if I can’t find the other. I reach deeper within the folds of fabric until my fingertips meet with woven rope.
“So you’re not speaking to me now?” Ravenna snips as I pass her en route to the bathroom.
“I didn’t think you were speaking to anyone,” I say without looking back.
I’ve been here a million times before. The more you pander, the more they pout. Best let them come to you.
“It’s all right for you, you want to be here,” she calls after me.
I stick my head around the door. “Why don’t you just decide that this is what you want too?”
“Like it’s that easy.”
“Says the princess from her four-poster,” I tut. “Take a look around you, Ravenna. There are worst places to be.”
“It’s not the place, exactly, it’s the company.”
“Oh. Thanks for that.”
“I don’t mean you. In particular.”
I frown back at her. “You know, I never met anyone who didn’t like their granny before. Mothers yes, but—”
“She started it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She doesn’t like me.” She tugs at her robe. “She doesn’t want me here.”
“Maybe if you tried showing an interest in the things that mean so much to her . . .”
“Like old buildings?”
“You know, honestly, it’s hokum that you’re planning a career in interior design if you’re not interested in seeing these miraculous time capsules. Not pictures, not artifacts in museums, but a first-hand experience of how people
lived
—”
“How the elite lived.”
“The elite are your future clients,” I remind her. “Poor folk don’t hire interior decorators. Not unless they’re getting a freebie on a TV show.”
She shrugs. “It’s not my taste.”
“It’s not about you. Are you going to listen to your clients’ needs and wants, or are you just going to give them signature Ravenna every time?”
“If they choose me they’ll be choosing my style.”
“Do you even know what that is?”
She looks affronted. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t.” I really should be getting ready. I return to the bathroom and set my toilet bag on the glossy white sink. Right . . .
“I just don’t see how it’s relevant.”
I know I should just let it go, step into the shower and sluice off my irritation—from multiple directions given all the jet options. But I can’t let it lie yet.
I walk back to the nearest corner of the bed.
“I suppose you like Kelly Wearstler?”
Ravenna concedes a nod. “She’s cool.”
I thought she’d like her—she’s basically the supermodel of the interior design world, with a host of celebrity hotels and clients to her credit. I actually love her esthetic. She did the Bergdorf Goodman restaurant in New York in these sublime hues of duck-egg blue and olive. If I’m going there for afternoon tea, I book way in advance so I can cozy up in one of the French canopy chairs—they make me feel as if I’m on a secret assignation.
“What about her?” Ravenna is impatient.
“I was just thinking maybe you’d like to have your own book or two one day, just like her.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Do you know that the author of the first ever interior design book designed the bedrooms down the road at The Breakers?”
She looks mildly curious. “Who was that?”
“Ogden Codman Junior.”
“Who?”
“He was an architect from Boston.” And then I casually add: “He co-wrote the book with Edith Wharton. Have you heard of her?”
She nods. “We did
Age of Innocence
at school.”
“Well, she summered here in Newport, from when she was a tot.”
I wait for the “coo” of wonder that this is, in a sense, where it all began, but all I get is a “So?”
My jaw clenches. I’m done.
Chapter 14
And so to the wharf. It’s an interesting mix of tourists and locals, restaurants and boutiques, upmarket charm and ye olde pirate hideaway—there’s even a tavern called the Black Pearl. Though what Captain Jack
“So you’re not speaking to me now?” Ravenna snips as I pass her en route to the bathroom.
“I didn’t think you were speaking to anyone,” I say without looking back.
I’ve been here a million times before. The more you pander, the more they pout. Best let them come to you.
“It’s all right for you, you want to be here,” she calls after me.
I stick my head around the door. “Why don’t you just decide that this is what you want too?”
“Like it’s that easy.”
“Says the princess from her four-poster,” I tut. “Take a look around you, Ravenna. There are worst places to be.”
“It’s not the place, exactly, it’s the company.”
“Oh. Thanks for that.”
“I don’t mean you. In particular.”
I frown back at her. “You know, I never met anyone who didn’t like their granny before. Mothers yes, but—”
“She started it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“She doesn’t like me.” She tugs at her robe. “She doesn’t want me here.”
“Maybe if you tried showing an interest in the things that mean so much to her . . .”
“Like old buildings?”
“You know, honestly, it’s hokum that you’re planning a career in interior design if you’re not interested in seeing these miraculous time capsules. Not pictures, not artifacts in museums, but a first-hand experience of how people
lived
—”
“How the elite lived.”
“The elite are your future clients,” I remind her. “Poor folk don’t hire interior decorators. Not unless they’re getting a freebie on a TV show.”
She shrugs. “It’s not my taste.”
“It’s not about you. Are you going to listen to your clients’ needs and wants, or are you just going to give them signature Ravenna every time?”
“If they choose me they’ll be choosing my style.”
“Do you even know what that is?”
She looks affronted. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“No, you don’t.” I really should be getting ready. I return to the bathroom and set my toilet bag on the glossy white sink. Right . . .
“I just don’t see how it’s relevant.”
I know I should just let it go, step into the shower and sluice off my irritation—from multiple directions given all the jet options. But I can’t let it lie yet.
I walk back to the nearest corner of the bed.
“I suppose you like Kelly Wearstler?”
Ravenna concedes a nod. “She’s cool.”
I thought she’d like her—she’s basically the supermodel of the interior design world, with a host of celebrity hotels and clients to her credit. I actually love her esthetic. She did the Bergdorf Goodman restaurant in New York in these sublime hues of duck-egg blue and olive. If I’m going there for afternoon tea, I book way in advance so I can cozy up in one of the French canopy chairs—they make me feel as if I’m on a secret assignation.
“What about her?” Ravenna is impatient.
“I was just thinking maybe you’d like to have your own book or two one day, just like her.”
“I wouldn’t mind.”
“Do you know that the author of the first ever interior design book designed the bedrooms down the road at The Breakers?”
She looks mildly curious. “Who was that?”
“Ogden Codman Junior.”
“Who?”
“He was an architect from Boston.” And then I casually add: “He co-wrote the book with Edith Wharton. Have you heard of her?”
She nods. “We did
Age of Innocence
at school.”
“Well, she summered here in Newport, from when she was a tot.”
I wait for the “coo” of wonder that this is, in a sense, where it all began, but all I get is a “So?”
My jaw clenches. I’m done.
Chapter 14
And so to the wharf. It’s an interesting mix of tourists and locals, restaurants and boutiques, upmarket charm and ye olde pirate hideaway—there’s even a tavern called the Black Pearl. Though what Captain Jack
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