blankly.
“Yes, Louise,” she repeated firmly.
“Louise … well …” he said slowly. “Louise is the daughter of a Pittsburgh coal millionaire and my father’s best friend. For years they’ve planned to merge their companies. And our families have always wanted us to—merge, too. Coal, Louise; steel, me!”
He shrugged his shoulders elaborately and examined the painting above the chimney piece, a Romney duchess. “She’s a very wonderful girl and beautiful, et cetera—handsome is the word, I suppose—good clothes, always well turned out …”
He was thinking what to say, she could see that. And she could imagine Louise, one those thin smart American girls—and what, pray, was this sudden ache under her breastbone, why was it so hard to breathe while she waited for him to speak? Oh Kate—you’re a silly—
She spoke first, her voice small and strange. “You said you might stay in England—then why don’t you leave the castle here where it was meant to be? You could have the museum here, which is what we thought you meant in the first place. Then we wouldn’t all be torn to pieces.”
He strolled to the window again and stood there, his back to her, and gazed out over the rolling hills and shallow valleys. A ray of the setting sun caught the spire of the church in the village and flashed it into a silver cross against the darkening sky.
“Plenty of reasons against it,” he said impatiently. “Bring millions of dollars of paintings across the sea? Every crook in two continents would be on the alert… probably regulations between two countries about releasing works of art, besides. … There must be a solution, though, if I could only …”
He turned and sat down on a huge chest against the wall facing her and got up immediately.
“Handsome carving, but not to sit upon!”
She laughed suddenly at his rueful face. “King John’s chest. He kept his valuables in it—a crown given him by the Scots and a gem-encrusted scepter.”
He tried the lid. “It’s locked—are they still there?”
“I don’t know! The keys have been lost this long while. … What were you saying about a solution?”
He walked to the window once more and sat on the sill, his back to the landscape. “I was thinking aloud. … You know, I may be a silly idealist, but I really want the American people to see something beautiful and not in a building on Fifth Avenue that looks like a washing machine. I want the paintings to hang in their authentic setting—a castle. We don’t have a castle in New England—not a real one like this. It’s an art treasure in itself. We Americans need this sort of thing … we’ve no sense of history. … Can you understand me, Kate?”
“This sort of thing,” she knew meant the oak paneled walls, the huge chimney piece of stone built to burn eight-foot logs, the high, groined ceilings, the air of nobility, the atmosphere of ages.
“Please,” she said softly, and all the time she was thinking how sweet it was to hear him call her Kate, “please never do anything you do not wish to do.”
“That’s easy. What’s hard is to know what I do want to do.”
The telephone rang before she could answer. She took up the receiver, listened, and handed it to him.
“For you—from the inn.”
He heard a distant clamor of voices resolving into the voice of his lawyer.
“Yes, Holt,” he said in reply, “Yes, I’m here at the castle. Everyone is to stay at the inn until I … Yes, I have talked with my father. You should have waited for my instructions before—Yes, I know I must make up my mind. … I tell you, I don’t care if there are thirty-five more people coming tomorrow! They can just wait, too. … I know you only want to be helpful—you’re very efficient and I appreciate it, but efficiency must wait for something more important. … I don’t know, I tell you. I’ll have to think. … Yes, it’ll cost a lot of money to wait, but … All right, call it foolish, but
“Yes, Louise,” she repeated firmly.
“Louise … well …” he said slowly. “Louise is the daughter of a Pittsburgh coal millionaire and my father’s best friend. For years they’ve planned to merge their companies. And our families have always wanted us to—merge, too. Coal, Louise; steel, me!”
He shrugged his shoulders elaborately and examined the painting above the chimney piece, a Romney duchess. “She’s a very wonderful girl and beautiful, et cetera—handsome is the word, I suppose—good clothes, always well turned out …”
He was thinking what to say, she could see that. And she could imagine Louise, one those thin smart American girls—and what, pray, was this sudden ache under her breastbone, why was it so hard to breathe while she waited for him to speak? Oh Kate—you’re a silly—
She spoke first, her voice small and strange. “You said you might stay in England—then why don’t you leave the castle here where it was meant to be? You could have the museum here, which is what we thought you meant in the first place. Then we wouldn’t all be torn to pieces.”
He strolled to the window again and stood there, his back to her, and gazed out over the rolling hills and shallow valleys. A ray of the setting sun caught the spire of the church in the village and flashed it into a silver cross against the darkening sky.
“Plenty of reasons against it,” he said impatiently. “Bring millions of dollars of paintings across the sea? Every crook in two continents would be on the alert… probably regulations between two countries about releasing works of art, besides. … There must be a solution, though, if I could only …”
He turned and sat down on a huge chest against the wall facing her and got up immediately.
“Handsome carving, but not to sit upon!”
She laughed suddenly at his rueful face. “King John’s chest. He kept his valuables in it—a crown given him by the Scots and a gem-encrusted scepter.”
He tried the lid. “It’s locked—are they still there?”
“I don’t know! The keys have been lost this long while. … What were you saying about a solution?”
He walked to the window once more and sat on the sill, his back to the landscape. “I was thinking aloud. … You know, I may be a silly idealist, but I really want the American people to see something beautiful and not in a building on Fifth Avenue that looks like a washing machine. I want the paintings to hang in their authentic setting—a castle. We don’t have a castle in New England—not a real one like this. It’s an art treasure in itself. We Americans need this sort of thing … we’ve no sense of history. … Can you understand me, Kate?”
“This sort of thing,” she knew meant the oak paneled walls, the huge chimney piece of stone built to burn eight-foot logs, the high, groined ceilings, the air of nobility, the atmosphere of ages.
“Please,” she said softly, and all the time she was thinking how sweet it was to hear him call her Kate, “please never do anything you do not wish to do.”
“That’s easy. What’s hard is to know what I do want to do.”
The telephone rang before she could answer. She took up the receiver, listened, and handed it to him.
“For you—from the inn.”
He heard a distant clamor of voices resolving into the voice of his lawyer.
“Yes, Holt,” he said in reply, “Yes, I’m here at the castle. Everyone is to stay at the inn until I … Yes, I have talked with my father. You should have waited for my instructions before—Yes, I know I must make up my mind. … I tell you, I don’t care if there are thirty-five more people coming tomorrow! They can just wait, too. … I know you only want to be helpful—you’re very efficient and I appreciate it, but efficiency must wait for something more important. … I don’t know, I tell you. I’ll have to think. … Yes, it’ll cost a lot of money to wait, but … All right, call it foolish, but
Similar Books
