Loving (7 page)

"I suppose it is. I just ... I hadn't ... I didn't expect it to happen so quickly. When will she ... how soon--" She couldn't find her words and suddenly she hated the woman from Texas. She was buying the co-op. And for a sum that should have made Bettina squeal with delight. But she didn't feel like squealing. The agent talked on while Bettina's eyes filled with tears.

"Shall we say well close two weeks from tomorrow? That will give you both, two full weeks to get organized."

The arrangements made, Bettina hung up, sitting in silence in her bedroom, looking around her as though for the last time.

She spent the next week alternately packing and stopping to dry her tears. And at last on Wednesday they arrived to remove the countless priceless pieces to the hallowed halls of Parke-Bernet. It was the same day she went to her attorney to finalize the sale of the apartment. She didn't even bother calling to rent a bed. She uncovered an old sleeping bag she had bought years before and slept on the floor of her room. It was only for three nights; she could have moved to the hotel early, but she didn't want to. She wanted to stay there until the end.

The day of the sale at Parke-Bernet she woke up early. She began to stir as the first light of dawn crept across the floor. She didn't even bother to close the curtains anymore. She liked waking up early and sitting cross-legged with her coffee on the thick carpeting in her room.

But this morning she was even too nervous for coffee, and she paced catlike about the house in her nightgown and bare feet. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the apartment as it had been only last week. With her eyes open, it was strangely barren, and the parquet floors cold beneath her feet. She went hastily back to her room shortly after seven and tore through her closet for almost an hour. This wasn't a day for blue jeans. She wasn't going to wear work clothes or hide in a back row. She was going to walk in proudly and hold her head high. For this one last time she was going on view as Justin Daniels's daughter, and she was going to look fabulous. As though nothing had changed.

She emerged at last with a striking black wool Dior suit with padded shoulders, a cinched waist, and a long narrow skirt. Her hair would look like flame atop a black candle. And the jacket buttoned high in a mandarin collar. She didn't need a blouse. She would wear her mink over it, and on her feet, high-heeled black kid Dior shoes.

She bathed in the pink marble bathroom for the last time and emerged smelling faintly of gardenias and roses. She brushed her hair until it shone like dark honey, put on her makeup, and slowly got dressed. When she stood in front of the mirror, she was proud of what she saw. No one would have guessed that she was only a nineteen-year-old girl who had just lost everything she owned.

The auction room was already crowded with row after row of dealers, collectors, gawkers, buyers, and old friends. All conversation stopped as she entered the room. Two men jumped forward and snapped her picture, but Bettina didn't even flinch. She walked regally to one of the first rows, almost in front of a spotter, and threw her mink coat easily over the back of her chair. Her eyes weren't smiling, and she acknowledged none of those who tried to get her attention. She was a startling vision in black, with her copper hair, and her only jewelry was a long strand of her mother's large, perfect pearls. In her ears she wore matching earrings, and on her hands, a single onyx and pearl ring. The only thing she hadn't sold in the three months since her father had died were her jewels. Ivo had assured her that she would be able to hang on to them and still clean up the debts, and he was right.

The stage was directly in front of her where she knew she would be able to see the old familiar items appear as they were auctioned. Paintings, couches, end tables, lamps. And in the corners and along the sides of the room she could already see a few pieces, the pieces that would have been too large to carry on and off the stage, highboys, enormous sideboards, his bookcase, and two very large standing clocks. Most of it Louis XV, some Louis XVI, some English, all rare, many signed, it was going to be what the catalog called an "important" sale, but that was only fitting, Bettina thought to herself, Justin Daniels had been an important man. And she felt important again now, as she sat there, because this one last time she was there as his daughter, not simply herself.

The bidding began at exactly seven minutes past ten, and Ivo had not yet arrived. Bettina looked at the plain Carrier watch on her left wrist, and then let her eyes wander back to the man at the podium, the spotters, and the huge inlaid Louis XV chest with the marble slab on top of it, which they had just auctioned off for twenty-two thousand five. The circular platform on the stage slowly turned lazy-Susan style and another familiar item was revealed. It was the large ornate seventeenth-century mirror from their front hall.

