•••
In the car, on the way to London, she said, “What a charming place, what a delicious lunch, what a wonderful experience. Thank you, Tony.” Less than half an hour later, she was sound asleep.
•••
When the car stopped, Coleman sat up, wide awake. “Where are we?” she asked.
“We’re at my flat. I left a small supper in the fridge for us here before we left this morning,” Tony said.
“Flat? I thought you lived with your father?” Coleman said.
“I do, but I have this place for privacy. I never have a moment to myself when I’m at home, or in my office. This is my secret getaway.” He unlocked a glass and metal door, and led her through a red-carpeted entry with large vases of lilies on tables on either side. They stepped into a small elevator and rode up two flights to a corridor where he unlocked another door. A short hall took them to a very long room on their left, with a fireplace at one end, and a wall-to-wall bookcase at the other end. A table, seating eight, stood in front of the bookcase; two sofas and a coffee table stood in front of the fireplace. The wall opposite the door was all windows, through which a view of a park could be seen.
Looking at another wall, Coleman said, “I’ve seen these posters before in Dinah’s gallery. Why have you decorated your flat with nineteenth-century American posters?”
“It’s my tribute to your country,” Tony laughed. “Seriously, I’m very fond of these images. Art Nouveau was just showing up in both Britain and America, and posters demonstrate this best.”
“Do you have a favorite?” Coleman asked.
“Probably this one, by Will Bradley, When Hearts Are Trumps. It’s the most romantic, with that title, and the image of a beautiful woman and a satyr surrounded by swirls of foliage.”
“Yes, it’s beautiful,” Coleman agreed, intrigued by Tony’s emphasis on romance.
Tony continued, “Will Bradley is my favorite poster artist. His Blue Lady is another good example. The elegant woman is standing in a woods, all very simple designs. This is Florence Lundborg’s The Lark, set in California. That’s the Marin Peninsula behind the soaring bird. Maxfield Parrish did these two, both of nude women, one reading. This is Miss Träumerei by Ethel Reed, and there’s a story here: Ethel Reed came to Britain when she was twenty-three, after a successful early career as a poster artist in Boston. She made one poster here—that’s it over there, The Quest of the Golden Girl—then she disappeared. She might have had an affair, maybe she had a child, with the author of the book advertised by the poster.”
“You know a lot about these,” Coleman said. “You are a romantic.”
“Guilty. I became interested, and there was little published information, so I did some research. But, yes, Art Nouveau is romantic.”
“They are all so colorful,” Coleman said. “But who would expect to find a collection like this in a London flat?”
“Do you want to see more, take a tour?” he asked.
“Absolutely,” she said.
“The kitchen is on the right,” he said, “with a table where I can have breakfast or a snack. Down the hall on the left is a bedroom, which I use as my office-library. Sometimes I watch TV or a DVD there. My bedroom is on the right. There are two baths, and a powder room.”
“All for you? Do you entertain here?” she asked
“No, and before you ask, you’re the first woman I ever brought here.”
“I’m honored,” she said.
“Don’t say another word,” he said. He put his arms around her, and picked her up. She had the same feeling she’d had when he’d kissed her Sunday night. She thought she might faint. He kissed her again and again, and she was afraid she’d fall when he put her down. But he didn’t put her down. He laid her on the bed.
He undressed her, and himself with ease and absence of clumsiness. In a few minutes he was on her, and surrounding her. He made love to her, passionately and exquisitely. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and when it was over, she longed to start all over again.
He cradled her in his arms, and kissed her again. “I’ve jumped the gun. I didn’t mean to rush you. I should have made my speech first, but I couldn’t wait: Coleman, will you marry me? Before you answer, just know that, just as I said I’ve never brought a woman here, I’ve never said those words before.”
Coleman was still in a daze, but she heard him, and she tried to sit up.
“Be still,” he said. “I’m holding you until I get an answer.”
