The Wrong Kind of Money by Stephen; Birmingham Page B

‘our queer old dean.’”
    There is more polite laughter among the seven remaining at the table, but Noah Liebling throws Bill Luckman a hard look. He has decided that Ector is just a stupid clod, but Bill Luckman is a wise-ass little prick.
    â€œRuth is so touchy,” Hannah says.
    Now Carol returns to the dining room, looking flushed and excited. “That was Georgette Van Degan,” she says. “She wants to take me to lunch next week. I can’t imagine why, I hardly know her. Unless—and this is a really wild guess—unless she’s thinking of giving her Chinese porcelains to the Met. They really have a fabulous collection, including a pair of Lang Yao sang-de-boeuf vases that the museum would practically kill to have. Do you suppose that’s it? I suggested that to her a couple of years ago, and maybe I planted a little seed in her mind. That must be it. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Wouldn’t that be a feather in my cap—if I were the one who helped get the Van Degan porcelains for the Met?” Then she notices the two empty chairs. “What became of Ruth and Ector?” she asks.
    â€œI believe they went out to answer a call of nature,” Cyril says with a tight smile.
    â€œI see,” she says. And then, “Well, shall we have our coffee in the living room?”
    â€œI’d like to see you for a minute in the library, Noah,” his mother says. “A little family business.”
    And now the little group, reduced to six—Carol, Bill, Cyril, and the three younger girls—has gathered in the living room, as Carol pours coffee. “The Van Degan collection is really fabulous,” she is saying. “There are some eleventh-century bowls from the Sung period, for instance. Wouldn’t it be great if the Met could get it all?”
    â€œThis is a beautiful room,” Bill Luckman says, “and such a wonderful building. I understand that Noah is president of the building’s board. That’s quite an honor.”
    Carol makes a face. “I think he’s finding it more of a headache than he bargained for,” she says. “I think he’s grateful that it’s only for a year.”
    â€œThe architects were Bottomly, Wagner, and White,” he says. “And do you know that after they did River House, they never designed another important building in New York? River House was their Arbeit, and their swan song.”
    â€œWhat interesting tidbits of information you have at your fingertips, Bill,” Carol says.
    But despite the attempt at light chitchat, the atmosphere in the room is strained and tense. Becka, Ruth’s daughter, still looks uncomfortable. She would like to ask Carol who, after all, has known her mother longer and better than anyone else in the room, to tell her more about her mother. But somehow, in the presence of non-family members, this doesn’t seem appropriate.
    Perhaps, Carol thinks, Melody senses this. Melody suddenly turns to Bill and says, “Would you like me to show you the rest of the apartment? It’s really awfully pretty.”
    â€œI’d love that,” he says matter-of-factly, setting down his cup.
    As soon as they have left the room, Becka leans forward and says, “Aunt Carol, can you explain my mother to me?”
    Carol hesitates. Then she says, “I’ve been wondering why you decided to come here, Becka.”
    â€œI didn’t decide to come. She sent for me.”
    â€œThis is the door to the library,” Melody says, leading him across the long central gallery. “We can’t go in there right now, because Anne’s father and her grandmother are having a meeting in there. So. What did you think of them?”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œThe Lieblings.”
    He shrugs. “Pretty ordinary. Nothing sensational.”
    â€œNot sensational enough for this new book you’re writing?”
    â€œWell, you know what