Read Online The Amber Room by T. Davis Bunn - Free Book Online

“That was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me, Alexander.”
    â€œYou do me much kindness.” It was the old gentleman’s turn to pause and taste from his cup. “Such a mood should not be dampened by the mundane. I propose we leave our business affairs until later.”
    â€œFine with me.”
    â€œExcellent. I do have something rather fascinating that you might care to hear about this evening.”
    â€œThe pieces for the gala,” Jeffrey guessed.
    â€œExactly. The altar and painting from Rokovski are indeed splendid. The chalice from the Marian Church, however, is something truly unique.”
    â€œChalice is another word for the cup used in the Communion, isn’t that right?”
    â€œAh, that is your Protestant upbringing.” Alexander topped up his and Jeffrey’s cups from a sterling silver coffeepot. “The development of the chalice is a story steeped in two thousand years of mystery and intrigue.”
    â€œGreat,” Jeffrey said, his enthusiasm undisguised. “I love the stories in this business almost as much as I do the pieces themselves.”
    â€œDo you indeed?” Alexander nodded approval. “I am indeed happy to know that you share my love of mystery.”
    â€œSometimes it wakes me up at night,” Jeffrey confessed. “I’ll lie there and see pages of the books go through my head. I think of these incredibly beautiful pieces, and feel as if I’m reaching across the centuries to talk with the makers, learn their secrets, share with them the pleasures of creation.”
    â€œIt is a passion that has never failed to ignite the fires in me,” Alexander agreed. “I have wondered if this is what fuels the desire of acquisition for some. For myself, it has neverbeen necessary to hold on to any particular item. To find is more than enough. To watch it pass through my hands, and for a brief moment to be a part of its history, that is adequate. I suppose my earlier experiences have left me too aware of the brevity of life and the transient nature of all possessions. But of that we shall not speak tonight.” He smiled at Jeffrey. “Tonight we shall revel in the mysteries.”
    â€œSounds good to me.”
    â€œExcellent. Then tell me of your favorite piece, my boy. Make it live for me.”
    â€œFavorite.” Jeffrey settled into his chair, leaned his head on the back rest. “That’s a hard one.”
    â€œDo not speak of the mundane. Reach back into the shrouded mists of time and describe what has so held you enthralled.”
    â€œThere’s a piece in the shop’s basement right now that I’m holding for Betty,” Jeffrey said. “Ever since it arrived, I haven’t been able to get it out of my mind.”
    Alexander stripped the foil off a long Davidoff, snipped the end, struck a long match. “Some of my vices have proven more difficult to leave behind than others. I do hope you won’t mind.”
    â€œYou know I enjoy the odor,” Jeffrey replied. “As to somebody else’s vices, if I ever reach perfection myself, maybe I’ll feel I’ve got room to criticize.”
    â€œThank you.” When the cigar was well lit, Alexander leaned back in his chair, set his feet on the stool, and retreated behind his fragrant cloud. “Carry on, Jeffrey.”
    â€œThe piece was made in America,” he began. “I’m almost positive of that. But it’s an exact replica of an altar table I found in a book on the Cambridge churches, only smaller. The Cambridge altar was made in the days of King Henry VIII, when the Church of England was formed by a king who wanted a son and heir so badly he was willing to break with Catholic Rome and force an entire country to accept a new doctrine.”
    â€œExcellent,” Alexander murmured. His only feature which showed clearly through the fumes were his eyes, colored like the smoke