“Tony, you can’t be serious. I met you Friday night. We hardly know each other. Anyway, I’m not the marrying kind.”
“It doesn’t matter how long we’ve known each other. I knew on the Eye that I wanted to marry you. Do you doubt that we are meant to be together, after our lovemaking?”
“There’s a lot more to marrying than lovemaking. Can we change the subject? I can’t think straight.”
“What would you like to do? Or talk about?”
“I want to know all about your family.”
“My family is my father. My mother died when I was born. Theirs was a genuine love match, and he could never bring himself to marry again. But he’s been after me to get married and have a family since I was in my teens. I was thirty on my last birthday, and he had hoped I’d be married and have a couple of children by now.
“I’ve told him I’ll never settle for anything less than he had—I want a true-love marriage, like his.
“But he and all of his friends keep presenting me with potential brides. He’s desperate to get me married and with children while I’m still young. He says old fathers are bad breeders. He makes me feel like a stud horse or a bull.”
“How would he feel about you marrying an American?” Coleman asked.
“He’d welcome you with open arms. That’s why I haven’t introduced you to him—he’d tell you what a wonderful husband I’ll be, and what a great life you’d have married to me and being a duchess. We’d both be uncomfortable and embarrassed.”
“Does he know about me?” Coleman asked.
“Of course he does. He knows everything I do, every breath I take. He doesn’t like me doing the art-antiques recovery work. He thinks it’s dangerous. But he loved the story about you and your discovery at 23 Culross, and the triumph of the great Dolly.”
“Sounds like you might be asking me to marry you just to get a wife, and get him off your back. Honestly, I’m all wrong for you,” Coleman said.
“Oh, no, you’re perfect,” he said. “Please say you’ll marry me.”
“Tony, we’ve just met. I hardly know you, but I’ve enjoyed your company. Let’s make a deal: Don’t ask me again until the day before I go back to New York. I promise to think about it, but don’t get your hopes up.”
“I’ll do anything you want,” he promised.
“Okay. Let’s have fun,” she said.
He reached for her, and kissed her again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Coleman
Wednesday morning, May, London
When Coleman woke a little after six, Tony was wide awake, lying on his side, and staring down at her.
“Why are you looking at me like that? I must look awful,” she said.
“I’m staring at you because I’m afraid I’ll miss something. And because you are beautiful.”
She sat up, holding the covers around her. “Go away,” she said. “I have to put on yesterday’s clothes and go home. Call me a cab, will you? I’ll be ready to go in five minutes.”
“I’ll drive you home,” he said.
“No, no, I want a cab. Everyone in the neighborhood and all of the people working for Heyward will see your red car,” she said.
“Heyward won’t be surprised,” he said.
“Go away. I have an important business appointment this morning,” Coleman said.
“Will I see you tonight?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. I think Heyward made plans. Here’s the deal: I
’ll see you every night I can until I leave, but most of the time it will be with family—Jonathan and Dinah, Heyward. We’ll all go to the theater, opera, ballet, and when it’s a family party, I’ll stay at Heyward’s. When I don’t have to be with family, and you and I go out alone, I’ll stay here. Don’t argue. Now go away. I have to get out of here.”
•••
He stood with her on the street until the cab came, and helped her in. He leaned over to kiss her, but she dodged him. “Go away, I’m in a hurry,” she said.
“You are a hard woman,” he said.
“I’ll call you later,” she said.
•••
Coleman used her key to open Heyward’s front door. She didn’t see a soul. But she sensed that there were people all around, staying out of her way, to spare her the embarrassment of having come in at six thirty in the morning after staying out all night.
She’d left Dolly with Heyward, and he or Dolly must have heard her come in, because when she reached her bedroom door, Dolly was sitting outside it, waiting for her. She picked up the little dog and cuddled her. She stripped off yesterday’s clothes, and took a long shower.
She put on the white robe she’d found in the bathroom when she arrived, and pushed the intercom button to the kitchen.
