Treasures (28 page)

“I’m astonished, Davey. How can you do that to Eddy?”

“Because these people are my friends, Lara. My friends.”

“But he’s my brother! How can you go behind his back, how can you? Especially after all he’s done for us, after all his goodness. All right, if you personally don’t want to invest, but to tell other people not to is unconscionable, that’s what it is.”

The argument went on for a long time that night. In the end Davey agreed to keep silent.

“Maybe I am making a mountain out of a molehill,” he conceded. “Maybe I am.”

• • •

Connie, too, had a daughter before the year was out. She came into the world with little fuss on a blustering December afternoon shortly after the stock market’s closing bell. Martin rushed uptown to the hospital, tore into Connie’s room, and tore down the hall to see the baby through the nursery window.

When he returned his eyes were wet. “Oh,” he cried, “she’s, lovely! Little Tessie. She’s beautiful!”

Tessie, thought Connie angrily, oh, no. But she spoke calmly. “I know I promised to name her after your mother, and I will, but Tessie is really only short for Thérèse, and I do want her to be called by her full name. Also, I want it to be spelled with accents, Thérèse. That’s what I really want, Martin.”

“All right, all right. Tessie. Thérèse. What’s the difference?”

“Thérèse. That’s the French pronunciation, and it’s much prettier.”

“You,” he teased. “My fancy French lady. And to think that your sister named her child just plain Peggy.” And he chuckled. “Thérèse. What a wonderful baby! She looks a bit like Melissa.”

Good Lord, I hope not, Connie thought.

Martin leaned over the bed to adjust the embroidered pillow that had been brought from home, and kissed his wife lightly as though he feared to hurt her by pressing too hard. He exulted.

“Oh, I’ve had more joy in my short time with you than in all the rest of my years put together!”

P
ART
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1981-1990

C
HAPTER
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G
olden times these were, not the golden years of age, but of youth spent in health and comfort. The sisters, in spite of living so far apart, were closer than ever. If Peg could know, Connie thought, she would be so thankful to see us, and to see another generation growing up. Even the two husbands got along well. Their backgrounds and experiences were surely different enough, yet because both were busy men with many interests, they were compatible. Martin’s charities were on a colossal scale that frequently were front-page news, but Davey, too, could take pride, and did, in his contributions to the life of his town: a Little Theater Group, a day-care plan for his workers, a fund drive to enlarge the town library, and more.

Sometimes on a weekend when Davey was free to get away, Martin would send the company plane to pick up the Davises and bring them to Westchester for country sports or to New York for the theater, to which he was always able at the very last minute to procure the best seats. He loved putting his ample houses to use, and they were rarely empty of guests.

One fall afternoon during Thanksgiving vacation, while Davey and Sue were at the Central Park Zoo, the little girls, now three, were playing in Connie’s Fifth Avenue drawing room while their mothers, along with Thérèse’s Scottish nurse, watched over them. Martin had been right. Thérèse was like Melissa, pale, small sized, and serious. The child looked up at her now out of Martin’s brown-gold eyes, but unlike his, hers were wistful. And within Connie two feelings struggled with each other, resentment and also a fierce, determined love. She must protect Thérèse, although against what, she could not really say, except that she would teach her how to take care of herself.

Lara’s child was chuckling over a ball that kept rolling out of reach. Two large dimples appeared in her cheeks; her red-gold hair curved loosely about her charming face. And Connie wondered what Lara would be feeling if Thérèse were hers.… A sudden restlessness came over her. Lara could sit all afternoon with the children, but Connie needed to move.

“Do you still feel like going to the galleries with me?”

“I wouldn’t mind. What are you looking for?”

“There are a few things I’ve had my eye on. I’d like to see them again before the bidding tomorrow.”

“I can’t see where you have room for one more thing in here.”

“These are for the country place. Or maybe for Palm Beach. We’ve gotten rid of a few awful things that Doris put there, and now we need replacements. I’ll tell you something,” Connie said, “half the fun is in the doing. I’m really sorry that this apartment’s finally finished.”

After four million dollars’ worth of improvements it was magnificent. And she looked around at the moss-green antique tapestries, the gilded moldings, and the coral silk that festooned the windows. There was no drawing room in the city, none that she had been in, and she had been in the best, that could surpass it.

“There’s a Cézanne that I love,” she said. “But I’m not sure about it. Of course, it’s a fortune, so Martin will have to see it first. Who knows? He just might not like it.” She stood up. “Shall we go? Mrs. Dodd’s going to take these girls for their naps, anyway.”

Sculpture on pedestals and paintings on walls filled the long galleries. Furniture and bibelots, antique treasures from every continent, filled lofty rooms. Lara followed Connie, who was examining and making notes.

“My decorator told me to look at a table for the Westchester house. It’s to stand behind the sofa in the yellow sitting room. Here it is. Chippendale. It should go for about a hundred thousand, he says. That’s quite a lot, isn’t it?”

Lara was silent.

“Of course, it is a marvelous piece. Look at the pierced fretwork, Lara. Well, I’m not going higher than ninety. These decorators always exaggerate. Still, maybe I ought to consider—oh, for goodness’ sake, what are you doing here?” she cried to Eddy, who had just appeared around the corner.

“Same thing you’re doing here,” he replied. “Looking to buy.”

“Buy what?”

“A Corot. A jewel. I’ve been wanting one, and this one is a treasure. Want to see it?”

