I’ll bet, thought Caroline. She was impatient of others now that she knew she was appreciated, knew that she was to see Trebling that night. “Well, don’t work too hard,” said Caroline, getting up from the desk. “By the way, I’m going out with Jim tonight.”
“Better be careful,” said Holton seriously.
She laughed. “I’m always careful; didn’t you know that?”
Heywood was feeling well. He had managed to get home early the night before. That was one advantage in going to the theater alone: you didn’t have to go some place afterward and get drunk.
He sat contentedly in the mahogany twilight of his large office, looking at a photograph of himself. There was no particular work to be done. Golden hadn’t bothered him yet and it would be almost an hour before he had his first conference.
A buzz came out of the box on his desk. He pressed a button.
“Mr Murphy to see you,” said his secretary, concealed in the box.
“Send him in.” There was something he had to tell Murphy. Something to do with the party. The young man, Robert Holton: he was to do something for him.
“Good morning, Murphy.” Mr Heywood did not bother to rise.