The Magnolia Palace(82)
“No. I’m not letting either of you out of my sight. For all I know, you’re a couple of teenagers who broke in here for a tryst.”
“I assure you that’s not the case,” said Veronica. She was about to add that she didn’t appreciate being manhandled when she noticed Joshua’s pleading look. This internship was important to him, Veronica remembered. She would feel terrible if she got him fired. She softened her tone. “I have a change of clothes upstairs, and you’re free to accompany me if you don’t believe me.”
“No, that won’t do. I have an employee list in my office, and I plan to check it, so both of you come with me.” She made a move to go, but Veronica remained where she was.
Miss Helen hesitated, looking her up and down. “You are rather wet, aren’t you? I’ll give you something else to wear.”
As she walked past them, Veronica and Joshua exchanged looks. She could tell he was eager to see the secret door, as well as avoid further ruffling Miss Helen’s feathers.
“Are you coming or not?” called Miss Helen, impatient.
Veronica nodded. “Yes. We’re coming.”
They exited out the door at the northeast corner of the garden court, into a round room lined with chairs. “The music room,” sniffed Miss Helen. “Yet another ungainly addition. My father would not be pleased.”
At the far wall, Miss Helen pushed on what Veronica thought was just a panel, until it slid open. This house was full of tricks, it appeared.
Just behind the doorway was a small foyer with a coatroom, a half circle of a desk, and an elevator, all of exquisitely carved oak. “Where are we?” Veronica asked, confounded.
“We’re just off Seventy-First Street, in the Frick Art Reference Library,” said Joshua. “I had no idea there was a secret door that connected the two.”
Miss Helen opened the half door to the coat check and disappeared inside, returning with a couple of hangers draped with long black skirts—similar to what Miss Helen wore. “One of these should do.” She pushed the elevator button, and they all crowded in. “Would you like a tour of my masterpiece?”
Veronica just wanted to get out of her wet clothes, but Joshua nodded fiercely. A private tour by Miss Helen Frick was probably not a typical intern’s perk.
They took a sharp right when the elevator opened, into a room with four long tables, each with eight wooden chairs. A gold-leafed fresco hung on one wall and a portrait of Henry Clay Frick on another. With its red-tiled floor and thick wooden beams that traversed the ceiling, the room felt more like an Italian chapel, albeit one that gave off the slightly musty scent of old books.
“The Reading Room,” announced Miss Helen. “We had it designed like the sixteenth-century reading rooms found in Italy, although they don’t have walls specially designed to absorb sound.”
“It’s stunning,” said Joshua. “To think, this all began in a bowling alley. That’s mainly where I’ve been working.”
“Poor you, why do they have you down there?” Miss Helen asked.
Joshua opened his mouth, then closed it. During their locked-in tour of the mansion, he’d alluded to Miss Helen’s rather fraught relationship with the board of the Frick Collection, which had culminated in her resigning in a huff five years ago. Veronica knew he couldn’t answer truthfully: that he was nosing through Miss Helen’s private correspondence.
But Miss Helen had already moved on. “I founded my library in 1920, and it opened in 1924. In 1933, the building was expanded, and we now welcome six thousand visitors annually. The only time we’ve closed down was during the Second World War, when we helped the War Department draft maps of important cultural sites in Europe. In doing so, we saved thousands of treasures from destruction by the bombers.”
“Incredible.”
Joshua was in heaven, but Veronica still had a wet backside. “Can I change, please?”
Back inside the elevator, Miss Helen hit the button for the penthouse. “You can try these clothes on upstairs. I need a cup of coffee after the shock you gave me earlier, and you may partake as well, if you like.”
How generous. The woman was quite a pill.
Miss Helen led them into an office that reminded Veronica of the rooms at the Frick: large windows, tastefully restrained furnishings, the requisite portrait of Martha above the fireplace. Miss Helen seemed to read Veronica’s mind. “When I designed this, it was to keep the memory of my family very much alive. All of the hardware—hinges, doorknobs, light-switch plates, window levers—are from my father’s old bedroom.”
An odd choice, but Veronica stayed mum.
“Go try these on in my bathroom.” Miss Helen pointed to a door.
Inside, Veronica took a moment to collect herself. In all the chaos she’d completely forgotten about the pink diamond sitting in the pocket of her jeans. It felt hot to her fingers as she extracted it, even though she knew that couldn’t be possible. Her conscience was getting the better of her.
She pulled on the only skirt with pockets, which hung low on her hips, and placed the diamond carefully inside.
Back in the office, Miss Helen gave a nod of approval from the far corner where she was fiddling with a French press. “That does nicely. I don’t understand the appeal of the miniskirts so popular these days. There’s no need to show so much leg.”