"The bidding is open at two thousand five ... two thousand five ... three, I have three ... four ... five ... six ... seven ... seven five on the left ... eight! ... Nine at the front of the room ... nine five ... ten in the rear! ... Ten ... ten ... do I have ... eleven! ... Eleven five ... and twelve ... twelve at the front of the room." And with that he clicked the hammer down. It was all over in less than a minute. It went with lightning speed, and the action was all but invisible. Fingers barely moved, hands were barely raised, there were nods, signals of the eye, the slightest gesture of a pen, a hand, and the spotters were trained to see it all and report it rapidly to the auctioneer, but it was rare that the spectators could see who was doing the bidding. Bettina had no idea at all who had just bought the large antique mirror. She made a notation in her catalog and settled back in her chair to watch the next item.

There were two beautiful French bergere chairs, upholstered in delicate cafe-au-lait silks, that had been in her father's bedroom. There was also a matching chaise longue similarly upholstered, which was the next item in the catalog. Bettina, with pen poised and waiting for the bidding to begin, felt someone slide into the empty seat beside her. Then she heard a familiar voice in her ear.

"Do you want those?" His eyes looked tired and his voice sounded grim. As she turned to see Ivo the funereal air of intensity of the hour before momentarily fled.

She put her arms around his neck for a moment and held him close. Slowly his face broke into a smile. She pulled away from him briefly and whispered in his ear. "Welcome home, stranger. I'm so glad you could come."

He nodded and then, sobering, repeated his first question. The bidding was already at nine thousand five. "Do you want them?" But she only shook her head. And then, leaning closer to her again, he gently took her hand. "I want you to tell me what you want from all this. Anything that means something to you, tell me. I'll buy it and keep it for you at my place. You can pay me later if you want to and I don't give a damn if that means in twenty years...." And then he smiled and leaned toward her again. "If I'm still around to collect it, which I doubt." He knew how proud she was and that he had to make the offer as he did.

She whispered again as they closed the bidding at thirteen and a half for the two chairs. "You damn well better be around, Ivo."

"At eighty-two? For God's sake, Bettina, give me a break." They looked at each other as though they had seen each other every day for the past month. It was difficult to believe, suddenly, that he'd been gone for five weeks. "Are you all right?"

She nodded slowly. "I'm fine. Are you exhausted from the Sight?" A couple in front of them shushed them, and Ivo glared malevolently at the pair. And then he turned to Bettina with a tired smile.

"It was a long flight. But I didn't want you to be here alone. How long will this go on today? All day?" He prayed that it wouldn't, he needed a few hours sleep.

"Just till lunch. And tomorrow morning and afternoon." He nodded and turned his attention to what was being shown on the stage. Bettina had grown strangely quiet, and Ivo squeezed her hand. It was Justin's desk.

Ivo leaned quietly toward her and spoke once again in her ear, "Bettina?" But she shook her head and looked away.

"Seven thousand ... seven ... eight? Seven five! ... Eight! ... Eight ... Nine! ... ." It went for nine thousand dollars, and Bettina supposed that to an antique dealer it was worth the price. It was worth more than that to her though. It had been the desk where her father worked, where he had written his last two books, where she had seen him again and again, poring over manuscripts.... Her mind drifted painfully into the past, but Ivo was watching her and still holding tightly to her hand.

"Relax, little one.... It's still yours." He spoke infinitely gently, and she looked up at him in confusion.

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to. We can discuss it later."

"Did you buy it?" She looked at him, stunned, and wanting to laugh for a moment, he nodded.

"Don't look so surprised."

"For nine thousand dollars?" She looked horrified, and someone behind them told her to lower her voice. Thousands of dollars were being bandied about between bidders, this was no time for distractions from the audience. This was a serious crowd. Like gamblers, they paid attention to what they were doing and little else. But Bettina was still staring at Ivo in astonishment. "Ivo, you didn't!" This time she whispered more softly, and he smiled.

