Noon at Tiffany's (57 page)

June 8, 1907

Cold Spring Harbor, Long Island, N.Y.

The spectacular beauty and originality of Laurelton Hall was utterly unlike anything she could have imagined. For once, money and artistic ability had been blended to create perfection. From the moment the chauffeured car entered the long, blue gravel drive, Clara had never stopped marveling. After winding past fields of daffodils and honeysuckle, under arches of wisteria and around ponds edged with Japanese iris and day lilies, they passed between the blue K’ang Hsi lions that guarded the entrance. With her first glimpse of the cream-colored palace with the turquoise copper roof, she was filled with awe.

The eighty-four room, eight level leviathan was an eclectic blend of Islamic, Mission-Moorish, and art nouveau architecture belonging to no one but Louis Tiffany. The grand tour was like being in some fantastical waking dream decorated with glassed-in gardens, courts and terraces where marble columns were topped by ceramic poppies, magnolias and peonies, accurate to the smallest detail. For her, the zenith of Tiffany’s true architectural genius was the way he’d designed the glass walls to bring sun, sky, storms and the harbor inside—making it all part of the structure.

Exhausted by bowling games and tennis matches, not to mention the lavish seven-course dinner, the guests retired to their rooms. As for herself, she was much too excited to sleep. She wanted to explore as much of the place as she could on her own, and when the multitudes of clocks struck two, she ventured out, praying she would find her way back before breakfast.

She was beginning to tire by the time she came upon an indoor courtyard under a blue glass dome. In the center, water spouted from a glass amphora fountain into a marble pool ringed with quartz crystals. Seating herself, she let the sound of the water lull her into a dreamy trance.

She became aware of him watching her long before he spoke.

“Do you like it, Clara?”

“I do,” she said, calmly. “It’s one of the most amazing places I’ve ever been.”

Louis sat next to her. She met his eyes, saw what was in them, and looked away. “It’s an experience I’ll remember for the rest of my life.”

“Could you see yourself living here?”

“I’d have to carry a map,” she laughed.

His hand closed over hers. “It doesn’t have to be just a memory. You could have it as your own, if you lived here with me.”

She eased her hand out from under his. “Mr. Tiffany, you must not pursue this idea any further.”

He dropped to his knees before her. “From the moment I opened my office door and saw you those many years ago, you have never been far from my mind. I’m a passionate and lonely man, and you are too lovely and talented to be wasting your precious time with clerks and unknown artists. I can’t stand the idea of seeing you wither away like some old spinster. If we combined forces, you and I, we could dominate the market in art glass.”

“I believe we’ve already done that,” she said, fighting to maintain her composure.

“But we haven’t worked side by side as one mind, one talent. Come here and stay. You could work out your designs at your leisure. You can have your own apartments—a whole wing if you prefer. I’ll build any sort and size of studio you want. We could begin to know each other on a personal level. You would want for nothing and no one else.”

“The clerks and unknown artists you mentioned are not only my friends, they’re my family. Without them, I’d be lost. Even this stately palace couldn’t replace them.”

He took her by the shoulders. “I’ll show you a better world, here, with me.”

She eased out of his grip. “I can’t do that.”

“Where does that leave me?”

“It leaves you free to find a woman who’s suitable to your station in life.”

“But I don’t want some silly rich woman who simply wants to spend my money,” he pleaded. “You and I are artists of the same mind, the same heart.”

She shook her head, unable to get beyond the parts of him that were broken—the missing fragments of human compassion and understanding.

Mercifully, he did not push the matter again, and for a time they sat peacefully together listening to the water flow over the amphora and return to itself. The predawn light was just beginning at the edge of the garden when, as if by some invisible signal, they both rose at the same moment.
He kissed her hand. “I won’t give up so easily.”

“You never do,” she said. “But someday you will have to.”

Mr. Tiffany handed each of them an envelope. “Ladies, inside those envelopes you will find an assignment that will commence in July and take two months to complete. You won’t be working in these studios, nor will you have Mr. Briggs or the Tiffany Girls to help you.”

She bit the inside of her lip. She couldn’t imagine having to work with Miss Northrop day in and day out. Two months of that, and she’d either go insane or commit murder.

“Just the two of us?” she asked, hoping her disappointment wouldn’t be detected.

“No, Dr. McIlhiney and I will be working closely with you every step of the way.”

“Is it a big project?” Miss Northrop asked eagerly. “A window or a mosaic for some international exposition?”

Already Clara’s eyes were aching.

“No again,” Louis smiled, “but before you look at your assignment, you should know that every expense, including your personal expenses, will be taken care of.” He opened the door.

“One last thing, ladies. Refusing the project is not an option, although, I doubt either of you will turn down
this
opportunity. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do.” As she passed into the hall, Louis gave her a wink before closing the door.

In the hallway, Clara held up her envelope. “Shall we see what fate has in store for us, Miss Northrop?”

“I’ve too much to do,” Miss Northrop answered curtly. “Mr. Tiffany has entrusted me with designing an exclusive piece for his personal study.”

Clara tried not to smile. She knew from Joseph that Miss Northrop’s ‘exclusive piece’ was a pipe rest.

Miss Northrop quickly stepped into the lift. “I’ll read it some other time, when I’m not so busy.” Closing the lift gate, she dropped out of sight, but not before Clara heard the sound of an envelope being ripped open.

She opened her envelope on the spot. Inside were several pieces of paper covered in Louis’s messy scrawl.

My Dearest Clara,

Please accept my invitation to accompany me on a sketching tour throughout Brittany and various other European sites.

Enclosed are your tickets and a bank check to cover any expenses you might incur in preparation for the trip. For your comfort and in the name of propriety, I have invited two proper chaperones.

