Treasures (25 page)

Nor was he impressed by the words
carte blanche.
Carte blanche apparently was, in these lofty neighborhoods, merely to be expected.

“I shall of course be bidding for you myself at the important auctions,” he informed Connie, “but I’ll also keep my eyes open for things you can bid on. You’ll find that auctions are entertaining even when you don’t buy.” And then he cautioned, “Keep to the French. Important houses don’t furnish English.” So vanished Connie’s English country look, of which she had been so proud.

Now began a friendly rivalry between Connie and Eddy, who had long since discovered the lure of the galleries, “Although,” Martin grumbled good-naturedly, “I don’t understand how your brother finds time for
such stuff.” And then he added, “I hope he’s on firm ground, Connie. He’s soared like a Roman candle.”

“Don’t worry about Eddy. He’s always known exactly what he’s doing and where he’s going.”

Often the brother and sister went together, seeking treasures. Connie bought a pair of Tang horses, eighth century. Eddy bought a Tiffany desk. She bought a Chinese vase for twelve thousand dollars. He bought a pair of Empire
bibliothèque
cabinets at forty thousand dollars each. She bought two jewel-studded Fabergé eggs, and he bought a Berthe Morisot painting of children in a garden. She also bought portraits, to be represented as ancestral, and, shamefaced, laughed a little at the intended deception.

“You have to help me with art, Eddy. I have to admit that unless something has a name that everybody recognizes or it’s frightfully expensive, I’m not sure whether it’s great art or not.”

“Great isn’t always what you need,” Eddy said gently. “I’ve learned that. Loving is the thing. Last week I bought for a few dollars a watercolor from a student in the Village. Maybe he’ll be great someday and maybe he won’t. But I don’t necessarily care. I can always buy ‘great’ things, and I do. This was a fine little piece, a cat drinking out of a puddle after the rain. You can tell it has just stopped raining, and it’s hot, because there’s a mist rising from the pavement. The feeling is extraordinary.”

Eddy had always had a sense of rightness. When he sent flowers, he specified what he wanted. Once, long ago, she had watched him buying flowers for their
mother’s birthday, scarlet peonies with purple iris; the florist had said they didn’t go together, but Eddy had insisted, and they did go together, very beautifully too.

“You’re spending a fortune,” he said. “Berg doesn’t mind?”

“He told me to.”

The brother and sister stared at each other. “Can you believe what we’re doing? That it’s really us?”

“And that you’re going to be Mrs. Martin Berg?” cried Eddy.

Things changed. From having lived, albeit luxuriously, in the background of Martin’s life as an almost anonymous feminine companion, now Connie was made visible.

Early one morning she accompanied him to his office.

“Wall Street,” Martin said. “Do you know how it got its name? Because it ran inside the wall that the first Dutch settlers built around the city. Hard to imagine that now, isn’t it?”

They entered a long, wide hall leading to a private elevator. At intervals on the walls hung portraits of solemn gentlemen, smooth shaven or bearded, but all white collared, with some wing collared in the fashion of the nineties. The eighteen nineties. And now the nineteen nineties were approaching.

“The founding fathers. Look pompous, don’t they?” Martin remarked with some amusement. “But they were smart old birds. That one’s Frazier.”

“Where’s DeWitt?”

“You’ll meet him. He’s alive and well upstairs. We
don’t put pictures up until people die. Come, I’ll show you the ‘bullpen.’ That’s the trading floor.”

Row upon row of desks faced a large electronic board across which numbers flickered in a continuous march. More lights blinked from telephones on the desks, at each of which sat a man with piles of papers in front of him.

“Block trading.” Martin spoke just above a whisper. “Huge blocks for institutions and pension funds. They can move millions of dollars in a couple of minutes. Fascinating, don’t you think so?”

He had a way of making a statement and then asking one to agree with it; she had to tell herself that, really, she had caught on to his ways remarkably fast. She also knew that he expected her to agree that block trading was fascinating, and so, although she thought it more static than fascinating to watch a man sit like a zombie with a telephone stuck in his ear, she agreed.

“When all is said and done, Connie, this is the core of the business. Trading, I mean. Mergers and acquisitions are the big thing these days, of course, and I’m in the midst of them, from Zurich to Tokyo, but I never forget that right here is where I began. Okay, let’s go on to mergers and acquisitions.

