Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 4

February 25, 2019 Monday

“Lascivious.” Harry ran his hand over the burgundy leather surface of the Louis XV tulipwood desk.

“Yes, it is.” Sister took a step back to admire the desk, a minor work of art, really. “I will never know what happened to Uncle Arnold’s desk.”

“Which is why I wanted you to come and see this one.” He guided her to the desk, pulled open the center drawer using the gilded ornate handle, a key slot above it.

Sister inhaled the odor of the wood and leather. “You are tormenting me. So you know, I purposely did not mention anything to Gray. Why weren’t you at the hunt Saturday, by the way? He and others asked about you.”

“Annapolis. Allaire Ritter wanted me to give a ballpark figure for some of the family pieces. You know Allaire, hunts with Fair Hills in Maryland. I don’t know as she has any intention of selling but I gave her my estimates as well as dealers in New York City. She wanted to make sure she connected to the upmarket best.”

“Well, in a city where a tiny flat rents for about fifteen hundred a month, that would be the upmarket.”

“Sister, that rental would only get you an apartment in a so-so neighborhood.” He shrugged. “Insane.”

“Is there a way out of these exorbitant rents in our big cities? People need to live there for the jobs, or they’re drawn by ambition. While I think rent control a possible answer, how can that work if those civic worthies whether city or state keep raising taxes? You have to be able to raise rents to cover costs. Heating alone will kill you.”

“I know. I also know we have it pretty good here in Virginia. Richmond, Norfolk, Virginia Beach are very affordable.” He smiled. “Not Northern Virginia.”

“Occupied Virginia.” She laughed. “How is Allaire? I haven’t seen her in a year or two. I’d run into her when hunting at Green Spring Valley. She always had good horses.”

“Fat as a tick.” Harry laughed. “Naturally, she has no wrinkles.”

“You are wicked.”

“I suppose it beats a face-lift. Aren’t you surprised by how many men now undergo face-lifts?” He raised a steel gray eyebrow.

“No. Getting old is a sin.” She laughed. “Dying is un-American. What can we do?”

He laughed with her. “Say the hell with it and go on. Now, Madam, what do you think of this desk?”

“Sensuous. I think the marquetry so graceful. You know, well, of course you do, I love Louis XV.”

“Because you are a woman of exquisite taste.” His eyes sparkled. “Actually I love it, too, although my area is really eighteenth-century English furniture, with a smattering of French. But what draws me to this period is their innocence. No one saw the clouds building on the horizon.”

She thought about that. “They were too busy indulging themselves. But speaking of those clouds, that’s one of the things about Louis XVI. That furniture, the black and the gold, very dramatic and the straight lines. It almost prefigures Art Deco in the structure, I mean the basic structure. I admire it but I truly love Louis XV. Oh, why am I babbling on about this?”

“Because it is fascinating. We look back with knowledge. They lived in the middle of it and poor Louis XVI, following Louis XV, handsome but not the smartest; even had he been, a powerful man couldn’t have stopped the madness. Something about the Bourbons. Even the brightest ones couldn’t see the noses on the front of their faces.”

“Who can? When it gets that irrational, that rigid, who can?” She looked again at the desk. “Then again, people can’t seem to leave one another alone.”

“Mmm. When I’m alone in the shop, I look around at the paintings on the wall, the fabrics, the colors, and I imagine they lived in simpler times, but of course our ancestors did not.” He motioned to her. “Come sit with me a bit. We’ll both repose in beauty.”

She sat on the dark green Chesterfield sofa, a safe choice for anyone interested in comfort. “When did you open the shop? Remind me?”

“In 1989. I think sometimes about painting the year on the door but 1989 on a building constructed in 1780 seems out of place.” He grinned.

“You have a point there.” She smiled at him.

“I had no idea what I was doing. I put a down payment on the house, opened the shop, and prayed.”

“Your prayers were answered. Wouldn’t you do it all over again? Just take a chance. I wonder about people living their gray little lives hagridden by the need for security, and of course there is no security. And we think it all comes from money.” She inclined toward him. “Americans put their faith in external things, but then again the French Revolution, the times of poor Louis XVI, the cover was Liberty! Equality! Fraternity! But don’t you think it was really Envy! Spite! Greed!”

