Inheritance (40 page)

"It's more important that he help you, if he can." He was silent as they took a taxi to Beethovenstraat, where Emily had heard of a new shop. He wasn't sure what he wanted. That was the heart of everything: he didn't know and didn't much care. Nothing tantalized him; nothing aroused his passion, either for work or for play. It was as if something inside him refused to make any connection with the rest of the world, because he'd been hurt—and because he had inflicted hurt, m

In the satin-draped Valois boutique Emily tried on hats I while Paul watched. Sprawled in an armchair nearby, he saw • her image in the triple mirror: full face and two perfect profiles, like framed pictures, and automatically his fingers curved as if he were picking up his camera. Making a circle of his thumb and forefinger, he held it up to frame Emily's triple image. She smiled at him in the mirror, knowing what he was doing. "What a shame you didn't bring your camera; you don't often get three of me at one time."

He lowered his hand. "I'd like to try some new pictures of you."

"Of course, darling. Anytime."

She was the perfect model, he reflected. She would stand or sit for hours in whatever pose she was given, because that was where she was happiest: at the center of someone's view, or viewfinder. She hadn't even asked what would be new about the pictures; all that was important was being photographed. But to Paul, the challenge of photographing triple-mirtored Emily to show simultaneous images of perfection brought a spark of interest that he knew would cut through his restlessness and boredom, at least for a while.

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"Do you want me to wait while you get your camera?" she asked.

"No, we can come back tomorrow." He looked at his watch. "I want to buy a gift for Allison."

"Is it her birthday?"

He was amused. "I don't think so. I want to buy her something because I love her and I'm glad to see her."

"How erratic that sounds. Gifts are for special days."

"This is one," he said shortly. He waited while Emily paid for her hats and gave instructions for them to be delivered to the hotel.

"You're not angry with me, are you?" she asked as they ducked through the rain into the waiting taxi. "I didn't mean to criticize you."

"You can criticize me whenever you like; it's not forbidden. And I'm not angry,"

She moved close to him on the back seat and took his hand, and began to talk about changes in Amsterdam since she was last there. In a minute they were laughing together and his irritation was forgotten.

Paul knew he had to guard against the seductiveness of Emily's pliancy. He wanted companionship, not servility, yet he could not deny how soothing it was to be with a woman who enveloped him in agreement, flattery, and deference. It was like a drug, he thought; a man could become addicted to being stroked.

That was the sort of thing Allison scorned. He saw it a few minutes after they sat down at a table in the Salinger lounge. The din was tremendous, conversations in a dozen languages shouted by men and women wearing wildly dramatic designer fashions from Milan and Paris. Allison ignored them all; she was talking to Emily. "You don't ever disagree with Paul?" she asked in exaggerated surprise. "Isn't that awfully dull?"

"Paul is never dull," Emily said seriously. "And there are ways he can be . . . convinced."

Allison gave her a sharp look, and Emily told herself to be more careful; after all, this was Paul's favorite cousin.

"Where's your friend?" Paul asked. "And Patricia?"

"Patricia decided not to come. Ben should be here; he must have been delayed."

Judith Michael

She was wearing a long sleeveless dress, in black, with diamonds at her ears and throat. Paul admired her angular beauty; it almost dimmed Emily's soft roundness. "Ben Gardner," he said thoughtfully. "American? British? What's he doing in Amsterdam?"

"American. He works here.'*

"In Amsterdam?"

"In the hotel. He*s the director of security.'*

Her color was high; she was waiting for him to make a comment. But he did not, and neither did Emily after a swift glance told her Paul would not be pleased if she said what she Siought about a Salinger socializing with an employee.

Allison stood abruptly as a tall man made his way to them. "Ben," she said, her voice a little higher than usual. "My cousin Paul Janssen. And Emily Kent. Ben Gardner."

