He nodded and then, sobering, repeated his first question. The bidding was already at nine thousand five. "Do you want them?" But she only shook her head. And then, leaning closer to her again, he gently took her hand. "I want you to tell me what you want from all this. Anything that means something to you, tell me. I'll buy it and keep it for you at my place. You can pay me later if you want to and I don't give a damn if that means in twenty years...." And then he smiled and leaned toward her again. "If I'm still around to collect it, which I doubt." He knew how proud she was and that he had to make the offer as he did.
She whispered again as they closed the bidding at thirteen and a half for the two chairs. "You damn well better be around, Ivo."
"At eighty-two? For God's sake, Bettina, give me a break." They looked at each other as though they had seen each other every day for the past month. It was difficult to believe, suddenly, that he'd been gone for five weeks. "Are you all right?"
She nodded slowly. "I'm fine. Are you exhausted from the Sight?" A couple in front of them shushed them, and Ivo glared malevolently at the pair. And then he turned to Bettina with a tired smile.
"It was a long flight. But I didn't want you to be here alone. How long will this go on today? All day?" He prayed that it wouldn't, he needed a few hours sleep.
"Just till lunch. And tomorrow morning and afternoon." He nodded and turned his attention to what was being shown on the stage. Bettina had grown strangely quiet, and Ivo squeezed her hand. It was Justin's desk.
Ivo leaned quietly toward her and spoke once again in her ear, "Bettina?" But she shook her head and looked away.
"Seven thousand ... seven ... eight? Seven five! ... Eight! ... Eight ... Nine! ... ." It went for nine thousand dollars, and Bettina supposed that to an antique dealer it was worth the price. It was worth more than that to her though. It had been the desk where her father worked, where he had written his last two books, where she had seen him again and again, poring over manuscripts.... Her mind drifted painfully into the past, but Ivo was watching her and still holding tightly to her hand.
"Relax, little one.... It's still yours." He spoke infinitely gently, and she looked up at him in confusion.
"I don't understand."
"You don't have to. We can discuss it later."
"Did you buy it?" She looked at him, stunned, and wanting to laugh for a moment, he nodded.
"Don't look so surprised."
"For nine thousand dollars?" She looked horrified, and someone behind them told her to lower her voice. Thousands of dollars were being bandied about between bidders, this was no time for distractions from the audience. This was a serious crowd. Like gamblers, they paid attention to what they were doing and little else. But Bettina was still staring at Ivo in astonishment. "Ivo, you didn't!" This time she whispered more softly, and he smiled.
"I did." And then he cast an eye toward the stage again and raised an eyebrow questioningly. It was another desk. He leaned toward her again. "Where was that?"
"In the guest room, but it's not a good one. Don't buy it." She looked at him seriously, wondering just how many pieces he was planning to buy, and he watched her, amused.
"Thanks for the advice." Apparently the dealers and collectors shared her sentiments about the piece. It went for only eighteen hundred dollars. By that day's standards it was cheap.
The proceedings seemed to go on for hours, but Bettina didn't let him buy anything more. At last it was over. At least for the day. It was five minutes to twelve. They stood up as the rest of the crowd got up to leave, clutching their catalogs and discussing the bidding with friends. She realized Ivo was staring at her. It made her feel warm inside, though slightly uncomfortable.
"What are you looking at?"
"I'm looking at you, little one. Because it's so good to see you." His voice was like velvet on the words. And she wanted to tell him that she missed him, but instead, with a faint blush on her cheeks, she bowed her head.
As he watched, a shadow darted into her eyes. Now what was wrong? There was something different about her already. Once again something had changed since he had been gone. But he wasn't sure what this time and he wasn't sure he liked what it was.
He looked at her very seriously. "Will you come home with me, Bettina, for lunch?" She hesitated for a long moment, and then she nodded.
"That would be nice."
