She was arranging presentation folders when Walter and Eleanor stepped through the doors. She looked up because the entry chime sounded, not because their appearance disturbed anything about the room. Walter paused to wipe his shoes on the entrance mat, a gesture so ordinary it should not have attracted attention. Eleanor glanced at the chandelier and murmured that she had never seen a lamp require so much ceiling. Walter laughed under his breath, and for a few seconds they appeared to be a couple enjoying an unfamiliar place together.
Then the glances began. A woman with designer sunglasses stopped mid-sentence beside a pearl-white coupe. One associate looked at the Bennetts and turned away toward his phone. Another raised his eyebrows at the old hat. Nobody greeted them. Walter waited near the entrance, giving the staff time to notice that new customers had arrived, while Eleanor studied a display card describing a dark-blue sedan.
"Perhaps we should ask at the desk," she said.
"We can," Walter answered. "Or we can look around for a moment. That's what a showroom is for."
He sounded confident because he wanted her to feel comfortable, but she recognized the small tightening at the edge of his mouth. They had spent decades entering places where they were watched differently from other people. Sometimes that watching resulted in nothing more than unpleasantness. Sometimes it led to a clerk following them through a store or a guard asking for a receipt when nobody else had been questioned. They had learned to assess a room without appearing to assess it, an exhausting skill that had never entirely left them.
John spotted them from the far side of the showroom. He was speaking with a customer about custom stitching and had been describing the exclusivity of the gallery when he noticed Eleanor touch the informational placard beside one of the display vehicles. His expression changed. He excused himself with a smile, adjusted his cuffs, and headed toward the entrance. As he crossed the floor, he whispered to a colleague, "Watch this. They probably took a wrong turn looking for the bus station."
The colleague gave an uncertain laugh. It was quieter than John expected, but he did not notice the hesitation. He had already decided the encounter would provide a little entertainment. A salesperson should have approached the Bennetts to ask what had brought them in, what they wanted to know, and whether they preferred to browse without interruption. John instead approached as though the first task were to correct an error in the natural order of things.
"Good morning," he said, with politeness polished so thin that the contempt showed through it. "Can I help you find somewhere?"
Walter removed his hat. "Good morning. We're interested in looking at the touring cars. We had a few questions about the black one near the center."
John's eyes moved down Walter's shirt, paused at his worn shoes, and returned to the hat in his hand. He looked at Eleanor's plain dress next. Neither had a watch he recognized, a designer handbag, or any other sign he considered useful. He smiled as though indulging a child who had asked to borrow the family car.