“Some places are more modern.”
“I suppose they are.” The glass of whiskey in her hand was becoming much too cold to hold. She put it down on the table.
“You don’t like it?”
“I think I’ve had enough for now. You remember how little I used to drink.”
“Yes, you never needed it.” He looked at her directly and smiled. She was happy then because it was the first time he had looked at her eyes. He was losing his fear of her, this strange and, to her, inexplicable fear.
“Let’s find some place to sit down,” she said.
“I thought you wanted to walk around.”
She laughed. “All right, we’ll do both.” They walked around.
More people had arrived. Several hundred, thought Carla with distaste. She liked smaller parties. She had only come tonight because friends of her husband had insisted. They were keeping close watch over her for they knew how jealous Bankton was. It was very amusing, she thought as she and Holton walked from group to group. Her husband’s friends watching her now would never suspect what had happened in Florence.
They came to an especially large group, a dozen men surrounding Laura Whitner.