He beckoned to his driver, who was waiting, and a moment later they sped away toward his apartment, twelve blocks south of hers, on Park Avenue. It was comfortable there. It was far less grandiose, but filled with lovely things that looked inviting and warm. There were big leather chairs and soft couches, paintings of hunting scenes, and bookcases filled with rare books; there was lots of brass around the fireplace, and the windows were large and inundated with sun. It was clearly a man's apartment, yet it was friendly and cozy and would have been large enough for more than just him. Downstairs he had a living room, dining room, and library. Upstairs he had two bedrooms and his private den. There was also a spacious wood-paneled country kitchen. Behind it there would have been room for two maids, but he only kept one. His driver lived elsewhere and was actually employed by the Mail. Bettina had always liked coming to his apartment. It was like going to someone's house in the country, or like visiting a favorite uncle in his lair. Everything smelled of tobacco and cologne and fine leather. She liked the feel of his things, their texture, and their smell.
Bettina looked around her with a feeling of homecoming as they walked into the sunny living room and he checked back over his shoulder. She looked better again, and for a moment the look of terror seemed to have fled. "It's nice to be back here, Ivo. I always forget how pretty it is."
"That's because you don't come here often enough."
"That's only because you don't ask me." She was teasing now, and happy, as she plunked herself down on the couch.
"If that's all that keeps you away from here, I will ask! And often!" He smiled and tried not to glance at the mountain of mail. "Oh, God, will you look at that, Bettina...."
"I was trying not to. It reminds me of my father's after he'd been away for a few days."
"And this is nothing. I'm sure it's worse at the office." He ran a hand across his eyes and then walked into the kitchen. Mathilde seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. He had expected her to be waiting.
"Where's Mattie?" Bettina reflected his thought. She had called her that since she was a very small child.
"I don't know. Can I offer you a sandwich? I'm starved."
She looked at him sheepishly. "So am I. I was so nervous during the bidding, and now suddenly I'm ravenous." And then she remembered. "Speaking of which, Ivo ... what about that desk?" She looked at him pointedly, but there was something far softer in her eyes.
"What desk?" He looked nonchalant as he headed for the kitchen. "I hope there's at least something to eat."
"Knowing Mattie, enough for an army. But you didn't answer my question, Ivo. What about the desk?"
"What about it? It's yours."
"No, it was Daddy's. Now it's yours. Why don't you keep it? He'd like you to have it, you know." She looked at him gently once they arrived in the kitchen, and he reached into the fridge and turned his back.
"Never mind that, you can write your play on that desk. Let's not discuss it." It was still too soon to talk to her about what he had in mind.
She sighed. They would have to discuss it another time. "Why don't you let me make the lunch?"
He couldn't resist stretching out a hand to rumple her hair. His voice was hoarse but gentle when he spoke again. "You look very pretty today, little one ... in your black suit."
She said nothing for a long moment, and then she walked past him, preparing to make lunch. His eyes never left her, and when her back was turned, he finally asked. "What is it that you're not telling me, Bettina? I get the feeling there's something you have on your mind." He felt stupid once he had said it. Every stick of furniture her father had owned was
being sold at auction, it was natural that she should be disturbed. Yet he had the feeling that there was more than that. He had seen something even more painful in her eyes. "Is there something you're not telling me?"
"I've sold the apartment."
"What? Already?" Bettina nodded mutely. "And when does the new owner take possession?"
Bettina looked away and tried to catch her breath. "Tomorrow, I said I'd be out by tomorrow afternoon. As a matter fact it's in the contract."
"And who was the fool who let you do that?" Ivo looked at her ominously and then held out his arms. "Never mind who, I can guess. It was your father's idiot lawyer. Oh, Christ." And then all she knew was that he was holding her and it didn't quite feel as though the world had come to an end. "Oh, baby ... poor baby ... all the furniture and now the whole place. Oh, God, it must feel awful." He held her and swayed softly, and in his arms she felt suddenly safe.
