The woman rose to her feet. Her dark eyes ran over Carroll, observing her linen dress, her elderly shoes and her plastic handbag.
The shop was owned by Roger Maverick who was Claude Kendrick’s cousin. The antiques and paintings were loaned to him by Kendrick who changed them every six months.
Maverick had instilled into his staff the following axiom: Never judge a sausage by us overcoat.
Lucille had for years worked with Dior in Paris. Now forty-eight years of age, she had settled in Paradise City, respecting Maverick’s genius for clothes and the enormous market opportunities among the rich women who swarmed into the city during the season.
Bearing in mind Maverick’s axiom, she gave Carroll a gracious smile, wondering if this good-looking woman, rather shabbily dressed was just another time-waster.
“Madam?”
Carroll was never intimidated. She had decided what approach she should use, knowing her appearance in this lush-plush shop would be against her. She came to the point with a directness that startled Lucille.
“I am Mrs Tom Lepski,” Carroll announced. “My husband is a first grade detective attached to the city’s force. I have inherited money. We are going to Europe. I need a wardrobe. I don’t intend to spend more than seven thousand dollars. What about it?”
This was still the dead season. Seven thousand dollars was not to be sniffed at, Lucille thought, and she widened her smile.
“Of course, Mrs Lepski. I am sure we can find you something suitable for your trip. Do please sit down. Mr Maverick will be delighted to discuss your needs with you, and make suggestions. Excuse me.”
As Carroll sat down, Lucille took the plush elevator to the first floor where she found Maverick draping a bored-looking girl with a dress length.
Roger Maverick was tall, lean and extremely handsome. Around fifty-five years of age, he was not only a dress designer of considerable talent, a homosexual, but also a secret dealer in stolen furs, a very profitable sideline.
Lucille told him that the wife of Detective Lepski was below, seeking a wardrobe.
Maverick knew of every detective on the city’s force, and he knew Lepski was the most dangerous. His lean, handsome face lit up.
“She appears to have inherited money and will spend seven thousand dollars,” Lucille continued.
“Splendid! Now listen, my dear, she is to have the VIP treatment. Take her to the Washington room. Make her comfortable. Champagne... you know the thing. I will come along in ten minutes. In the meantime, find out her colours, and what she has in mind.”
“Seven thousand dollars,” Lucille said scornfully.
“Yes, yes; just do what I say, my dear.”
With a slight shrug, Lucille took the elevator to the ground floor.
“Mr Maverick will be with you in a few minutes, Mrs Lepski. Please come with me.”
Carroll followed her into the elevator and to the first floor. She followed her down a long corridor carpeted in red to a door. Opening the door, Lucille stood aside and motioned Carroll in.
The room was elegantly furnished with some more of Kendrick’s antiques.
“Do sit down, Mrs Lepski. Perhaps a glass of champagne while we discuss what you require?”
A neatly dressed maid appeared with a silver tray on which stood an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
“You understand that I am not spending more than seven thousand dollars,” Carroll said firmly. This VIP treatment made her uneasy.
“Of course, Mrs Lepski.” Lucille poured the wine, handed Carroll a glass and sat down. “Now tell me please what you have in mind.”
Three hours later, Carroll left the shop, walking on air.
She thought Roger Maverick the nicest, the most understanding, brilliant man she had ever met. She was now satisfied that she was equipped for the exciting trip to Europe. She had quickly realized that Maverick knew exactly what would suit her, and after a hesitant beginning, she relaxed and let him choose for her.
When the choice had been settled, she had begun to worry. Everything was so elegant that she couldn’t imagine what it would cost.
“Not more than seven thousand,” she said firmly when Maverick, beaming at her, asked if she was contented.
“Mrs Lepski, this is our dead season. Frankly, what you have chosen, in the season, would cost something around twenty thousand dollars. Frankly again, I have had these lovely clothes for some little time. Unhappily, I do not always have the opportunity of dressing a lady with a figure like yours. Usually, my clients are inclined to be stout. These are model dresses. I am only too happy to let you have them below half price. In fact, I will offer them to you for five thousand dollars which will allow you to have shoes and handbags to go with them.”
“Why, that’s marvellous!” Carroll had exclaimed.
“So happy you are happy. May I ask you to come here the day after tomorrow so my fitter can make a few minor alterations? I will have a selection of handbags and shoes for you to choose from.”
As Maverick was a late riser, he took a late lunch, and invariably lunched at the Arts Club. There he found Claude Kendrick eating a breast of chicken in a heavy cream and mushroom sauce. Maverick sat at the same table and the two men exchanged smiles of greeting.
“How’s business?” Kendrick asked, spearing a potato.
“Slow, but the season hasn’t as yet begun.” Maverick ordered twelve blue-point oysters. “You are getting too fat, dear Claude. You should never eat potatoes.”
Kendrick sighed and speared another potato.
“Louis is always nagging me, but I have to keep up my strength.”
“I had an unexpected client this morning,” Maverick said. “Mrs Tom Lepski, the cop’s wife.”
Kendrick’s face darkened. He had had several unpleasant interviews with Lepski whom he considered an uncouth bully. “What on earth did she want?”
“What on earth did she want?”
“Apparently she has come into money, and they are going to Europe for a vacation. I’ve kitted her out. She has a nice figure. I got rid of some of my model stuff that has been hanging fire. She spent some five thousand dollars.”
Kendrick looked longingly at another potato, then decided he mustn’t waste this delicious sauce. He began to mash the potato.
“Very nice. Europe?”
“The usual tourist circuit: Paris, Monte Carlo, Montreux.”
Kendrick’s fork, loaded with chicken, potato and sauce, hovered before his open mouth. His little eyes turned cloudy. He lowered the fork.
“They are going to Switzerland?”
“She says so. She wants to see the mountains. I told her she should also go to Gstaad.”
“And Lepski goes with her?”
“Of course.” Maverick regarded his fat cousin. “What’s on your mind?”
The oysters arrived.
“I don’t know yet.” Kendrick gobbled the food on his fork, then pushed back his chair. “I’ll leave you to enjoy those delicious-looking oysters. Meet me in the lounge for coffee.”
“But you haven’t finished your lunch.”
“It is time I began to think of my weight,” and Kendrick plodded out of the restaurant and into the big, half-empty lounge.
Half an hour later, Maverick joined him.
“Luggage, Roger,” Kendrick said as Maverick sat down by his side. “Mrs Lepski must have smart luggage to go with her purchases.”
“She is a little stubborn about money,” Maverick said. “Still, it is an idea. I’ll see if I can persuade her.”
Kendrick laid his fat hand on Maverick’s arm.