"Where did Karoly find the Venus?" I said.
"I don't know," she said. "Wherever people like him find things like that. Have some more sherry, will you?"
"No, thanks," we said in unison.
"Don't mind if I do," she said, refilling her glass. "I'm not sure I was supposed to tell anybody about the money," she said.
"Oh, we won't tell anybody," Morgan said. "Will we, Lara?"
"No," I said. "Not if you don't want us to. But why wouldn't you tell people? It's a very generous donation, and it might encourage others to do the same."
"I don't think Karoly wanted me to," she said. "That's why."
Morgan looked a little like the Cheshire cat. "Well, Lily, we'd better get on our way," she said. "We don't want to take up too much of your time."
"Oh, it's no bother," she said. "I don't suppose you'd come again?"
"Of course I will," Morgan said.
"You come too, Lara," she said. "Soon."
"Isn't that something?" Morgan said as we reached her car. "The woman saw the Venus practically the same time we did. And that creep Karoly lied about it. I can't wait to tell the Divas."
"Hold on a minute," I said. "I can't remember Karoly's exact words, but she did donate the Venus in a way. She gave him the money to acquire it, and the Cottingham would never have managed to acquire it without her. I think he simply said that she had made a very generous donation. He may have been a little vague on the form that donation took, that's all. We could fault him on sins of omission, I suppose, in that he didn't actually mention the check. But this proves nothing."
"Whose side are you on?" she said.
"I'm on the side of intellectual honesty," I said. "You and the others have decided the Venus is a fake and Karoly is a fraud, but we have proved no such thing, nor have we proved otherwise. All we've done is confirm that the Venus was never in her possession. Given her maiden name, it would have been interesting if the Venus had been in her family for some time. This just makes it a little harder, that's all."
"Intellectual honesty? You are beginning to sound almost as pompous as he does. I suppose you're still in love with him," she said. "Admit it."
"Don't be ridiculous. It was twenty years ago, and he doesn't even remember me."
"So you've mentioned," she said. "I'm not sure I believe you, but," she said, her voice softening, "I can understand it in a way. But you know what I'm thinking? I'm thinking maybe he's the one behind the attempted break-in. He knows the Venus won't stand up to the intense scrutiny of the scientific establishment, so unveils it, gets all the credit, then tries to steal it so no one who knows anything can get a close look at it."
"I would have thought that if that was his intention, to steal the Venus, I mean, he'd have done a better job of it, knowing all he does about the security systems."
"Hmm," she said. "I suppose you're right. What next, then?"
"I'll have to think about that. I should just ask Charles, but given I didn't use the opportunity the other night at the Cottingham to get reacquainted, I'll have to figure out how to approach him," I said. "Would you…?"
"Don't look at me," she said. "Charles and I do not get along."
So much for that idea. I suppose I could have predicted it based on the conversation I'd overheard at the Cottingham. "Then I'll have to think about how to approach this," I said.
As it turned out, I didn't have to work at it at all. Within a few hours, my telephone rang.
"Lara McClintoch, please," a man said, and my heart leapt. I would have known that voice anywhere.
"Speaking," I said, a little breathlessly.
"Will you forgive me for not recognizing you the other night?" the voice said.
"I'm not sure," I said. I should have said "Who is speaking, please?"
"Will you have dinner with me so I can persuade you?"
"I don't know," I said. My conversational skills, such as they were, seemed to have deserted me.
"Browne's Bistro in an hour?" the voice said.
"Browne's in an hour," I replied.
"Please don't stand me up, even if I deserve it," the voice said.
Thereupon followed an incredible forty-five minutes of trying on various outfits and almost screaming with frustration when my favorite suit had a mark on the lapel. I finally settled for what I thought was a sophisticated black light wool crepe pant suit, black silk pumps, and a silk shirt in what I hoped was a flattering shade, seafoam green, a color that Rob used to tell me matched my eyes. Did I care the suit was a little too warm for these early autumn days? No, I did not. It made me look thinner, didn't it? Needless to say, I was late.
He stood up the minute I walked through the door. He was dressed in an expensive gray suit that matched the touch of gray at his temples—and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses.
He took my hand and kissed it. It should have been a nice gesture, but it reminded me of his speech the other evening and his rather patronizing comments, I thought, about women, or rather ladies, to use his term, and his harsh tone with one or two of our fellow classmates. "So now I see what I missed by being too vain to wear my glasses," he said. "It serves me right. You look absolutely wonderful." He pulled out my chair, still holding my hand. Indeed he didn't let go of it for some time.
"I was afraid you wouldn't come," he said. "I've been sitting here in agony." In an instant, I forgave him everything.
"How could I resist seeing the fabulous Charles Miller again?" I said. "Also known as Karoly Molnar, the man of the hour in the Toronto arts scene."
"You're teasing me," he said. "Here, please sit down. I have ordered a bottle of champagne. May I?" he said, lifting the bottle and a flute.
"Just a little," I said. "It's good to see you, but in order to be forgiven, you are going to have to explain this Charles Karoly business right away. And then I want the whole scoop on the Magyar Venus. How you got her. Everything. But start with the name." I didn't want him to get the impression I was only there for the Venus. And maybe I wasn't.
"I was born in Hungary," he said, as we clinked glasses. "I expect I never told you that. Karoly Molnar is my real name. My parents, Imre and Magdolna, fled the country during the 1956 uprising, when I was three years old. I believe I have just revealed my age. I'm older than you are."
"I know that," I replied. "That was part of your appeal in college."
"Was it?" he smiled. "The sophisticated older man. I wasn't really very sophisticated, now was I?"
"I thought you were," I said.
"No, you didn't. I'm sure a whiff of my humble beginnings must have crept through, no matter how hard I tried."
"I remember nothing of the sort. I can't recall meeting your family, though, now that you mention it. You told me they were in Europe, didn't you? Was it London?"
"It was London, all right. London, Ontario, actually, but I didn't specify. I was too embarrassed to introduce them to you. You were so worldly. Father in diplomatic corps, lived all over the world. I remember you invited me to your home for dinner. Such charming parents, fabulous conversation, lovely food! I came from a decidedly working-class family. If you'd come to my place, you'd have eaten paprikas csirke, chicken paprika, at the kitchen table. I didn't speak English until I went to school, and never at home. My mother never learned enough English that she would speak it at home. My father was a factory worker, and my mother worked in a bakery. She made Hungarian cakes—dobos torte and the like, and they served her gulyas at lunch time. It was a hard life for both of them, and frankly at some point they just embarrassed me, I regret to say."
"You would hardly be the only or even the first kid to be embarrassed by his or her parents," I said.