haven’t told me how much I owe you.”
“Why, nothing, my dear. While you were in the dressing room, the gentleman waiting in the car outside came in and told me I was to send the bill to him at his hotel.”
With the package in her arms and a flush on her cheeks, Clare turned, following the direction of the woman’s nod. Through the glass door of the shop, a car could be seen, the dark-colored rental car consigned to Logan. A man sat behind the wheel, a man wearing a ski cap and dark glasses. Even if she had not had the advantage of knowing his identity, she thought she would have recognized him
“And what, I wonder, would your John say to that?” Clare teased.
“He would say it was fine with him, so long as I didn’t get too serious. It’s not a bad attitude, now that I think about it. Don’t you get too serious either, will you, Clare? I would hate to see you get hurt.”
“I wouldn’t worry,” Clare said, but she was uncomfortably aware that she had not mentioned to Beverly that gentle loss before Logan had left her room the night before.
The morning was sunny and bright, blindingly bright, Clare and Beverly, bundled up to the ears, spent the remainder of it seeing to the business of estimates and insurance forms on her car repairs, and afterward visiting some of the shops in the little Victorian mall. If Clare was going to learn to ski, she would have to have the proper attire. She had debated using waterproofed jeans and sweaters, then decided against it. Janine, she was certain, would be wearing the latest from the ski resorts of Europe, Clare could not hope to compete, of course; still, she did not intend to be entirely outclassed.
She had left the hotel that morning without informing Logan. To begin with, she did not want to give him reason to think she expected his escort everywhere she went. In addition, though she might receive better service following in Logan’s wake, she did not particularly care to have her expedition turned into a three-ring circus. There was one other thing. Logan could see to the everyday expenses of the next few days if he pleased, but she did not mean to have him pay for the clothes she wore. There might not be much of the money she had saved for this vacation trip left when she had outfitted herself, but what she wore would be her own. And if she needed justification for such an outlay, she could always tell herself that she would be coming back to visit Beverly; there would be other skiing holidays.
The down-filled parkas, the bib overalls, and the coveralls and matching sweaters seemed to come mainly in vivid primary colors of bright yellow and green, blue and red, or in darker earth tones. It was difficult choosing among them. At last, after much discussion and a trip to the dressing room, Clare decided on an ensemble of warm but lightweight red nylon with sweater-knit cuffs and collar of soft gray and white, and a coordinated sweater and cap of alternating bands of red, gray and white. Beverly, looking at this and that while Clare shopped, had found a matched set of gloves, scarf, and cap that she could not resist. They carried their purchases to the checkout counter.
The woman attendant turned from serving another customer, gave Clare a warm smile that seemed to hold more than a little interest, and began to fold her things, writing down each article on a sales pad. That done, she tore off a copy of the sales slip, stapled it to the bright-colored plastic bag with its ski motif, and handed it across the counter.
Clare stared at her. “But you haven’t told me how much I owe you.”
“Why, nothing, my dear. While you were in the dressing room, the gentleman waiting in the car outside came in and told me I was to send the bill to him at his hotel.”
With the package in her arms and a flush on her cheeks, Clare turned, following the direction of the woman’s nod. Through the glass door of the shop, a car could be seen, the dark-colored rental car consigned to Logan. A man sat behind the wheel, a man wearing a ski cap and dark glasses. Even if she had not had the advantage of knowing his identity, she thought she would have recognized him
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