and they were examining it with pride.
As Pauline approached the younger man disappeared into a back room from where he carried a chair identical in appearance to the one Pauline had brought. She had been instructed to fetch this back to the house; apparently it was the first of Maggie’s best chairs to be sent for inspection and overhaul and, apparently, it was now in perfect order. In reality, it was a new and very clever fake; one of its legs was all that remained of Maggie’s former chair. Most of these clever fakes contained at least one limb of the original, and in that way the dealer was entitled, or felt entitled, to proclaim it ‘Louis XIV’. To Pauline, it did not matter very much what period the chair belonged to. She had her orders to collect it and she was anxious to get back to Hubert quickly. She asked the men to wrap the chair carefully, which they duly did, with new rags, and much wadding placed over the sparkling green silk of the seat. It was carried to the car.
‘Tell Mr Mallindaine to pass by early next week,’ said the smart young man in blue jeans.
‘He isn’t leaving Nemi much, at the moment,’ Pauline said, thinking of Hubert, how he was afraid to leave the house in case Maggie should come and reclaim it in his absence.
But the man repeated his request.
Meantime Hubert, at Nemi, was counting the gold coins he had found at six o’clock. It was his usual tea time and he had gone into the kitchen to make it. As he had fetched down the teapot from the shelf he heard a strange rattling inside it. He took off the lid. He had found a quantity of gold money inside the pot.
He sat down at the kitchen table, looking inside the teapot. Then he looked round the kitchen to see what else, if anything, was amiss. Nothing seemed to be out of place. He wished for Pauline to return. He had emptied the gold coins on the table, and now was counting them.
There were, in fact, far fewer than the amount entrusted to Lauro who had kept the black box and more than half the gold. Indeed, his sense of prudence in carrying out Mary’s orders was mixed with a feeling of decided benevolence that he had deposited any of these coins in Hubert’s teapot. It had sunk into his mind that Mary had told him she had made a list of the coins. It had seemed to him both a fruitless thing to do and a suspicious thing, as touching on his honour.
By the time Hubert, at his customary hour for tea, was puzzling over and re-counting the coins, Lauro was back at the Radcliffes’ house, and had changed into his smart houseman’s coat. He filled the ice-buckets, arranged the drinks and the glasses, set the terrace furniture to rights, then, chatting with the cook in the pantry, he waited for the cocktail hour.
On her return to the house, after her careful shower and before going down to dinner, Mary had sat for a long while in her room, with her head in her hands, thinking God knows what. Then she skipped to her feet and changed into a long skirt and a blouse. She took up her list of coins, where it was lying on the writing table, and put it down again. She sat down at the table, and pulled out another piece of her list paper. At the top of the page she wrote ‘Michael’ and underneath it she wrote ‘Lauro’. She settled for the thought that she could not have been faithful to Michael all her life, but she felt it was too soon because a year had not passed since her marriage. But then she considered how she had not herself planned the incident with Lauro. One way and another, she tidied up her mind, aligned the beauty preparations in their bottles on the dressing table, and put away the paper she had just written Lauro’s name on with Michael’s together with the coin-list, her guest-lists and her other lists, locking them up in her desk. Mary had then patted her face with a paper tissue, and had gone down, passing Michael, home from the office, on the stairs. Maggie was already sitting on the terrace waiting for her
As Pauline approached the younger man disappeared into a back room from where he carried a chair identical in appearance to the one Pauline had brought. She had been instructed to fetch this back to the house; apparently it was the first of Maggie’s best chairs to be sent for inspection and overhaul and, apparently, it was now in perfect order. In reality, it was a new and very clever fake; one of its legs was all that remained of Maggie’s former chair. Most of these clever fakes contained at least one limb of the original, and in that way the dealer was entitled, or felt entitled, to proclaim it ‘Louis XIV’. To Pauline, it did not matter very much what period the chair belonged to. She had her orders to collect it and she was anxious to get back to Hubert quickly. She asked the men to wrap the chair carefully, which they duly did, with new rags, and much wadding placed over the sparkling green silk of the seat. It was carried to the car.
‘Tell Mr Mallindaine to pass by early next week,’ said the smart young man in blue jeans.
‘He isn’t leaving Nemi much, at the moment,’ Pauline said, thinking of Hubert, how he was afraid to leave the house in case Maggie should come and reclaim it in his absence.
But the man repeated his request.
Meantime Hubert, at Nemi, was counting the gold coins he had found at six o’clock. It was his usual tea time and he had gone into the kitchen to make it. As he had fetched down the teapot from the shelf he heard a strange rattling inside it. He took off the lid. He had found a quantity of gold money inside the pot.
He sat down at the kitchen table, looking inside the teapot. Then he looked round the kitchen to see what else, if anything, was amiss. Nothing seemed to be out of place. He wished for Pauline to return. He had emptied the gold coins on the table, and now was counting them.
There were, in fact, far fewer than the amount entrusted to Lauro who had kept the black box and more than half the gold. Indeed, his sense of prudence in carrying out Mary’s orders was mixed with a feeling of decided benevolence that he had deposited any of these coins in Hubert’s teapot. It had sunk into his mind that Mary had told him she had made a list of the coins. It had seemed to him both a fruitless thing to do and a suspicious thing, as touching on his honour.
By the time Hubert, at his customary hour for tea, was puzzling over and re-counting the coins, Lauro was back at the Radcliffes’ house, and had changed into his smart houseman’s coat. He filled the ice-buckets, arranged the drinks and the glasses, set the terrace furniture to rights, then, chatting with the cook in the pantry, he waited for the cocktail hour.
On her return to the house, after her careful shower and before going down to dinner, Mary had sat for a long while in her room, with her head in her hands, thinking God knows what. Then she skipped to her feet and changed into a long skirt and a blouse. She took up her list of coins, where it was lying on the writing table, and put it down again. She sat down at the table, and pulled out another piece of her list paper. At the top of the page she wrote ‘Michael’ and underneath it she wrote ‘Lauro’. She settled for the thought that she could not have been faithful to Michael all her life, but she felt it was too soon because a year had not passed since her marriage. But then she considered how she had not herself planned the incident with Lauro. One way and another, she tidied up her mind, aligned the beauty preparations in their bottles on the dressing table, and put away the paper she had just written Lauro’s name on with Michael’s together with the coin-list, her guest-lists and her other lists, locking them up in her desk. Mary had then patted her face with a paper tissue, and had gone down, passing Michael, home from the office, on the stairs. Maggie was already sitting on the terrace waiting for her
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