“Sister, you should teach history.”

“I’d be drummed out of the academy in no time.” She laughed.

“Do I think envy and greed drove those thousands forward? I do. No different in Russia or Spain or you name it. The cover is always something noble-sounding, perhaps that way no one will hear the guillotine.”

She grimaced then looked back at the desk aglow in the soft light. “Fortunately, that Louis had no idea.”

“No, but he certainly had beautiful mistresses.” Harry laughed.

Sister laughed with him. “I’d think one woman would be bad enough.”

He lowered his voice. “Ah, no female equivalent. Are there some kept men? Well, yes, but it’s not the same. Powerful men want beautiful women. Think of them as flesh and blood Ferraris.”

“That’s awful,” she said with feeling.

“I don’t doubt that it is but it’s real. It’s a form of parading your power, as was some of this furniture. You could afford it so you did and showed it off.”

“Well,” she thought about it, “yes.”

“People don’t change, Sister. We’ve known what we are for thousands of years but we can’t admit it. How did we get off on this? I’m trying to sell you the Louis XV desk.”

“Oh, we can and do wander.”

“Speaking of wandering, how about Morris Taylor driving through Cindy Chandler’s fence? His deterioration was upsetting, even though I can’t stand him or his brother. It was shocking to see him.”

“It was. There’s such a strong resemblance among the Taylors. Morris and Drew look a lot like their father. Morris’s son looks like the family. You see that often in horses and hounds, as well.”

“Karma.”

“What?”

“Morris. It’s karma.” He spoke with conviction.

“I don’t know.” She did think the Taylors had been foolish, but best to stay neutral.

“I believe in karma. I also hope I do not suffer a protracted decline.”

“I hope so for both of us. There’s a lot to be said for a quick exit.”

He folded his hands over his chest, leaning back. “Did you notice the bois de bout marquetry, stylized, floral design?”

“I did. Beautiful.”

“I will sell you that desk for twenty thousand dollars.” He reached for her hand. “Were it original, the price would be over one hundred thousand but this is a reproduction made in the eighteenth century.”

“Harry, I don’t have twenty thousand in my back pocket.”

“How about stuffed in your bra?”

“You’re incorrigible.” She laughed at him.

“True, so true, but you need that desk. Think of Uncle Arnold.”

“I’m thinking of Gray.”

“Oh poof.” He waved his hand. “A little kiss here and there, plus it is your money.”

“Oh, I know but he is so careful. If I overspend he gets the vapors.”

“Accountant.” Harry waved his hand again. “But have you ever noticed neither he nor any other accountant suffers the vapors when it’s something they want?”

“I have seen him agonize over a new pair of Dehner boots. Ultimately he did get measured for them. His feet demanded it. But he does suffer. Mercer, his cousin, shrewd about profit, could get him to spend money. It was hard to believe they were related.”

“Oh, how I miss Mercer. You know Aunt Daniella comes into the shop, she brings Yvonne Harris with her. Aunt Daniella can be so naughty. Mercer was like his mother.” A pause followed this with a wistful postscript. “I do so wish Yvonne would be naughty.”

“Ha.” Sister giggled, a beguiling trait.

“I have the answer. Ask Gray for half for the desk. Make him part of it. Tell him to meet you halfway and rip his clothes off. That will work.”

She flopped back on the sofa, holding a pillow to her lap. “You are the worst man I know.”

“Oh, I hope so.” He grinned.

She responded, “I do want the desk. You knew I would. Can you give me time to try and figure this out? I have mourned Uncle Arnold’s desk ever since it was stolen years ago.”

“Take your time. Think it through. There are other Louis XV desks out there but none as beautiful as this one. I mean it.”

“I will.”

“And I promise I will not sell it to anyone but my respected and beloved master.”

“You forgot to add foolish.”

“Oh, Sister, what good does it do to be sensible all the time? You only live once.”