The Prodigal Daughter (20 page)

“Whoever that
is,
go
away. You have caused me to break my favorite
teapot.” said an angry voice whose mother tongue could only have been Italian.

Florentyna
stifled the impulse to run and instead slowly turned the door knob. She put her
head around the door and looked into a room that must have had walls, but there
was no way of knowing because books and periodicals were stacked from floor to
ceiling as if they had taken the place of bricks and mortar.

In the middle of
the clutter stood a professorial figure aged anywhere between forty and
seventy. The tall man-wore an old Harris
tweed
jacket
and gray flannel trousers that looked as though they had come from a thrift
shop or had been inherited from his grandfather.

He was holding a
brown handle
that moments
before had been attached to
a teapot. At his feet lay a tea bag surrounded by fragments of brown china.

I have been in
possession of that teapot for over thirty years. I loved it second only to the
Pietd, young woman. How do you intend to replace it?”

“As Michelangelo
is not available to sculpt you another, I will have to go to Woolworth’s and
buy one.”

The professor
smiled despite himself. “What do you want?” he asked, picking up the tea bag
but leaving the remains of his teapot on the floor.

“To enroll in
your course,” Florentyna replied.

“I do not care
for women at the best of times,” he said, not facing her, “and certainly not
for one who causes me to break my teapot before breakfast. Do you possess a
name?”

“Rosnovski.”

He turned and
stared at her for a moment before sitting at his desk and dropping the tea bag
into an ashtray. He scribbled briefly. “Rosnovksi, you have the thirtieth
place.”

“But you don’t
know my grades or qualifications.”

I am quite aware
of your qualifications,” he said ominously. “For next week’s group discussion
you will prepare a paper on’~- he hesitated for a moment-”on one of Borromini’s
earlier works, San Carlo alle Quattro Fontane. Good day,” he added as
Florentyna scribbled furiously on her legal pad. Without giving her another
thought, he returned to the remains of his teapot.

Florentyna left,
closing the door quietly behind her. She walked slowly down the marble steps
trying to compose her thoughts. Why had he accepted her so quickly? How could
he
.have known anything about her?

During the
following week she spent long days in the crypts of the Fogg Museum poring over
learned journals, making slides of the reproductions of Borromini’s plans for
San Carlo, even checking his lengthy expense list to see how much the
remarkable building had cost. She also found time to visit the china department
of Shreve, Crump & Lowe.

When Florentyna
had completed the paper, she rehearsed it the night before and felt confident
about the outcome, a confidence that evaporated the moment she arrived at
Professor Ferpozzi’s seminar. The room was already packed with ex-

127 pectant
students and she was horrified to discover that she was the only nongraduate
student, the only non-Fine Arts major and the only woman in the course. A
projector was placed on his desk facing a large white screen.

“Ah, the home
wrecker returns,” the professor said, as Florentyna took the one remaining seat
in the front. “For those of
you
who have not come
across Miss Rosnovski before, do not invite her home for tea.” He smiled at his
own remark and tapped his pipe into an ashtray on the comer of the desk, a sign
that he wished the class to commence.

“Miss
Rosnovski,” he said with confidence, “is going to give us a talk on Bon-omini’s
Oratorio di San Filippo Neri.” Florentyna’s heart sank. “No, no.” He smiled a
second time. “I am mistaken. It was, if I remember correctly, the Church of San
Carlo.”

For twenty
minutes Florentyna delivered her paper, showing slides and answering questions.
Ferpozzi hardly stirred from behind his pipe, other than to correct her
occasional mispronunciation of seventeenth-century Roman coins.

When Florentyna
finally sat down, he nodded thoughtfully and declared, “A fine presentation of the
work of a genius.” She relaxed for the first time that day as Ferpozzi rose
briskly to his feet. “Now it is my painful duty to show you the contrast and I
want everyone to make notes in preparation for a full discussion next week.” He
shuffled over to the projector and flicked his first slide into place. A
building appeared up on the screen behind the professor’s desk. Florentyna
stared in dismay at a ten-yeaj-old nicture of the Chicago Baron towering above
a cluster of’ elega.,
,t
small7scale apartment buildings
on Michigan Avenue. There was an eerie silence in the room and one or two
studcrits were staring at her to see how she reacted.

“Barbaric, isn’t
it?” Ferpozzi’s smile returned. “I am not referring only to the building, which
is a worthless piece of plutocratic self-congratulation, but to the overall
effect that this edifice has on the city around it. Note the way the tower
breaks the eye’s sense of symmetry and balance in order to make certain that
it’s the only building we shall look at.” He flicked a second slide up onto the
screen. This time it revealed the San Francisco Baron. “A slight improvement,”
he declared, staring into the darkness at his attentive audience, “but only
because since the earthquake of 1906 the city ordinances in San Francisco do
not allow buildings to be more than twenty stories in height. Now let’s travel
abroad,” he continued, turning to face the screen again. Up on the screen came
the Cairo Baron, its gleaming windows reflecting the chaos and poverty of the
slums huddled on top of each other in the distance.

“Who
catV
blame the natives for backing the occasional revolution
when such a monument to Mammon is placed in their midst %hile they try to
survive in mud hovels that don’t even stretch to electricity?”

Inexorably, the
professor produced slides of the Barons in London, Johannesburg and Paris,
before saying, “I want your critical opinion on all of these monstrosities by
next week. Do they have any architectural value, can they be justified on
financial grounds and will they ever be seen by your grandchildren’?
If so, why’?
Good day.”

Everyone filed
out of the professor’s room except Florentyna, who
unwrapped
the brown paper parcel by her side.