“What can I do for you, madam?” a voice said.
“Would you please bring me some breakfast? Orange juice, coffee, American bacon, toast with no butter, and a blueberry muffin. And will you also please bring Dolly’s breakfast?”
“Right away, madam,” the voice said.
Coleman was hungry. She and Tony had forgotten to eat supper last night. She was used to eating three light—non-fattening—meals a day. The meals she was eating here were far from non-fattening. She dreaded getting on a scale. There was one in her bathroom, but she was ignoring it. She’d pushed her weight out of her mind. When she thought about Tony, she shoved those thoughts away, too. She had things to do, and places to go.
What would she wear today? It was a business appointment, but with another woman. A suit, but not too uptight. The tangerine suit she’d worn her first day in London would be perfect.
Someone tapped on the door, and a maid came in with a trolley loaded with her meal, and Dolly’s. Coleman put Dolly’s dish out on the balcony, with a full bowl of fresh water, and sat down at the trolley to enjoy her breakfast. She ate slowly, savoring every bite.
When she had finished her breakfast, and was dressed and ready to go, she was still early for her ten o’clock appointment. She’d go downstairs and face Heyward. Would he mention her overnight absence? She didn’t think he would. He was the soul of tact.
Heyward was sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee, and reading the Wall Street Journal. He’d already finished the Financial Times—it was folded neatly, lying on a chair. He read both every morning. He was always working. She smiled to herself; she was like him that way. She liked working night and day. This time in London had been a rare holiday. She joined him and accepted another cup of coffee. She told him she was on her way to visit Cottage & Castle.
“Great,” he said. “I’ll be interested to hear what you think. Will you be back here for lunch?” he asked.
“I think so. I’ll call you when I know for sure,” she said. “If she suggests we lunch together, I probably should do it.”
“Absolutely,” he said. “I think you have this on your calendar, but in case you’ve forgotten, we’re going to the ballet tonight—Sadler’s Wells. You and me, and Dinah and Jonathan. Is that all right with you? We can invite Tony, if you like. I’m sure I can get another ticket.”
“No, just the four of us sounds great. After lunch today, I have to see Rachel, then I’m going to spend the rest of the day in my room. I’d like to sleep all afternoon, so I can be wide awake for the ballet.”
“That’s a good idea. Your stay here has been far from restful. I hope you like Cottage & Castle.”
“Me, too,” she said. “Am I going by car?”
“Yes, of course. William is waiting for you. Give me a call later about lunch.”
•••
Coleman liked Kathleen Mann as soon as they met. She asked Coleman to call her Kathy, and they settled down to talk about Cottage & Castle.
“Why do you want to sell?” Coleman asked.
“I don’t want to sell; I have to. I can’t compete with Country Life. They’re a weekly, with a huge staff. I’m a monthly with a small staff. I’m always behind—can’t ever beat them to a story. We have a much smaller subscriber list, and can’t come close to their advertising. I’m short of capital—can’t afford to expand the staff. It’s hopeless.”
“I thought it must be like that. I have an idea: We buy fifty percent of your company’s equity. With that, we can provide long-term debt financing to help you expand. We’ll produce an American half of your magazine—Country Life has almost no American coverage—and you will produce an English section, which we’ll put in First Home. I think we can come up with two winners. I’ve already begun to introduce some English ideas and products in my food department. I’ve been looking at fashion—like your wonderful hats, but they’re way too expensive. Do you have any ideas?”
“Oh, yes. So many. Give me a little time, and I’ll put together a plan. That sounds fabulous. What else would you be interested in—food, fashion, and . . . ?”
“Gardens, theater, films, book reviews,” Coleman said. “I just bought dozens of books at Hatchards that have never made it to New York. Put your plan together, and I’ll show it to Heyward. Do you have a money man we can talk to—or are you it?”
“My husband is our accountant. He’s the one to discuss money.”