“Behind every one of these doors,” Martin continued as they walked through the floor above, “sits some bright young MBA working on a deal that can either earn millions for the firm or go bust. If too many of his deals go bust, he goes too. He’s got to produce, to earn his six hundred thousand a year, let me tell you. These fellows work, and I mean
work.
Twenty-four hours at a
stretch sometimes when they’re near to a closing. Kids,” he said almost affectionately, “and think how they’ve changed the country’s face! Think of the ripple effect of their prosperity! Houses and condos, theater tickets, antiques and boats, restaurants, travel—it’s amazing. Well, here’s my lair.”

The room was modern, neat, and spare. It was utilitarian, with its own electric quote-board at one end. The only decoration was a ficus tree. This was strictly a workroom. It bore no resemblance to Eddy’s plush London club.

She walked to the bank of windows and looked out. She saw the narrow stretch of Manhattan from river to river, saw the harbor, the twin towers of the World Trade Center, and, small in contrast, the Statue of Liberty. Turning from these, her eyes fell upon the moving numbers on the screen; they seemed to be pulsing with a meticulous beat, like a heartbeat, as though they were in command of this body, this city with all its towers, and all its life. And she said so.

Martin smiled. “You speak more truly than you know. Well. Come meet my partner. He’s across the hall.”

Preston DeWitt stood up at his desk when they came in. He was very tall and thin; his well-shaven narrow cheeks were pink, and his lavish white hair sprang crisply on either side of the parting.

Martin, having made the introduction, announced, “I’m playing hookey this noon, Preston. Taking Connie to lunch at ‘21’ in honor of our engagement.”

“Splendid.” The accent was crisp, too, verging on the British, or more accurately, Connie thought, on the
speech of Franklin Roosevelt that one heard in documentaries. “And when’s the wedding?”

“Memorial Day weekend in the country,” Martin said.

“You can bet I’ll be there, and so will Caroline if she’s up to it. It’s all just splendid.”

In these few moments Connie and Preston had appraised each other. Of his impression she could know only what she saw in his clever, keen black eyes, so odd in contrast to the fair skin; the eyes were calculating. Most probably he liked what he was seeing, since there was no reason not to like a young blond woman wearing a quiet, elegant beige broadcloth suit. Connie’s own impression was positive: He’s handsome, he’s really startling. His suit looked absolutely starched, as if he never sat down. Martin, on the other hand, was wrinkled an hour after putting on fresh clothes. The two men were the same age, although one would never guess it. Preston seemed fifteen years younger.

“He looks young,” she remarked when they were in the elevator.

“He takes care of himself. Riding, tennis, sailing, everything. He learned all that when he was a kid, he grew up with it. In Brooklyn, where I grew up, I didn’t have a sailboat, or a horse either.”

“What’s the matter with his wife? Is she sick?”

“Only when it’s convenient. She’s never sick when there’s a
Social Register
function, which our wedding isn’t, so we’ll see. Anyway, she’s a pill, and I don’t blame him for having a roving eye. Oh, how it roves!”

“So you don’t see each other socially.”

“Rarely. But don’t get me wrong, we like each other. I have a lot of respect for Preston. He works hard, and he doesn’t even have to. He inherited this firm, but he’s also got independent wealth from his mother’s family. Mines and lumber for at least three generations. Maybe he’s the fourth, I’m not sure.”

“It’s remarkable that you fit so well together, being so different.”

“Hey, I’ve quadrupled this firm’s assets since I came in! It was purely and simply a brokerage firm, and I’m the one who’s turned it into a powerful investment bank. I’m the one, and Preston knows it.”

“I’m sure.”

Once in the car, Martin kept talking. “That’s the stock exchange over there. I’ll take you to see it one day. You’ll think it’s a madhouse. Hundreds of traders shrieking and waving their arms, right up to the three-thirty closing bell. What an industry! Little guys gambling, big guys in risk arbitrage. Your brother does some of that, I’m told. Not me. I don’t like risk.”

The car rolled along Wall Street. On either side were walls of windows and behind all the windows, Connie now knew, were rows of desks, telephones, and people talking. The fantastic wealth that talk produced! Of course, she corrected herself immediately, there was more to it than talk. To think otherwise was to oversimplify. It was naive. And yet, for an instant, a totally irrelevant picture came to mind, an image of Davey, bustling in his little factory, making something with his grimy hands.

