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------- ------- ------- ------- -------“Really grabs you, doesn’t she? That’s Hulda Draper Darden, my great uncle Harper’s first wife. Mother loved that painting. It gives me the creeps.” Nora made a face. “It’s by Brock Nuveen, one of the better New York painters at the turn of the century.” ------- “Oh, I know Nuveen. It’s a fine portrait.” ------- “Is it, Mr.Wilton? Mother said it was, but she had a high opinion of all her possessions. I just want to get rid of them.” ------- Wilton looked around the room. He could see several first-rate portraits by Sara Prouty and one of her splendid seascapes. Most of the furniture was late colonial, superb craftsmanship and not ruined by inexpert refinishing. Here and there, a few modern pieces, a lovely Tiffiny vase and a chair by Van de Velde, were expertly blended in, and it was all tied together by the magnificent Kirman. ------- “You feel no sentimental attachment to your mother’s...things?” Wilton had to clasp his hands in prayer to control them. ------- “My husband said get a dumpster.” Wilton’s felt his jaw tighten. -------“I thought we might sell some of it. What do you think, Mr. Wilton?” ------- “Mrs. James, you shouldn’t discard any of your mother’s belongings before having them appraised. I see some...rather nice pieces here in the living room, and the grandfather clock.… You’re not pulling my leg?” Oh God, she was. -------Nora laughed and touched his shoulder. “Bob did say get a dumpster, but he was kidding too.” She gave him a sweet smile. “I hope you’ll call me Nora.” -------“Please call me Jim, Nora.” Wilton felt the sweat under his collar. Did she have any idea... “You had me going there. You do have some fine things, as I’m sure you know. I’d like to give you a price on several items. Could we see the rest of the house?” ------- “My pleasure. Too bad Cicely isn’t here to give you the tour.” ------- “That’s right! Your mother was Cicely Darden, the travel writer. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize... Was her death recent? I don’t recall...” ------- “No, not really,” Nora waved away his concern. “Josh Harrington did most of her writing, anyway. Mother just charmed the peasants with shiny coins.” ------- “Ah,” Wilton said. “But she’s told you about the furniture?” He thought he saw a wicked grin. He didn’t know what to make this woman. -------“God, yes,” Nora said, “it’s all she talked about. The clock is eighteenth-century Italian. I’ve let it stop, because the chimes drove me nuts. It’s my house now, Jim, not the damn clock’s. The table is solid mahogany. Made for my grandparents by Bolton Bird around 1890.” -------“Very nice,” Wilton said weakly. She knew about Bird, too. He wasn’t getting any bargains. -------Nora’s laugh was genuine and even rather warm, he thought. She rapped his shoulder with her fist. -------“I’m being mean to you, Jim. But I am serious about getting rid of this stuff. Ugly as sin. I’ll consider a reasonable offer.” -------Wilton’s hopes rose. Haste was as valuable as ignorance in a seller. “Tastes differ, Nora,” he said sagely. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement. What about the paintings?” -------“They all go, except the lightship, the only thing we have by Prouty that isn’t a family portrait. I’ll keep that and a little of the glass. We’ll get it packed tonight. You can have the furniture. It meant more to Mother than we did. She pinched that Tiffany vase.” Nora grinned at Wilson’s confusion. “She was executor of some old lady’s estate, and after she’d fed the hyenas, there were trinkets left over.” -------Wilton sighed. -------“It’s okay, Jim. Nobody knew. The vase goes.” -------Nora pulled out a drawer. “There’s a ton of silver here. My grandfather bought it in England and Italy. Good stuff, with all kinds of crazy initials. We used to make up relatives for them. The fancy “D” is the Dudleys. Mother used to kid everyone that she couldn’t wait ‘til old Uncle Dudley died. I said it in Macys once, and everybody was shocked. Mother just blurted out, ‘He doesn’t exist, you know.’ Poor Cicely. Know what that is, Jim?” -------“I believe it’s called a ‘pusher,’” Wilton said. -------“Pretty cool, huh? She wouldn’t let us have them at the table, so we used our fingers. Drove her nuts. Never have children, Jim. Ungrateful little bastards.” -------“I have two,” Wilton said, stiffly. “They’re fairly decent kids.” ------- “You’re lucky, but I’m kidding. Mother had the money, so we behaved like lambs in public. The poor servants got it, though. She treated them like dirt and never understood why they weren’t grateful. My brother was just mean.” -------“You have a brother?” -------“Had. Randy was a disappointment to Mother. She kept his room like a shrine, but she was probably glad to see him go. I know Felicity was.” -------“Felicity?” Wilton was clearly in for a penny now. -------“The maid. Randy wasn’t very nice to her. Mother knew.” -------“Your mother must have been…a difficult woman.” -------“A slight understatement. I got out soon as I could. But she had her own troubles. Dad couldn’t stand her, Randy was a skank, and I gave her a hard time after I figured out she couldn’t rat on us.” -------Wilton was feeling uncomfortable again. Beautiful things should belong to superior people. “Could we see upstairs?” -------“Follow me, but watch the knickknacks. If you break it, you’ve bought it, and Cicely Darden will hound you from hell.” -------The staircase was a dream, a swirling vanilla balustrade that took Wilton’s breath, what little was left by now. -------“This was Randy’s. Mother always kept the door shut.” -------“I see,” Wilton’s voice was strained. “It looks...almost lived in.” -------“It’s a shrine. Randy didn’t go in for antiques, but there are some expensive guns in the cabinet. The shotgun’s a Snowden. He worshipped it.” -------“On your right’s the master bedroom. Mother’s room. My dad was pretty decent, but he and all his stuff are long gone. Nice pictures, a genuine colonial highboy. Might be the most valuable thing in the house. The bed is handmade of mahogany, but it’s bizarre. My grandfather was seven feet tall. Some other good stuff. You can check it out.” -------Two million, at least, maybe three, Wilton was sure of it. It was a museum, and she seemed to know it; she had to. -------“Three more rooms on this floor. The two on the third are full of Victorian leftovers and my grandfather’s stamp and coin collections. This one was mine. It’s a guest room now. The clock is 1830’s New York. A cabinet full of Sandwich glass for the guests to admire in their sleep. See the patched plaster? That’s where I put my fist through the wall.” -------“Ah,” Wilton said. -------“How about a cup of coffee, Jim? The kitchen’s brand new, fifty grand of classy gizmos, but they stay with the house. Let’s talk money.” ------- Nora sat Wilton at the big kitchen table and punched buttons on the coffee maker. They watched it snort and puff as it produce two cups of espresso. Nora sat across from Wilton and smiled at him. ------- “I can make this easy, Jim. Half a mil for the works. What you don’t take gets junked.” -------“Oh, my!” Wilton was struggling for control. “That’s pretty steep, Mrs. James.” -------Nora laughed. “Come off it, pal! You need acting lessons. It’s half the fair price, and you know it. Never con a conner. You’ll resell this stuff for a couple million. Why do you think I called you guys? A local dealer would go ape over every stick of this stuff and want to sell it on consignment. I want the house on the market.” -------Wilton couldn’t believe his luck. She wanted to sell cheaply. She fully intended to trash her mother’s antiques. He felt as if he were participating in a crime. -------“I think we can get together on this, Nora,” he said genially. -------“Good, let’s do it.” Nora stood. “I’ll see you here tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. And bring your truck around the back, Jim. I don’t need every biddy in town calling me. Oh, God,” Nora raised her fists in theatrical triumph, “it’ll be so great to unload this freaking mausoleum!” -------“Well, I must say, Nora, you seem to feel quite strongly about this.” Wilton was shocked, yet more than half sharing in Nora’s enthusiasm. “I do believe you’re taking your revenge.” -------“You could say that, Jim,” Nora agreed and clapped him on the shoulder as she let him out the door. “You sure could say that.” -------It was certainly what Cicely and Randy Darden would say when they returned from Tuscany. ------- 7 August 07 |