They shook hands. The two men were the same height and had similar lean, muscular builds, but in all other ways they were different: Ben very fair, with blond hair and blue, heavy-lidded eyes behind hom-rimmed glasses; Paul very dark, his black hair thick and unruly, his black eyes deep-set and intense, his hands thin and restless. "I'm glad to meet you," Ben said, wondering about him. Paul Janssen. What did Laura think of him—and he of Laura? "Allison told me about you but I didn't know you were in Europe.'*

"My fault, I'm afraid. I've lost touch with a lot of people. Have you lived here long?"

*Two years in Amsterdam, five in Europe."

"A long time to be away from home."

"For you, too.'"

Paul shrugged. "I've always traveled. Where did you live before you came to Europe?"

"New York. Allison says your home is Boston."

"It was. I'm not sure where I'll go from here. It might be New York. Will you be going back there?"

"I don't know,"

"What about your family?**

Ben spread his hands.

"He hasn't any," Allison said. "I can't imagine what that would be like,**

"It wasn't large to begin with," said Ben. *Then some of them died and others . . . vanished.'*

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*That's very dramatic," Paul said with a smile.

"It was. We had some stormy times."

"And so you came to Europe."

Ben nodded. "And you? Did you leave because of family storms?"

"I told Ben something about us," Allison said to Paul, almost apologetically. "But not about you and . . . Not much about you. If you want to tell about yourself, it*s up to you."

"Fd like to hear it," Ben said.

Paul shook his head. "Past history. It's not something I talk about. I'd like to hear about yours, though; it's not often an entire family disappears because of a . . . was it a quarrel?"

"Betrayal," Ben said, and saw the quick look of surprise, and then despair, that shadowed Paul's eyes. *The same thing that happened in your family."

"Maybe it's a trend," Allison said with a nervous laugh.

"I hope not," Ben said somberly.

Paul found himself drawn to him. He was a little too curious about their family, but he could be forgiven that by anyone who saw the intensity of his eyes when he looked at Allison. He had a kind of boldness that Paul admired, as if he were taking the measure of a world he intended to conquer, but there also was something of the searcher in him, looking for things lost or not yet attained. That was probably what drew Allison to him, Paul reflected. He hoped she wasn't rushing into yet another project to make someone's life better, but he thought it likely that she was. And for that reason, and because he ah*eady liked Ben Gardner, he wanted to know him better.

"Can we have lunch one day?" he asked. "Can you take time from the hotel?"

"I could, but I'm going to London tomorrow for two weeks."

"Damn. We're not staying that long."

"Well, next time you're in Amsterdam— '*

"Oh, Paul, stay here longer," Allison said. "What else do you have to do?"

"Paul wants to work," Emily said. "We both want to work."

"Work? Paul? Since when?" Allison saw Paul's quick frown. "I'm sorry, have you reformed?"

Judith Michael

"I'm thinking about it," he said mildly, and looked at Ben. "How often do you visit the States?"

"Now and then; not often. But I think that may change."

"If it does, look me up." He took out a business card. "This is my answering service in Boston; they'll know where I am."

Ben took out his own card. "If you get back to Amsterdam first." They smiled, liking each other, and Paul and Emily stayed longer than they had planned, the four of them talking of Europe, drinking wine, nibbling on Dutch cheese and crackers, until Emily said firmly, "Paul, we're expected," and they all rose and made their farewells.

Outside the hotel, Paul and Emily took a taxi, and Ben and Allison walked along the Rokin, their hands clasped between them. The rain had stopped and the air was fresh and chill. "You didn't tell them you're joining me in a few days in London," Ben said.

'There's time. I could tell that Paul thinks I'm rushing into something."

"And are you?"

"Possibly. I have something to tell you."

He felt a moment of alarm and stopped walking. "Has something happened?"

"You mean something bad? Of course not. You do that a lot, Ben; think about bad things happening. I want you to think of happy things." She took a breath. "I rented an apartment today."

His look sharpened. "You rented —"

"On the Prinsengracht. Very pretty and very small, but big enough for the two of us to get to know each other much, much better. "^

He was smiling; the smile broadened. "An American woman. You take things in your own hands."

"Is that all right?"

"It's wonderful. I've lived in Europe so long I've forgotten how wonderful it is. But what about Patricia?"

