"I couldn't wait," she smiled and gave him a warm hug that made him look at her quizzically.
"You've missed me," he said.
"More than you know."
"How was Hollywood?" he asked. "Did it go well?"
She hesitated. "Fine. They're very pleased with the picture."
"So I hear."
"Bill, next time you go away," she said, "take me with you."
He looked at her, pleased and touched.
"It's a deal," Fraser said. "I missed you. I've been doing a lot of thinking about you."
"Have you?"
"Do you love me?"
"Very much, Mr. Fraser."
"I love you, too," he said. "Why don't we go out tonight and celebrate?"
She smiled. "Wonderful."
"We'll have dinner at the Jefferson Club."
She dropped Fraser at his house.
"I have a few thousand calls to make," he said. "Could you meet me at the club? Eight o'clock."
"Fine," she said.
Catherine went back to her apartment and did some washing and ironing. Each time she passed the telephone, she half-expected it to ring, but it remained silent. She thought of Larry Douglas trying to pump Annie for information about her and found that she was gritting her teeth. Maybe she would speak to Fraser about turning Douglas' name in to his draft board. No, I won't bother, she thought. They'd probably turn him down. He'd be tried and found wanton. She washed her hair, took a long luxurious bath and was drying herself when the phone rang. She went over to it and picked it up. "Yes?" she said coldly.
It was Fraser. "Hi," he said. "Anything wrong?"
"Of course not, Bill," she said quickly. "I--I was just in the bath."
"I'm sorry." His voice took on a teasing tone. "I mean I'm sorry I'm not there with you."
"So am I," she replied.
"I called to tell you I miss you. Don't be late."
Catherine smiled. "I won't."
She hung up, slowly, thinking about Bill. For the first time she felt that he was ready to propose. He was going to ask her to become Mrs. William Fraser. She said the name aloud. "Mrs. William Fraser." It had a nice dignified sound to it. My God, she thought. I'm becoming blase. Six months ago, I would have been jumping out of my skin, and now all I can say is it has a nice dignified sound to it. Had she really changed that much? It was not a comforting thought. She looked at the clock and hurriedly began to dress.
The Jefferson Club was on "F" Street, a discreet brick building set back from the street and surrounded by a wrought-iron fence. It was one of the most exclusive clubs in a city full of exclusive clubs. The easiest way to become a member was to have a father who belonged. If one lacked that foresight, then it was necessary to be recommended by three members. Membership proposals were brought up once a year and one black ball was sufficient to keep a person out of the Jefferson Club for the rest of his life, since it was a firm rule that no candidate could ever be proposed twice.
William Fraser's father had been a founding member of the club, and Fraser and Catherine had dinner there at least once a week. The chef had been with the French branch of the Rothschilds for twenty years, the cuisine was superb, and the wine cellar ranked as the third best in America. The club had been decorated by one of the world's leading decorators and careful attention had been paid to the colors and the lighting, so the women were bathed in candlelight glow that enhanced their beauty. On any given night, diners would brush elbows with the Vice-President, members of the Cabinet or Supreme Court, senators and the powerful industrialists who controlled worldwide empires.
Fraser was in the foyer waiting for Catherine when she arrived.