squeal with delight. But she didn't feel like squealing. The agent talked on while Bettina's eyes filled with tears.
"Shall we say well close two weeks from tomorrow? That will give you both, two full weeks to get organized."
The arrangements made, Bettina hung up, sitting in silence in her bedroom, looking around her as though for the last time.
She spent the next week alternately packing and stopping to dry her tears. And at last on Wednesday they arrived to remove the countless priceless pieces to the hallowed halls of Parke-Bernet. It was the same day she went to her attorney to finalize the sale of the apartment. She didn't even bother calling to rent a bed. She uncovered an old sleeping bag she had bought years before and slept on the floor of her room. It was only for three nights; she could have moved to the hotel early, but she didn't want to. She wanted to stay there until the end.
The day of the sale at Parke-Bernet she woke up early. She began to stir as the first light of dawn crept across the floor. She didn't even bother to close the curtains anymore. She liked waking up early and sitting cross-legged with her coffee on the thick carpeting in her room.
But this morning she was even too nervous for coffee, and she paced catlike about the house in her nightgown and bare feet. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the apartment as it had been only last week. With her eyes open, it was strangely barren, and the parquet floors cold beneath her feet. She went hastily back to her room shortly after seven and tore through her closet for almost an hour. This wasn't a day for blue jeans. She wasn't going to wear work clothes or hide in a back row. She was going to walk in proudly and hold her head high. For this one last time she was going on view as Justin Daniels's daughter, and she was going to look fabulous. As though nothing had changed.
She emerged at last with a striking black wool Dior suit with padded shoulders, a cinched waist, and a long narrow skirt. Her hair would look like flame atop a black candle. And the jacket buttoned high in a mandarin collar. She didn't need a blouse. She would wear her mink over it, and on her feet, high-heeled black kid Dior shoes.
She bathed in the pink marble bathroom for the last time and emerged smelling faintly of gardenias and roses. She brushed her hair until it shone like dark honey, put on her makeup, and slowly got dressed. When she stood in front of the mirror, she was proud of what she saw. No one would have guessed that she was only a nineteen-year-old girl who had just lost everything she owned.
The auction room was already crowded with row after row of dealers, collectors, gawkers, buyers, and old friends. All conversation stopped as she entered the room. Two men jumped forward and snapped her picture, but Bettina didn't even flinch. She walked regally to one of the first rows, almost in front of a spotter, and threw her mink coat easily over the back of her chair. Her eyes weren't smiling, and she acknowledged none of those who tried to get her attention. She was a startling vision in black, with her copper hair, and her only jewelry was a long strand of her mother's large, perfect pearls. In her ears she wore matching earrings, and on her hands, a single onyx and pearl ring. The only thing she hadn't sold in the three months since her father had died were her jewels. Ivo had assured her that she would be able to hang on to them and still clean up the debts, and he was right.
The stage was directly in front of her where she knew she would be able to see the old familiar items appear as they were auctioned. Paintings, couches, end tables, lamps. And in the corners and along the sides of the room she could already see a few pieces, the pieces that would have been too large to carry on and off the stage, highboys, enormous sideboards, his bookcase, and two very large standing clocks. Most of it Louis XV, some Louis XVI, some English, all rare, many
"Shall we say well close two weeks from tomorrow? That will give you both, two full weeks to get organized."
The arrangements made, Bettina hung up, sitting in silence in her bedroom, looking around her as though for the last time.
She spent the next week alternately packing and stopping to dry her tears. And at last on Wednesday they arrived to remove the countless priceless pieces to the hallowed halls of Parke-Bernet. It was the same day she went to her attorney to finalize the sale of the apartment. She didn't even bother calling to rent a bed. She uncovered an old sleeping bag she had bought years before and slept on the floor of her room. It was only for three nights; she could have moved to the hotel early, but she didn't want to. She wanted to stay there until the end.
The day of the sale at Parke-Bernet she woke up early. She began to stir as the first light of dawn crept across the floor. She didn't even bother to close the curtains anymore. She liked waking up early and sitting cross-legged with her coffee on the thick carpeting in her room.
But this morning she was even too nervous for coffee, and she paced catlike about the house in her nightgown and bare feet. If she closed her eyes, she could still see the apartment as it had been only last week. With her eyes open, it was strangely barren, and the parquet floors cold beneath her feet. She went hastily back to her room shortly after seven and tore through her closet for almost an hour. This wasn't a day for blue jeans. She wasn't going to wear work clothes or hide in a back row. She was going to walk in proudly and hold her head high. For this one last time she was going on view as Justin Daniels's daughter, and she was going to look fabulous. As though nothing had changed.
She emerged at last with a striking black wool Dior suit with padded shoulders, a cinched waist, and a long narrow skirt. Her hair would look like flame atop a black candle. And the jacket buttoned high in a mandarin collar. She didn't need a blouse. She would wear her mink over it, and on her feet, high-heeled black kid Dior shoes.
She bathed in the pink marble bathroom for the last time and emerged smelling faintly of gardenias and roses. She brushed her hair until it shone like dark honey, put on her makeup, and slowly got dressed. When she stood in front of the mirror, she was proud of what she saw. No one would have guessed that she was only a nineteen-year-old girl who had just lost everything she owned.
The auction room was already crowded with row after row of dealers, collectors, gawkers, buyers, and old friends. All conversation stopped as she entered the room. Two men jumped forward and snapped her picture, but Bettina didn't even flinch. She walked regally to one of the first rows, almost in front of a spotter, and threw her mink coat easily over the back of her chair. Her eyes weren't smiling, and she acknowledged none of those who tried to get her attention. She was a startling vision in black, with her copper hair, and her only jewelry was a long strand of her mother's large, perfect pearls. In her ears she wore matching earrings, and on her hands, a single onyx and pearl ring. The only thing she hadn't sold in the three months since her father had died were her jewels. Ivo had assured her that she would be able to hang on to them and still clean up the debts, and he was right.
The stage was directly in front of her where she knew she would be able to see the old familiar items appear as they were auctioned. Paintings, couches, end tables, lamps. And in the corners and along the sides of the room she could already see a few pieces, the pieces that would have been too large to carry on and off the stage, highboys, enormous sideboards, his bookcase, and two very large standing clocks. Most of it Louis XV, some Louis XVI, some English, all rare, many
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