"She's going to Paris. She says six weeks is more than enough for Amsterdam. I don't agree."

Ben put his hand beneath her chin and searched her eyes. *This isn't a whim? This is something you really want?"

To herself, Allison said. You're what I really want. Aloud,

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she said lightly, "Maybe it is a whim. But if it is, we ought to enjoy it while it lasts."

His look held for a minute. "Fd like to buy you something," he said. "I've wanted to for some time. Let's do it now, before dinner."

"I don't want anything," she protested. "Just for us to have more time together."

"You've taken care of that. Let me take care of this." He took her arm in a decisive grip, walking briskly down the Rokin.

"Ben, nothing is open now."

"They close in fifteen minutes. If we hurry we can make it."

"Who closes?"

He only smiled and walked faster, and in a few minutes AUison found herself beneath the huge marble arched entrance to the Amsterdam Diamond Center. Some of the cutters were already going home, but the managing director greeted Ben with a warm handshake.

"May I present Miss Salinger," Ben said. "Allison, this is Claus Cuyper. Are we too late to buy something for Miss Sahnger, Claus?"

"As long as you do not want the guided tour there is time."

"Good. Allison, do you want to choose?"

She shook her head. She was uncomfortable. From the moment she had told Ben about the apartment, everything had speeded up, and under Ben's direction, not hers. She didn't Imow if she wanted a diamond from Ben—at least she didn't know if she wanted one yet; she wanted to think about it. But she couldn't embarrass him in front of Claus Cuyper. "I'll watch the cutters," she murmured, and drifted off, leaving the two men to confer in private.

In the blindingly lit room, smocked men and women sat in armless secretary's chairs at long tables, cutting and polishing the diamonds that had been classified by examiners for weight and color and the way they would be cut. Allison watched some of the workers sawing the carats, others shaping the sawed gem by hand, and others polishing its facets.

"I hope you'll wear it," Ben said, breaking her reverie. "Claus had one already set and it was what I had in mind." He

Judith Michael

opened her hand and put the small piece on her palm. It looked like a Crystal, faintly tinted white, less than a carat, and nestled in a silver filigree as airy as lace.

"It's lovely," she said softly. And she knew she could not refuse it. It was modest, in perfect taste, and it was a pendant, not a ring. It was the gift of a good friend who had every reason to believe he would become a much closer friend. And it was the gift of a man who was happy. He is happy, Allison thought. Much happier than when we met. I've done that for him already. She fastened the silver chain around her neck. "Thank you. I'll probably wear it so often you'll get tired of seeing it."

"By then I'll have bought you another." He took her face between his hands and kissed her, briefly, because he was not a public person. "I love you, Allison," he said.

Carolers sang outside the Manhattan office of the fashion editor of Eye magazine, and in his reception room a polystyrene Christmas tree was hung with dozens of papier-mach6 eyes, pupils gleaming red, green, and white fi^om tiny light bulbs tucked inside. Emily had glanced at them once, seen that they were in dreadful taste, and looked the other way.

"Barry wanted me to come directly to you," she said to the fashion editor, who had been Jock Flynn in Little Italy but, on moving uptown to Rockefeller Center, had become Jason d'Or. "He said he wouldn't dare impose his wishes on you."

"He also told you not to tell me he said that," Jason said with a tight smile; his voice vibrated with a thin whine, "But you decided to because you thought it would establish a camaraderie between us."

Emily was silent. He was right, but he was in as bad taste as his reception room.

"Well, let's see what you have." His voice had turned brisk. "Barry doesn't send people to me with his bad jokes unless he's truly impressed." He opened the leather portfolio Emily had insisted on bringing over herself, even though Barry had told her it should come from his agency and she should stay home.

"I can't stay home," she had protested. "I do best with the personal touch. Look how well I did with you in Amsterdam."

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'*Your friend Paul's photographs did well with me in ^n-sterdam," he had growled. He wanted to sleep with her but she stayed faithful to Paul, even though they were only living together. "The personal touch had nothing to do with it."

"You can't be sure. You were influenced by me. And Jason d'Or—my God, what a name—will be, too."