Patricia waited a week. One day at the office when she happened to be alone for half an hour, she jerked the telephone hook off its shelf and looked up Cohen’s studio number. Inwardly she was furious. She would be a long time forgiving Gary for forcing her to speak the first word. She could see no possible excuse for such behavior, and her voice, when she spoke into the mouthpiece, was coldly impersonal.
“Will you please tell me where I can get into touch with Mr. Mills’ company?” Patricia might have been calling up the freight office to put a tracer on a lost shipment of ground barley.
“Mr. Mills’ company is out on location,” replied a voice which Patricia mentally dubbed snippy.
“I asked you where I could get in touch with Mr. Mills’ company. This is important.” Patricia spoke into a
