Treasures by Belva Plain

of well-being that so often accompanied him these days. He was flying in blue skies, sailing over blue seas.
    Little more than a year ago he had predicted how long it would take him to double his income. He had expected it to take a few years, but it had already happened. He positively astonished himself! Business was big now, really, really big; it swelled like a balloon. One client, more than satisfied, recommended another. From real estate czars came theater people, a big-time boxer, a rock-and-roll singer, rich Park Avenue widows—anybody and everybody. He kept their money growing and his own with it.
    Heading into the spring sunshine and filled with such thoughts, he almost bumped into Connie on Fifty-seventh Street.
    “Whatever are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon?” she demanded. “And with that twinkle on your face? You look like the cat who swallowed a canary.”
    “Shopping. You don’t think women are the only ones who can take an hour off to go shopping, do you?”
    “What are you buying?”
    “Silver. I’m collecting.”
    “For investment, I take it.”
    “Well, it is an investment, but I’m doing it for pleasure too. I’m also collecting ivory carvings.”
    “And where do you plan to put all this stuff?”
    “Come on with me and I’ll tell you. I’ll take you to tea at the Plaza. I worked right through lunch, and I’m starved.”
    Having settled himself into the restful shelter of the Palm Court, from which the hectic streets seemed to be miles removed, he explained, “I’m still waiting for the right co-op to come along, but in the meantime my new place isn’t all bad.”
    “I should think not.” Connie sounded almost indignant, he thought.
    “But I’ll need more money than I want to spend now if I want the perfect place on Fifth with a view of Central Park.”
    “Very wise of you, as always.”
    Eddy squeezed lemon into his cup, raised it, and studied his sister over the rim. Then, aware that, for some inexplicable reason, she was angry, he gave her his most appealing smile and set the cup down.
    “There’s something wrong with you. You’re either mad, or sad, or both.”
    “Nothing’s wrong.”
    “I’m inclined to say sad.”
    “No, I said.”
    “Yes. I’ve sensed something different these last few weeks. You’ve lost your glow. I’m used to seeing you glow.”
    “Glow!” she mocked.
    “Maybe,” he said gently, “you need a job. You’re too smart to be doing nothing.”
    “Shall I go back to selling dresses? No thanks! I want to qualify for something in the art world, a gallery or auction room. That’s why I’m taking art courses. But that’ll take time, a lot of time, and even then I’ll need to be lucky.”
    She fell into silence, a silence all the more glum because of the surrounding low-voiced chatter, the pleasant animation, of the teatime gathering. He could not know that she was regretting the caustic tone she had taken and was ashamed to be envious of her beloved brother. He had succeeded at everything he had ever tried. If there were pleasures to be had anywhere, Eddy would have them. If there were things to be known, he would know them. Yet nothing could have induced her to reveal herself to him, and this was the first time in her life that she had been unable to ask Eddy about anything at all. But he could not know that.
    Still very gently, he ventured a tentative question. “Is there anything wrong between Richard and you?”
    “No, no, what makes you think that?”
    “I only asked. I like Richard. He’s bright and interesting and certainly seems to be kind.”
    “He is kind.” And then she blurted her complaint. “It’s so expensive living here! I didn’t expect it to be like this.”
    “It surely is. But it also depends on the way you want to live. Who your friends are has a lot to do with what you expect.”
    “Well, I want a decent apartment, that’s all. I hate being cooped up in that cramped little box. You should