"I did." And then he cast an eye toward the stage again and raised an eyebrow questioningly. It was another desk. He leaned toward her again. "Where was that?"

"In the guest room, but it's not a good one. Don't buy it." She looked at him seriously, wondering just how many pieces he was planning to buy, and he watched her, amused.

"Thanks for the advice." Apparently the dealers and collectors shared her sentiments about the piece. It went for only eighteen hundred dollars. By that day's standards it was cheap.

The proceedings seemed to go on for hours, but Bettina didn't let him buy anything more. At last it was over. At least for the day. It was five minutes to twelve. They stood up as the rest of the crowd got up to leave, clutching their catalogs and discussing the bidding with friends. She realized Ivo was staring at her. It made her feel warm inside, though slightly uncomfortable.

"What are you looking at?"

"I'm looking at you, little one. Because it's so good to see you." His voice was like velvet on the words. And she wanted to tell him that she missed him, but instead, with a faint blush on her cheeks, she bowed her head.

As he watched, a shadow darted into her eyes. Now what was wrong? There was something different about her already. Once again something had changed since he had been gone. But he wasn't sure what this time and he wasn't sure he liked what it was.

He looked at her very seriously. "Will you come home with me, Bettina, for lunch?" She hesitated for a long moment, and then she nodded.

"That would be nice."

He beckoned to his driver, who was waiting, and a moment later they sped away toward his apartment, twelve blocks south of hers, on Park Avenue. It was comfortable there. It was far less grandiose, but filled with lovely things that looked inviting and warm. There were big leather chairs and soft couches, paintings of hunting scenes, and bookcases filled with rare books; there was lots of brass around the fireplace, and the windows were large and inundated with sun. It was clearly a man's apartment, yet it was friendly and cozy and would have been large enough for more than just him. Downstairs he had a living room, dining room, and library. Upstairs he had two bedrooms and his private den. There was also a spacious wood-paneled country kitchen. Behind it there would have been room for two maids, but he only kept one. His driver lived elsewhere and was actually employed by the Mail. Bettina had always liked coming to his apartment. It was like going to someone's house in the country, or like visiting a favorite uncle in his lair. Everything smelled of tobacco and cologne and fine leather. She liked the feel of his things, their texture, and their smell.

Bettina looked around her with a feeling of homecoming as they walked into the sunny living room and he checked back over his shoulder. She looked better again, and for a moment the look of terror seemed to have fled. "It's nice to be back here, Ivo. I always forget how pretty it is."

"That's because you don't come here often enough."

"That's only because you don't ask me." She was teasing now, and happy, as she plunked herself down on the couch.

"If that's all that keeps you away from here, I will ask! And often!" He smiled and tried not to glance at the mountain of mail. "Oh, God, will you look at that, Bettina...."

"I was trying not to. It reminds me of my father's after he'd been away for a few days."

"And this is nothing. I'm sure it's worse at the office." He ran a hand across his eyes and then walked into the kitchen. Mathilde seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. He had expected her to be waiting.

"Where's Mattie?" Bettina reflected his thought. She had called her that since she was a very small child.

"I don't know. Can I offer you a sandwich? I'm starved."

She looked at him sheepishly. "So am I. I was so nervous during the bidding, and now suddenly I'm ravenous." And then she remembered. "Speaking of which, Ivo ... what about that desk?" She looked at him pointedly, but there was something far softer in her eyes.

"What desk?" He looked nonchalant as he headed for the kitchen. "I hope there's at least something to eat."

"Knowing Mattie, enough for an army. But you didn't answer my question, Ivo. What about the desk?"

"What about it? It's yours."

"No, it was Daddy's. Now it's yours. Why don't you keep it? He'd like you to have it, you know." She looked at him gently once they arrived in the kitchen, and he reached into the fridge and turned his back.

"Never mind that, you can write your play on that desk. Let's not discuss it." It was still too soon to talk to her about what he had in mind.

She sighed. They would have to discuss it another time. "Why don't you let me make the lunch?"