A cold April rainstorm had arisen, a brief return of
winter. People were hurrying along the windy streets, crowding the subway entrances, pushing through the crowds, clutching the collars of their coats and their shabby parcels. But inside the car as it rolled uptown to “21,” it was warm and dry. There was even a folded lap robe if you wanted one, dark blue woolen with a monogram. Connie sighed and stretched her legs in comfort.

“Feeling all right?” Martin asked, as always.

“Wonderful.”

To be so safe, and so removed from the poor souls in the streets and in the subways, was bliss.

Forty-three acres surrounded this residence among the low hills of northern Westchester County. From the window where Connie stood, she could see the tennis courts, the heated pool, the stables, and the riding trail curving toward the woods. When the door opened, she turned toward Martin.

His eyes grew wide. “My God,” he said, “my God, but you’re perfection itself!”

“I don’t look three months pregnant?”

“No one could possibly guess.”

“I’ve gained eight pounds. And all where it shows. Or it would if this skirt weren’t so full.” She smoothed the diaphanous pink silk.

From behind he put his arm around her waist. Through the mirror that faced them, she could see the white carnation in his buttonhole; she could see his happiness.

“Are you sure you feel all right?” he asked.

“I feel absolutely wonderful.”

“The judge is already here, but we’ve got half an hour yet. People are still arriving. And Eddy just came with a surprise for us. Shall I send him up?”

“Do. I’m getting nervous up here all by myself.”

One could hear Eddy’s approach even on carpeted stairs and floors. His running steps thudded; he rattled keys, cleared his throat, made
noises.
It was as if his vigor, like Martin’s, were too much to contain. Now he almost leapt into the room, shouting at Connie.

“Were you wondering why you haven’t gotten my wedding present yet?”

“What a question! What am I supposed to answer?”

“Don’t answer. Just go to the window.”

Cars were lined up in the big graveled circle and all down the driveway as far as she could see.

“Where am I supposed to look?”

“Down on your right. Behind the Rolls where the chauffeur’s standing. What do you see?”

“A station wagon.”

He corrected her. “A Mercedes station wagon. Like it?”

“Of course. It’s stunning.”

“Well, it’s yours. From Pam and me.”

“Eddy! You’re a darling! I love it. Love it!”

“Well, it was Pam’s idea. We thought it would be just right for you and your offspring to go tooling about the countryside in. There’s room for Delphine and the rest of the dogs in the back too.”

“Oh, you’re both darlings,” Connie repeated. “Why doesn’t Pam come up so I can thank her?”

“You can thank her later.” Eddy hesitated, grew grave,
and exclaimed softly, “What a pity that you never invited Lara!”

Connie drew a sharp breath. There was a fluttering in her heart, and she had to sit down. “Oh, Eddy! How can you do this to me today? I can’t start crying, smudging my eyes now! I did invite her. I wrote a lovely letter last week and sent it with such hope, and such fears, I can’t tell you! I didn’t know how she would take it. I thought probably she would be angry that I even asked her. And you see, I was right, I haven’t heard a word. Not a word. I knew she wouldn’t come.”

Eddy threw his head back in delighted laughter. “Oh, but you’re wrong! She’s here! They’ve even brought Sue, all dressed up like a wedding cake. She didn’t answer because she wanted to surprise you. She’s waiting in the hall at the top of the stairs.”

“Oh, my God! Oh, Eddy, where is she? Bring her in!”

Connie’s eyes, brimming with tears all mingled with mascara, stung so sharply that Lara seemed to be wavering in the doorway. She’s grown older, Connie thought; her waist is thick, she’s thirty-five. And she held out her arms.

Lara cried. Then, murmuring, “I mustn’t crush your dress,” she let go of Connie, saying over and over, “But I am so glad, so glad.”

“You didn’t answer me, so I thought you weren’t coming.”

“Oh, I was hoping you would invite us. Davey said, and Eddy said so many times, long before this, that I should call you. And I wanted to, but I dreaded a rejection.” Lara’s eyebrows drew together, giving her a painful,
almost an imploring expression. In that instant Connie recognized their mother.

“I wish Peg were here,” she said.