She flushed salmon pink beneath the touch of rouge.
“Please don’t be hurt,” she begged.
He smiled down at her.
“No one could be offended with a Greuze,” he replied softly. “And you look just like one at this moment. How’s that for highbrow?” he finished, with a faint attempt at lightness.
But the words sank deep, carrying balm, into Claire’s wounded heart.
When Mme. Petrovskey encountered her a few moments later as she entered the apartment, she could hardly believe her eyes.
“The cold air has given you quite a flush,” she said graciously for her. “Where have you been? Ito was worried because you didn’t return for lunch.”
(Ito had worried! Claire shrugged with amusement, and yet how that remark might have hurt a few short hours ago!)
“I met Dr. Elliott in the park, and he took me to the Gramatan Inn in Bronxville for lunch.”
Mme. Petrovskey raised dumbfounded brows. Then her expression changed suddenly. The small eyes became non-committal slits. She smiled suavely.