My heart is yours, Louis

Noon at Tiffany’s

June 27, 1907

Dearest Emily,

You had best sit down, for you will find my news rather shocking. On July 18
^th
I leave for Europe aboard the S.S. Amerika on the Hamburg Line. It’s a new boat, seven stories high, with elevators and restaurants and all the modern improvements—a regular floating hotel.

Miss Northrop, Dr. McIlhiney (Mr. Tiffany’s chemist), and I are Mr. Tiffany’s guests. We are going in style, with Mr. Tiffany’s own touring car. Best of all, I have my own, first-class stateroom on the “A” level, so I’ll have a window. Miss Northrop has the adjoining stateroom, but I shall make sure to keep the connecting door locked.

I declined the invitation at first, but at Alice’s and Mr. Booth’s urging, I changed my mind, and am now resolved to it and feel it will be rather wonderful. I’ll love going once in this way—no worries as to what things are costing, and with people who want to see the same things I do. I am to have two new dinner gowns, three new waists and a sturdy but refined suit for the auto trips. We’ll put up in the finest hotels and take the automobile from there to picturesque fishing villages for sketching whenever the mood strikes us. Mr. Tiffany says he’s too old to rough it in these places.

It might be wise to lower the rent on the farm to $150 per annum. Mama always spoke highly of Mr. West, and I’m sure she would want him and his family there for less rent, rather than having more money from an unscrupulous or dirty family.

I’m glad that Rev. Cutler has found a home with the Carter family. This is a worry off my mind.

It feels so strange, Emily, that the place where we were born and have always known as home will be occupied by strangers. I know I must accept this, but it makes me feel so old.

Mr. Tiffany is here (fourth time today), and so I must leave off.

Love always, Clara

August 18, 1907

Sister:

I received your letter dated August 7th. You are certainly costing Mr. Tiffany an awful lot, but I suppose it’s a kind of relief to him to have some way to spend all the money you make for him.

While you traipse about in your luxury car, I’m here at the old house, my fingers wearing to the bone while I scrub floors and set my hand to repairing what I can before Mr. West’s brood takes over.

Shall I continue to send my letters to the Misses Tiffany at Laurelton Hall? Are you sure they are all being forwarded
unopened
? I teach young women and know how irresponsible they can be—
especially
the pampered ones.

Emily

Rue du Salle, Quimper

August 20, 1907

Dearest Emily,

While Mr. Tiffany and Miss Northrop sketch, I shall rest my artistic mind and scratch a few lines.

Miss Northrop really isn’t such an old prune, although I find her somewhat tedious when it comes to punctuality and detail. It makes me wonder if it weren’t she who infected Mr. Tiffany with these same obsessions. It seems odd and a little sweet that I have known these people for all these years and am only now getting to know them as friends. Of course, they are very different from my Irving Place family, but they are just as charming and enjoyable at times.

Mr. Tiffany has been the perfect gentleman. If he drinks to excess, he does so after I’ve gone to my room, for I haven’t seen him take more than an after-dinner brandy. He’s full of fascinating stories of his travels, which make me long to see the camels and the pyramids and try my hand at surviving a sandstorm.

He’s such a strange man at times. He asked to read one of our robins, so I gave him one that was nice. He seemed to enjoy it very much, although I can’t imagine what it was about remaking hats and gowns and the price of work aprons that he found so entertaining.

Dr. McIlhiney is a bit dry of spirit, but I’ve drawn him out several times with scientific questions about chemical reactions in the glass. I don’t know where he goes while the rest of us sketch, but he seems to enjoy himself a good deal.

I can hardly wait to tell you in person all the wonderful things I’ve seen. France is such a beautiful country, and the food must be tasted to be believed. I will be a full 10 pounds heavier by the end of this trip. Thank God Miss Northrop is handy with a needle and thread to let out my seams.

I must stop here, for Mr. Tiffany is ready to move on down the street for another angle of the Cathedral.

Au revoir, Clara

PS: Of course the Misses Tiffany are forwarding your letters to me safely and unopened. What a notion, Emily. I do believe those electric treatments have finally started your brain to percolating.

Paris

September 2, 1907

I have made up my mind. We are to spend the morning on a grand shopping spree, and after lunch retire to the Musée du Louvre. I’ve asked McIlhiney to distract Miss Northrop while I take Clara into the Tuileries.

I feel like a schoolboy. I have no need of spirits—I’m in a state of natural intoxication. L.C.T.

Le Jarden des Tuileries, Paris

Encircled by diamonds, the large emerald reminded her of the waters at Point Pleasant. Clara closed the velvet ring box and placed it back in his hand. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tiffany, I can’t accept this.”

He stared at her in disbelief. “But I want to marry you—now—here in Paris. It’s not as if we’re so young that we have to go by convention and have one of those infernally long engagements. We could have an extended honeymoon and travel around the world. We would have such a life together. Mr. and Mrs. Louis Tiffany—two artists to be reckoned with.”

It
was
tempting to imagine what becoming Mrs. Louis Tiffany would be like—never having to think of expense. Making over skirts and hats and worrying over holes in her shoes would be a thing of the past. She could live in luxury, with servants attending her every need, all with a mere tug of the bell rope. To have all that and still be able to work at her leisure, without the headaches of bookkeeping and an angry men’s department, seemed like the perfect life.

Visions of luxury were immediately replaced with the image of herself announcing to Emily and the Irving Place family that she was married to Louis Tiffany. She sobered at once. Just as clearly as she could see herself as a woman of leisure, she could visualize the betrayal and hurt in their eyes. Emily would disown her, or, at the very least, refuse to see her. Alice would pretend to be happy for her, but be secretly horrified. Her women would feel betrayed, and Edward—she shuddered—Edward would be devastated.