“I have brought
you a farewell present,” she said, and stood up holding out an earthenware
teapot. Just at the moment Ferpozzi opened his hands, she let go and the teapot
fell to the ground at his feet and shattered into several pieces.

He stared at the
fragments on the floor. A deserved no less,” he said, and smiled at her.

“That,” she
rejoined, determined to say her piece, “was unworthy of a man of your
reputation.”

“Absolutely
right,” he said, “but I had to discover if you had backbone.

So many women
don’t, you know.”

“Do you imagine
your position allows
you-
”

He waved a
dismissive hand. “Next week I shall read your defense of your father’s empire
with interest, young woman, and I shall be only too happy to be found wanting.”

“Did you imagine
I would be’returning?” she said.

“Oh yes, Miss
Rosnovski. If you are half the woman my colleagues claim you are, I shall have
a battle on my hands next week.”

Florentyna left,
just stopping herself frofn slamming the door behind her.

For seven days
she talked with professors of architecture, Boston city planners and
international conservationists. She telephoned her father, mother and George
Novak before coming to the reluctant conclusion that, although they all had
different excuses, Professor Ferpozzi had not exaggerated. She returned to the
top of the tower a week later and sat at the back of the room, dreading what
her fellow students would have come up with.

Professor
Ferpozzi stared at her as she sank into her seat. He then tapped his pipe into
an ashtray and addressed the class.

129

“You will leave
your essays on the comer of my desk at the end of this session, but today I
want to discuss the influence of Borromini’s work on European churches during
the century after his death.” Ferpozzi then delivered a lecture of such color
and authority that his thirty students hung on every word. When he had
finished, he selected a sandy-haired young man in the front row to prepare next
week’s paper on Borromini’s first meeting with Bemini.

Once again,
Florentyna remained seated while all the other students filed out, leaving
their essays on the corner of Ferpozzi’s desk. When they were alone, she handed
the professor a brown paper parcel. He
unwrapped
it to
find a Royal Worcester Viceroy teapot in bone china dated 1912.

“Magnificent,”
he said. “And it will remain so as long as no one drops it.”

They both
laughed. “Thank you, young lady.”

“Thank you,”
Florentyna replied, “for not putting me through any further humiliation.”

“Your admirable
restraint, unusual in a woman, made it clear that it was unnecessary. I hope
you will forgive me, but it would have been equally reprehensible not to try to
influence someone who will one day control the largest hotel empire in
theworld.” Such a thought had never crossed Florentyna’s mind until that
moment. “Please assure your father that I always stay in a Baron whenever I
have to travel. The rooms, the food and the service are quite the most
acceptable of any of the major hotels, and there is never anything to complain
about once you are inside the hotel looking out. Be sure you learn as much
about the stonecutter’s son as I know about the empire builder from Slonim.
Being an immigrant is something your father and I will always be proud to have
in common. Good day, young lady.”

Florentyna left
the office below the eaves of Widener sadly, aware of how little she knew of the
workings of her father’s empire.

During that year
she concentrated zealously on her modem language studies, but she could always
be found on Tuesday afternoons sitting with a pile of books, absorbing
Professor Ferpozzi’s lectures. It was President Conant who remarked at the
senior dinner that it was sad that his learned colleague was having the kind of
friendship with Florentyna that the professor really should have had thirty
years before.

Graduation day
at Radcliffe was a colorful affair. Proud, smartly dressed parents mingled with
professors swathed in the scarlet, purple and multicolored hoods appropriate to
their degrees. The academics glided about, resembling
a
convocation
of bishops, informing the visitors how well their offspring
had done, sometimes with a little considerate license. In the case of
Florentyna there was no need for exaggeration, for she had graduated summa cum
laude and had been elected to Phi Beta Kappa earlier in the year.

It was a day of
celebration and sadness for Florentyna and Bella, who were to live on opposite
sides of the country, one in New York and the other in San Francisco. Bella had
proposed to Claude on February 28-”Couldn’t wait for Leap Year,” she
explained-and they had been married in the Houghton chapel at Harvard during
the spring vacation. Claude had insisted on, and Bella had agreed to, Love,
Honor and Obey. Florentyna realized how lucky they both were when Claude said
to her at the reception, “Isn’t Bella beautiful?”

Florentyna smiled
and turned to Bella, who was remarking that it was sad Wendy was not with them
that day.

“Not that she
ever did a day’s work,” added Bella, grinning.

“Florentyna
could not have worked harder in her final year, and no one will be surprised by
her achievements,” said Miss Rose.

“I am sure she
owes a great deal to you, Miss Rose,” Abel replied.

“No,
no, but I was hoping to persuade Florentyna to return to Cambridge and study
for a Ph.D. and then join the faculty, but she seems to have other ideas.”

“We certainly
do,” said Abel. “Florentyna will be joining the Baron Group as a director, with
special responsibilities for the leasing of the shops in the hotels. They have
grown out of control in the last few years and I fear I have been neglecting
them.”

“You didn’t tell
me that was what you had in mind, Florentyna,” boomed Bella. “I thought you
said-”

“Shhhhh, Bella,”
said Florentyna, putting a finger to her lips.

“Now, what’s
this, young lady? Have you been keeping a secret from me?”

“Now’s not the
time or place, Papa.”

“Oh, come on,
don’t keep us in suspense,” said Edward. “Is it the United Nations or General
Motors who feel they cannot survive without you?”

“I must
confess,” said Miss Rose, “now that you have gained 131 the highest credentials
this university can award, I should be fascinated to know how you intend to use
them.”

“Hoping to be a
Rockette, perhaps,” said Claude.