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
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
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