"It does, Ivo ... it does ... I feel..." And then the tears suddenly crowded into her eyes. "I feel as though ... they're taking away ... everything ... as though there's ... nothing left. Just me, alone in the apartment ... it's already over ... there is no more past ... and I have nothing, Ivo ... nothing at all...." She was sobbing in his arms as she said it, and he only held her tight.
"It'll be different one day, Bettina. One day, you'll look back at all this and it will seem like a dream. A dream that happened to somebody else. It will fade, darling ... it will fade." But how he wished he could make it fade quickly and make her pain disappear. He had already made a decision before he left for London, but he wondered if this was the right time. He waited until she was quieter before he asked her any questions, but then he brought her into the living room and sat her down next to him on the couch. "What are you going to do tomorrow, Bettina, when you move out?"
She took a deep breath and looked at him. "Go to a hotel."
"What about tonight?"
"I want to sleep there."
"Why?"
She started to say Because it's my home, but it sounded ridiculous, it was only an empty apartment. It wasn't anyone's home anymore. "I don't know. Maybe because it's my last chance."
He looked at her kindly. "But that doesn't make much sense, does it? You've lived there, you've collected all the good memories it had to give. And now it's all gone, it's empty, like an empty tube of toothpaste, all squeezed out. There's no point keeping it a moment longer, is there?" And then, after only an instant, he looked at her more deeply. "I think it would make a lot of sense if you moved out today."
"Now?" She looked startled, and once again like a frightened child. "Tonight?" She stared at him blankly and he nodded.
"Yes. Tonight"
"Why?"
"Trust me."
"But I don't have a reservation...." She was clutching at straws.
"Bettina, I've been waiting to ask you this, but I'd like you to stay here."
"With you?" She looked startled, and he laughed.
"Not exactly. I'm not a masher after all, darling. In the guest room. How does that sound?" But nothing had really registered. Suddenly she felt very confused.
"I don't know ... I suppose I could ... just for tonight."
"No, that wasn't what I had in mind. I'd like you to stay until you get settled, till you find a nice place of your own. Something decent," he admonished gently, "and the right job. Mattie could take care of you. And I'd feel a lot better if I knew you were safe here. I don't think your father would have objected. In fact I'd say it was what he'd have liked best. Now" --he watched her eyes carefully--"what about you?"
But her eyes were filling slowly with tears. "I can't, Ivo." She shook her head and looked away. "You've been too good to me already, and I could never pay you back. Just today ... the desk ... I can't ever--"
"Shh ... never mind...." He took her in his arms again and gently stroked her hair. "It's all right." And then he pulled away to look at her and tried to coax her to smile. "Besides, if you're going to cry all the time, you can't stay at a hotel. They'd throw you out for making too much noise."
"I don't cry all the time!" She sniffed and accepted his handkerchief to blow her nose.
"I know that. In fact you've been unbelievably brave. But what I don't want you to be is foolish. Going to a hotel would be foolish." And then more firmly he added, "Bettina, I want you to stay here. Is that so awful? Would you really hate it, being here with me?" But all she could do was shake her head. She wouldn't hate it. In fact that was one of the things that frightened her most. She wanted to be there with him. Maybe even a little too much.
For a moment she wavered, and then sighed again as she blew her nose. And then at last she let her eyes find his. He was right. It did make more sense than going to a hotel. If she just didn't feel like that ... if he weren't so damn good-looking in spite of his age. She had to keep reminding herself that he wasn't forty-seven or even fifty-two ... he was sixty-two ... sixty-two ... and her father's very dearest friend ... it was almost like incest ... she couldn't let herself feel that way.
"Well?" He turned to look at her from where he stood at the bar while he was reproaching himself for thoughts similar to hers.
She sounded almost breathless as she answered. "I' do it. I'll stay."
Their eyes met and they smiled. It was an end and a beginning, and a promise, and the birth of hope. For them both.
