Rules of Civility - Amor Towles [84]
In the next window, with the renaissance trickery of an opera set, one hundred marble steps descended from a palace door to a cobbled court, where four mice hid in the shadow of a pumpkin. On the periphery, the diminishing figure of a golden-haired stepson turned the corner at a sprint, while front and center knelt a princess (in a fitted black dress by Chanel) looking with determination at a Derby shoe made of glass. From her expression you could just tell that she was ready to call her kingdom into action—from the footmen to the chamberlains—and have them scour the countryside from dawn to dusk for the boy who fit that shoe.
—It’s Katey, isn’t it?
I turned to find a prim brunette at my side—Wyss from the little state of Connecticut. If I had been asked to speculate on Wisteria’s style for an afternoon in August, I would have guessed Garden Club of America; but I would have been wrong. She was dressed in perfect elegance with a cobalt blue short-sleeved dress and a matching asymmetric hat.
At Tinker and Eve’s dinner party, we hadn’t exactly hit it off, so I was a little surprised that she’d bothered to approach me. As we exchanged pleasantries, her demeanor was welcoming and her eyes almost twinkled. Naturally, the conversation turned quickly to their European holiday. I asked how it went.
—Lovely, she said. Perfectly lovely. Have you ever been? No? Well, the weather in July in the south of France is ravissant, and the food is not to be believed. But it was such an added pleasure to be with Tinker and Evelyn. Tinker speaks such beautiful French. And being a foursome provides that extra spark to every hour: the early morning swims on the strand . . . and the long lunches overlooking the sea . . . and the late night jaunts into town . . . Though of course (light laugh), Tinker adds a little more spark to the early morning swim and Eve to the late night jaunt.
I was beginning to understand why she had approached me, after all.
That night at the Beresford, she had been the odd girl out. But like a seasoned evangelist, she’d put up with the fast talk and the occasional wisecracks at her expense, confident that the Good Lord would one day reward her for her patience. And here it was: redemption day. The Rapture. The unexpected chance for a little table turning. Because when it came to the south of France, we both knew exactly who was the odd one out.
—Well, I said, winding down the conversation. It’s good to have you all back.
—Oh, we didn’t come back together. . . .
She stayed me with the gentle touch of two fingers on my arm.
I could see that the color of her fingernail polish matched the color of her lipstick precisely.
—We intended to, of course. Then just before we were scheduled to sail, Tinker said he had to stop in Paris on business. Eve said she just wanted to go home. So he bribed her (conspiratorial smile) with a promise of dinner on the Eiffel Tower.
(Conspiratorial smile returned.)
—But, you see, continued Wyss, Tinker wasn’t going to Paris on business at all.
?
—He was going to see Cartier!
To Wyss’s credit, I could feel a slight burning sensation on my cheeks.
—Before they left for Paris, Tinker pulled me aside. He was in an absolute state. Some men are hopeless when it comes to these things. Ruby bracelet, sapphire brooch, sautoir de perles. He didn’t know what he should get.
Naturally, I wasn’t going to ask. But it didn’t make a difference. She was already extending her left hand languidly to show a diamond the size of a grape.
—I just told him to get her one of these.
When I got back downtown, still reeling a bit from my encounter with Wyss, I finally went to the grocer to restock the pantry of my routines: a new deck of cards, a jar of peanut butter, a bottle of second-grade gin. Trudging up the stairs, I was a little stunned to smell that the bride in 3B had already perfected her mother’s Bolognese, maybe even improved upon it. I turned the key while balancing the groceries in the crook of my arm, crossed the threshold, and almost stepped on a letter