"I just met her today," I said. "Morgan, you know, Vesta, and I were planning to meet for lunch and she suggested I come along with her when she went to visit to thank her for the donation."
"Ah," he said. "That was nice of her. Did our Lily offer you a drink?"
"Oh yes," I said. "It was a little early in the day, and it was the largest glass of sherry I have ever seen. I believe I could have arranged a large bunch of flowers in the container she handed to me. But like you, I know what is required. I sipped it very carefully."
"She does tipple a bit," he smiled. "Speaking of which, have some more champagne. You've hardly had any."
"I'm cutting back. It's a New Year's resolution."
"It's September," he said. "You're either too early or too late. Drink up. So what did our Lily have to say?" He was studiously casual. It was another of those questions.
"To tell you the truth," I said—always beware of statements that begin with "to tell you the truth"—"It was a little confusing. The sherry perhaps. It was hard to tell if she had donated the Venus or if she'd donated cash toward the purchase."
The ball was now back in his court. "Cash," he said. "A great deal of it. As I believe I mentioned, I adore her."
"That's nice. She said you come to visit her quite often."
"I do, perhaps to make up for the disgraceful way I treated my mother."
"Where are your parents now?" I said.
"Dead," he said. "And I never got to say I'm sorry."
"Oh, Charles!" I said. "That's… I don't know what to say."
"There is nothing you can say," he said. "But will you call me Karoly? I know it will be awkward at first, but it would mean a lot to me. I suppose it's my way of trying to make it up to them."
"Of course I will," I said.
"Thank you. And now, please, enough about my sordid past. It's your turn. I want to know everything you've done since we last saw each other. You aren't married, are you? You aren't wearing a ring."
"I was once, to a guy by the name of Clive Swain. I'm divorced."
"Do you ever see him?"
"Every day. We're in business together. We own an antique shop called McClintoch Swain."
"How, er, modern," he said. "What kind of relationship is it, if I may ask?"
"You may. It's business," I said. "Although I do see him socially as well, because he lives with my best friend, Moira. How modern is that?"
"Too much for me," he laughed. "I feel like a dinosaur. It's probably why I like antiquities. I can't even contemplate being in business with my soon-to-be ex. For that matter, I can't contemplate being in the same room with her ever again. But might there be someone else in your life? Given I've been so frank about my marital status, and given our common past, you'll notice I feel quite comfortable asking. Tell me if you'd prefer I just shut up."
"I don't mind answering. I too have just recently joined the ranks of the unattached. I was in a relationship for a few years, but it's over."
"You're not thinking of starting a business with him, are you?"
"Not a chance," I said. "He's a policeman."
"I see," he said. "Are you hurting, or anything?"
"Hurting?"
"I get the impression the breakup is very recent."
"I'm fine," I said for the thousandth time on that subject. "But let's not talk about our past love lives. Tell me about the Venus. Where you found her? What she cost? How you know she's authentic."
"I suppose you really are interested," he said. "Given you are in the antique business. I had an antique shop once, very briefly, a few years back. I didn't last long. I'll be interested to hear how you manage it. But how nice to talk to someone who would not only be interested, but would understand what I'm talking about!"
"Same here," I said, and he reached across the table and took my hand.
"Are you hungry?" he said.
"Starving," I said.
"Me too," he said, as we both looked at the menu. "Shall I order for us both?"
"No," I said. "I'll order for myself. You really are a dinosaur," I added.
He laughed. "Okay," he said. "Decide what you want, but don't tell me, and I'll tell you what I would have ordered for you."
"Okay," I said in a minute or two. "I'm ready."
"Green salad to start," he said. "Followed by the grilled salmon. And, for the middle of the table—you wouldn't have ordered this for yourself, which is why I'm doing it for you, because you really want it—a bowl offrites. How did I do?"
"You were just exactly right," I said. "Even about the French fries. Especially about the French fries."
"Ah ha!" he said. "I knew it! You'll be having that molten chocolate thing for dessert if you let me order." He turned to the waiter. "Did you get that?" he asked. "I'll have the same. And we'll have a bottle of the—"
"Oregon pinot noir," I said. "Did I get it right?"
He threw back his head and laughed. "You did. Have I mentioned how absolutely wonderful it is to see you again? Why didn't we stay in touch? Why did we both marry other people?"
"Oh, I don't know," I said. "But here we are. Now about the Venus. What a coup! You must have been just thrilled to get her. She is exquisite, by the way. I didn't quite know what to expect, and I suppose being in the business I might be a little jaded, but she almost took my breath away. Others thought so too, obviously. Didn't I hear someone broke into the Cottingham that night?"
"You are dodging my question. No doubt I am going too fast. So, as to your question: the police think it was a break-in. I think it was a drunk who just didn't notice he was off the road and that there was a glass wall in front of him. In fact there was very little damage, just one of the large glass panels. It could have been accomplished with a hammer, I think. But there are car tracks. I don't mind the break-in story though. The Cottingham can use the publicity, and the idea that someone would make a grab for it the night it is unveiled can't hurt the mystique."
"So where did you get her?" I said. "I confess I haven't had a chance to start your book about Piper, but I will soon. I'm looking forward to it."
"That's nice of you. But as to how I found the Venus, I found the diaries first. As I think I mentioned, I had an antique store. It was in Budapest. I rather glossed over my stay in Budapest. My parents died within six months of each other. I suffered a little crisis at the time. That's a nice way of putting it. I completely fell apart. I took a leave from the Bramley Museum and went to Hungary to—what?—try to find my roots? Atone for my sins? I don't know. But it was 1990, and these were very interesting times in Budapest. A lot of Hungarian emigres went back. People thought there were unusual and attractive business opportunities, and there were. After the Communists were tossed out, people were given the opportunity to buy back businesses that had been confiscated by the regime. I found a man by the name of Bela Szilagyi whose family had owned an antique business, and I got the capital for him to repurchase it. I ran it for him. At least that's what we said, because he was supposed to be the one that owned it. What I did was pay him a small share of the proceeds. For awhile we both did reasonably well.