Eddy had become a connoisseur, and not of art only. He knew about wines and horses. He knew where the finest chefs were to be found, where to get the best pedigreed Shar Pei, and how to choose a diamond. Connie was sometimes in awe of his accomplishments.

“Lara,” she said, “are you aware that our brother is a Renaissance man?”

The three went back to where the paintings were ranged. Two or three separate estates had been assembled for this sale, so that the display was varied. When they passed a wall of buttocks, of various other naked organs, and unattractive bodies of both sexes in bold embrace, Eddy grimaced.

“What they do is their business, and I don’t care, but I sure as hell wouldn’t pay to look at them on my walls!”

Connie peered at the name. “He’s one of the rising stars. You could buy one as an investment and keep it turned to the wall in your attic until the right time to sell.”

“You’re laughing, but I’ll tell you, I’ve been reading Barron’s charts of auction prices, and there seems to be no limit, even for stuff like this. Maybe especially for stuff like this. Seriously, I’ve been going in for something new—to me, at any rate. Russian antiques. You can mix them with practically anything, and they add sparkle. What do you say, Lara?”

“I don’t know anything much about art,” Lara answered. “We don’t see much where we live, do we? We were at the National Gallery last year when we went to
Washington for Davey’s birthday. I think it’s so wonderful to have those precious things in museums where everybody can look at them.” Then she flushed, as if she had become aware of the unintended rebuke. And making quick amends, she said, “Do let’s see the Corot. Where is it?”

“I’ve changed my mind. And I don’t want to go near it, or I’ll weaken again and buy it.”

“But if you wanted it so badly, why not get it?” Connie said.

Eddy’s eyes wandered, searching the room. He looked vague. “I don’t know. I’m sort of cutting back a little. A temporary blip in the cash flow.”

Connie was astonished. “You? Cutting back?”

“Not really. Just temporary, I said. No room for a Corot this particular month, that’s all.” He brightened and flashed a smile, showing his fine teeth. “There’ll be other things coming along next month.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll have to be going. Got an appointment. But say, why don’t we all get together and make a date for a long weekend in Bermuda, or anywhere?”

“Not a long weekend,” Lara told him, “but a short one sounds possible. Davey’s got to work, you know.”

“He works too hard. He should get away more often before he tires himself out.”

“You look tired yourself, Eddy,” Lara said.

He straightened up. He puffed his tie and smiled again. “Do I? Well, it’s nothing that a good night’s sleep won’t fix. Hey, I’m late. Be in touch.”

“He really doesn’t look well,” Lara insisted as soon as he was out of hearing.

Connie shrugged. “I don’t know. The other night Martin thought that he looked harried. But Martin can’t figure him out, anyway. He likes Eddy, although he can’t understand how he’s made money so fast. Of course, Martin came up the long road himself.”

“I’m worried about Eddy. The way he acted just now—”

“He’s probably been up all night. They live a kind of crazy life, if you ask me. Disco half the night, horseback riding—they’ve got a thing about dawn riding on the beach. Now Pam says he wants to buy a sloop, wants to get into the Bermuda races. He thinks Martin should get one too.” Connie giggled. “Can you imagine Martin tugging on ropes in a rough sea? Goodness knows what Eddy will think up next. I can’t imagine. Can you?”

No, Lara could not. So much of what she saw, in both Connie’s and Eddy’s lives, was far outside of her ken. And it always seemed excessive, regardless of its propriety. However, to each his own, and she would not judge.

“I can’t imagine, either, Connie,” she said. “It’s all foreign to me.”

Eddy strode rapidly across Madison Avenue to his office. He had dawdled too long at the gallery. Damn, he’d had his heart set on that Corot! It was such a beautiful thing. But he wasn’t in the mood. Face it, he told himself, you wouldn’t have any real joy in it, the way you feel right now.

Bad luck, that’s all it was. It had always worked before. Or almost always. And it would have to be those folks out in Ohio who got caught. You never knew with the
IRS. Dealing with them was like sticking your hand into a grab bag. You could come across a commonsense, reasonable examiner, or, just as easily, some troublemaking nitpicker. The law was whatever the person who happened to be interpreting it said it was.

Well, but Abner Saville would know. Abner was one of the smartest accountants in the city. And Eddy hastened his steps toward his office, where Abner, in his calm, rational way, would surely quiet his jangling nerves.

“You sounded awfully upset when you asked me to come over,” Abner began as soon as he entered the room. “You worried me.”

“Did I? Well, I guess I was a little upset. It’s not like me, is it? But I’ve had a couple of nasty telephone calls in these last few days, that’s why, and I’m not used to stuff like that.”

Abner’s black eyebrows rose in mild surprise. “Nasty? What about?”

“I sold a bunch of tax shelters a few years back when I was in Ohio. My sister’s husband has a business with ten or twelve stockholders, all his friends. And they all bought limited partnerships from me. Now it seems the IRS is going to disallow the deductions.” Eddy sighed. “God damn, the deal was beautiful too. Ten to one.”

The black eyebrows rose higher into a troubled, puckered forehead. A low whistle came from Saville’s lips.

“Ten to one, Eddy! What the devil! They can’t have been real estate partnerships.”

“No. Lithographs.”

“Oh, for God’s sake! I could have told you that would never wash.”

“It has washed.”

“Yes? How many times.”

“Well, once. It’s been five years, and not a word from the government.”