By Saturday it was over. They had to go back to the apartment, to pick up the last of her stuff. She had spent the night before in Ivo's guest room, catered to and pampered by the jovial and warmhearted Mathilde, who had prepared their dinner and in the morning brought Bettina a tray. Ivo was glad to be able to restore her to comfort again. It had to be a relief from the emptiness of the apartment she had hung on to almost till the end.
"I told Mrs. Liebson I'd be out by six." Bettina looked at her watch nervously, and Ivo took her arm.
"Don't worry, we have time." He knew how little she had left there. He had gone over with her the night before to pick up one of her bags. And his heart had ached for her when he saw the sleeping bag stretched out on the floor. Now it was a question of a dozen suitcases, two or three boxes, and that was all. He had assured her that there was room in his store-room and Mathilde had already cleared two closets for her. It would be more than enough.
As usual Ivo's driver was waiting, and he sped them quickly over to Fifth and was rapidly at Bettina's door. She clambered out quickly, and Ivo was hard on her heels. She looked up at him questioningly. "Do you really want to come up?"
He realized with a flash of understanding what was on her mind. "Do you want to be alone?"
Her eyes wavered as she answered. "I'm not sure."
He nodded softly. "Then I'll come." And she looked somehow relieved.
Two porters were summoned, and a few moments later they all stood in the empty front hall. There were no lights lit and it was dark outside. Ivo watched her as she stared bleakly past the front hall.
She glanced hurriedly over her shoulder at Ivo, and then at the two men. "Everything is upstairs in the front bedroom. I'll be right back, I want to check around." But this time Ivo didn't follow her. He knew she wanted to be alone. The two men scurried off to get her things, and he lingered in the hallway, listening to her footsteps as she wandered from room to room, pretending that she was checking to see if anything had been forgotten or mislaid. But it was memories she was collecting, moments with her father that she wanted to touch for one last time.
"Bettina?" Ivo called out softly. He hadn't heard her heels in a long time. But at last he found her, standing tiny and forgotten in her father's bedroom, with tears streaming from her eyes.
He went to her, and she held him, whispering softly into his arms. "I will never be back here again." It seemed hard to believe. It was over. But it had been for a while.
Ivo held her gently. "No, little one, you won't. But there will be other places, other people, who may one day mean almost as much to you as this."
&nb
sp; She shook her head slowly. "Nothing ever will."
"I hope you're wrong. I hope that--that there are other men you love at least as much as him." And then he smiled down at her very gently. "At least one." Bettina didn't respond.
"He didn't leave you, little one. I hope you know that. He simply moved on."
That seemed to reach her, and suddenly she turned around and walked solemnly from the room. She paused in the doorway and held out her hand. He put an arm around her shoulders and walked her to the front door, which she locked for the last time, and slipped her key under the door.
Chapter 10
The sun was streaming in the dining room windows as Mathilde poured Bettina a second cup of coffee. She had been intently studying the newspaper, and suddenly she looked up with a smile.
"Thank you, Mattie." The month of living at Ivo's had been restful for her. It had helped heal the wounds. Ivo had made everything easy. She had a beautiful little room, three meals a day of Mathilde's excellent cooking. She had all the books she wanted to read. She joined him in the evening to go to operas, or concerts, or plays. It was not unlike living with her father, yet in many ways it was a far more peaceful way of life. Ivo was a good deal less erratic, and his every thought seemed to center around her. He had spent the last month with her, almost every evening, going out to interesting places or sitting home by the fire and talking for hours. On Sundays they did the Times crossword puzzle together and went for walks in the park. It was March and the city was still cold and gray, but now and then the air smelled of spring.
He looked over his paper at her now with a smile. "You look embarrassingly cheerful this morning, Bettina. Any reason for it, or were you still thinking about last night?" They had gone to the opening of a new play and they had both loved it. Bettina had talked passionately of it all the way home. Ivo assured her that one day she would write something even better than that. And now she was smiling at him, with her head tilted to one side. She had been reading Backstage, the little weekly theatrical paper she had to travel halfway across town to buy.
Loving (1981) Page 6