Kathy had ordered salads for them to eat in the magazine’s conference room so they could keep on talking. Coleman called Heyward to tell him she wouldn’t be back for lunch. “Well, I think we’ve moved along a lot today. I’m here a week and a half more. We’ll keep communicating, keep planning. Stay in touch,” Coleman said. She didn’t get home until two thirty and went straight to bed, sleeping until it was time to dress for the ballet.
•••
Her meeting with Rachel had also been successful, but not much fun. She hardly knew Rachel, but she could not miss the dark circles under her eyes and her sad expression. Rachel made it clear she wasn’t interested in small talk, and went straight to the business at hand.
“I’ve concluded we can’t do this without a partner. I think a museum would be ideal. What would you think of approaching Dinah’s museum, the Art Museum of Great Britain? I’m sure they’d be happy to be a part of the program.” Coleman thought that was a great idea, and urged Rachel to proceed.
Rachel had contacted several people knowledgeable about art to help identify and select out-of-print books to be republished, and Coleman thought her choices were ideal. She suggested Rachel stay in touch with Dinah and get to know Bethany, who would be her U.S. contacts for the project. They would have suggestions, too.
Rachel agreed, and tactfully brought their meeting to a close.
When Coleman told Heyward about her experience with Rachel, he wasn’t surprised. “She’s been through a bad time, but she’ll get it all done,” he said.
“That’s what matters,” Coleman said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Dinah
Wednesday, May, London
Dinah came home Wednesday evening happy as a lark. She’d had a great day at the museum. She was humming to herself when she went upstairs to shower and change, knowing her new cook would come up with a delicious dinner, tonight featuring a crab soufflé.
She felt a sudden stab of guilt. She’d eaten crab soufflés with Rachel the day she met Stephanie. She should have called Rachel as soon as she’d heard about Stephanie’s death, and called again when she heard Rachel’s friend Julia was a murderer. There would never be a better time than now.
Rachel was glad to hear from her. The poor woman sounded very unhappy
about Stephanie’s death, and about her friend Julia’s crimes. Neither of them knew the details of the girl’s death, nor plans for a memorial service. Dinah had little to say other than how sorry she was, and she was about to hang up when Rachel raised a new topic: “Have you ever heard noises in the night at 23 Culross?”
“No, just shouts in the daytime from the horrible women,” Dinah said. “Why do you ask?”
“Julia told me there’s a rumor the house is haunted. She also told me a story about Lady Jane’s nanny having hidden treasures in the house, treasures which have never been found,” Rachel said.
“How exciting. I don’t believe in ghosts, but there may be a door here somewhere that we don’t know about, used by the thieves. I’ll ask James, Hamilton, and Franklin to see what they can find. I’ll keep you posted. So good to talk to you, Rachel. See you soon, I hope,” Dinah said.
As soon as she hung up, she rushed downstairs to tell Hamilton what Rachel had said. He was as excited as she was.
“If there’s an extra door here, it’s in the basement,” he said. “The basement is full of small rooms and cubbies. If we find a door, we’ll make sure it’s locked.”
“Absolutely. I hate the thought of people being able to come in here at night,” Dinah said.
“As for treasure, if it’s small it can be anywhere, but we’ll start with the attic. No one ever goes there. The last time I looked, it was full of junk, papers, broken furniture. Lady Jane might want us to clean it out. It would give us a good excuse to search. James should ask her if she’d like us to clean the attic and the basement,” he said.
“Great. Let me know what she wants,” Dinah said.
•••
After dinner, Hamilton approached her with the news.
“There is indeed an exit leading outdoors from the basement. It’s now well-locked on both sides. And James spoke to Lady Jane. She’d be very pleased if we’d clean the attic and the cellar, but she was worried about paying us. James told her you wanted it done—you’ve heard mice—so you were paying. Of course, we’ll do it for nothing, but if I told her that, she’d be upset.”
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