“What am I supposed to do?”
“If the women keep out of things, it’s all right,” I said, “but if they start horning in on the party, I want you to horn ’em out. Alta may try to work a sympathy gag. Mrs. Ashbury may get tough.”
Bertha lit a cigarette. “It isn’t such a good idea quarrelling with a customer’s wife.”
“They’re going to get a divorce.”
“You mean he wants one.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a hell of a long way from getting one,” Bertha said, and then added significantly, “when a man has the dough he’s got.”
“He can always buy his way out.”
“Through the nose,” Bertha said, and relaxed to enjoy her smoking.
Halfway out there, Bertha ground out her cigarette and looked at me. “Don’t think you’re getting away with all this stuff, Donald. I’d ask you some questions if I weren’t so damned afraid of the answers.” Then she lit another cigarette, and settled back to dogged silence.