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for wearing it. "The watch?"
    "Yes, it was my anniversary gift to him."
    "You asking for it back?"
    "I couldn't stand to touch it," she said, turning away. " I f you don't mind my being personal, why did he give you the watch? He usually pays cash."
    "He was short, I guess." Acute embarrassment overcame him and he wasn't a man to embarrass easily.
    "Probably got rolled earlier in the night," she said. "He loves rough trade."
    The beer was cooling his body. He leaned back in his chair, feeling the danger of an explosive confrontation was over. "When it happened, I can't pretend to you I didn't know he was your husband. I did know." He paused. "I saw the two of you outside the bar last night."
    "If you saw that, then, it'd be foolish for me to pretend that Ralph and I have anything approaching a marriage—so let's drop the subject."
    "I didn't mean to come between you."
    "You already have, but I'm not blaming you. You're what you said you were, a hustler. You didn't pretend. But I know that if there's a hustler floating around town, he's bound to meet Ralph sooner or later. I'm surprised it happened so soon—that's all."
    After a long silence, he asked, "Do you work for Leonora—or are you just a friend?"
    "Leonora has no friends—other than professional ones. I'm sort of a secretary."
    "Are you on duty now?"
    "Yes."
    "What does she want with me?" Another long pause. "Sex?"
    "Don't flatter yourself. Besides, you've got the wrong equipment. She's got to be with somebody new all the time. She's starved for an audience, having exhausted everybody in town. You're different. She'll want to amuse herself with you for a while."
    "Like a cat with a mouse?
    "Call it what you like. You're broke, Said so yourself and hustling is rough in this town. My husband is the best-paying customer you'll find, and he wants it only once. Or did you know that?'
    "He spelled it out."
    "Leonora will make it worth your while — whatever she wants from you. What do you have to lose?"
    "Was she serious? I mean, about offering the job?"
    "Perhaps, she needs help. She fires left and right. Blood transfusions are always sought after."
    "I could be her chauffeur. I noticed you didn't have one last night."
    "She had this Cuban, but she called him day and night. He was a family man and couldn't take her demands. He quit last week."
    "When am I going to see her?"
    "She knows you're here. Her bedroom overlooks the patio, and she sees everything going on. She believes in keeping her callers waiting for a respectable time. But you must never keep her waiting. She's probably had time to reach her study by now. Come this way."
    He followed her to a set of French doors. Anne rapped lightly, then turned the knob. She smiled at him before walking away.

    "Show the young man in," came a voice from the far side of the room.
    The study was actually a picture gallery. Its walls were covered with photographs of Leonora in the gowns of the thirties and forties. Other framed photographs — some quite  large — adorned every table and the entire mantel. They were overshadowed by paintings of the designer in many of her originals.
    Red-velvet draperies kept out the late morning sun. And two cutout brass globe lamps with bulbs enclosed in pink cellophane cast a soft, forgiving light.
    Leonora sat in a five-foot-high, Venetian sedan chair on a tufted upholstered seat of red silk. She never crossed her long legs, but planted them solidly on the floor. Most of her face was in shadow. All Numie could see clearly was her outfit: blue, aqua, and violet Turkish pants, with a matching, loosely fitting blouse. She was smoking a pastel-colored cigarette from a carved ivory holder.
    At this moment, Leonora was not thinking of Numie. She had become acutely aware of the smallness of Sacre-Coeur. Granted, it was the largest house on the island, but diminutive compared to many of the private palaces and manors of Europe to which she had been invited in her