Read Online The Crimson Rooms by Katharine McMahon - Free Book Online Page B

see you in a color .”
    “I have plenty of clothes, thank you.” But the next moment I was maneuvered in front of a mirror and faced with a reflection of myself unexpectedly transformed by a wisp of pink chiffon. My jaw and complexion were softened and the harsh lines of my jacket broken by the drift of silk.
    “You see. I knew it would suit you. Those wonderful bones need something delicate to show them at their best. Oh, do say you’ll wear it.”
    “But it’s so expensive. I wear dark clothes for work, as you see, so it would be wasted. We should go upstairs, I have very little time and we may not get a table.” I put the scarf firmly aside; it was so frivolous, so costly, nearly half a week’s housekeeping, and yet so lovely that I yearned to touch it again.
    In the restaurant Meredith made circumstances adapt to her requirements with startling ease. Although there was no empty table, she persuaded the waitress to look about for a couple of ladies who might be leaving soon. “We don’t want a nasty tucked-away table—we want one with a view,” she said, and in a few minutes we were facing each other across a fresh cloth. “Now we have the best table,” said Meredith, “don’t you think? We can see everyone. But tell me what you’ve been doing this morning. I want to know every last detail.”
    “I represented a defendant who was remanded in custody.”
    “But how marvelous. You mean you actually stood up in a court full of people? I wish I’d been there.”
    “I’m very glad you weren’t.”
    “Why so?”
    “I’m not well received in court, as a woman.”
    “Well, of course not. How would you expect it to be otherwise? Back home in Canada the argument is largely won but there are still those who refuse to regard women as persons , and since only persons can be lawyers . . .”
    “We’re envious of the progress women have made as lawyers across the Atlantic.”
    “I heard Annie Langstaff speak at a University Women’s Club lecture when she demolished the argument about separate spheres. Quite brilliant.”
    “If only we didn’t have to get involved with such arguments. If only we could prove ourselves by the quality of our work. I simply want to be left in peace.”
    “Or do you mean isolation?” She gave my arm a little squeeze as if to soften this last, rather disturbing remark, fell back in her chair, and smiled at the waitress, who made a maternal fuss setting our table with milk jug, tea strainer, napkins, and cutlery.
    Meredith now sat with her chin cupped in her hand, gazing about like a wondering child, her big, dark-lashed eyes (did she use some form of makeup and, if so, whatever would Prudence say?) fixing first on one diner then the next with such intensity that occasionally she attracted a shy glance or smile. I saw the restaurant mostly in monochrome: waitresses in black dresses, silver cutlery and condiments, white napkins and aprons. Only Meredith, in her lilac dress, was brightly tinted at that moment. An artful curl peeped out on either side of her hat and I sensed that everything she did was planned, including her spontaneity.
    “I expect you’re dying to ask me questions,” she said, knotting her fingers under her chin like a Kate Greenaway illustration.
    “I’m sure you’ll tell me exactly as much or as little as you want.” She had ordered a ham salad, I a poached egg as the cheapest choice on the menu. It turned out to be tepid and I thought anxiously of the cost of this meal compared to my usual lunch of a cheese sandwich brought from home.
    “No, no. I don’t want to foist information on you,” she said, sprinkling oil on her lettuce. “After all, there may be some things you don’t wish to hear.”
    “What troubles me most is that I didn’t know of Edmund’s existence before yesterday.”
    “That must have been your father’s choice. I admit I thought it odd that Edmund never heard from his aunty Evelyn or indeed his grandmother.”
    “When did