A-Splendid-Ruin(38)

He had gulped his champagne before I’d taken more than a sip of my own. Then he rose. “Now, my dears, enjoy your day. I fear I must be off. Oh, and May—Farge asked that you call him this morning.”

“Call him? Whatever for?”

“I believe he has something of importance to discuss with you.”

He nearly bounced from the dining room.

I frowned. “What could that be?”

Goldie drank her champagne. “How should I know?”

“Is something wrong? You seem upset this morning.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not the least bit upset,” Goldie snapped. “Why don’t you call Mr. Farge and find out what he needs?”

So I did. I fidgeted nervously as I placed the call and waited to be connected, idly counting the silver, gold, and glass salvers on the table—seventeen. Who needed seventeen salvers? A man said, “Hello?” and I recognized his voice, crackly and scratchy through the line, with a small thrill.

“It’s May Kimble. My uncle said you wished for me to call?”

“I did indeed. Can you meet with me this afternoon? At Coppa’s, say, at five?”

I had some vague idea of that being the name of the restaurant on the bottom floor of the Montgomery Block. “Coppa’s?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make certain it’s all perfectly respectable.”

It had not occurred to me that it might not be. “Oh. All right.”

“And bring your other sketchbooks. I’ve some news for you that I think you’ll be glad to hear.”

“My uncle already told me you’ve agreed to work with him.” I glanced up to see Goldie idling in the hall, unabashedly listening.

“That’s only part of what I want to tell you,” he said. “Five o’clock. Coppa’s.”

We said our goodbyes, and I stood staring at the receiver in my hand.

“Well?” Goldie asked. “What did he want?”

“He asked me to meet him at Coppa’s at five.” Slowly I put the receiver in the cradle.

“Really?” Goldie lifted a perfectly arched brow. “The start of the cocktail hour. You’ll be there through dinner, I’m sure. My, my. Don’t tell me you have an admirer.”

“I hardly think so. He said he had something to tell me.”

“Probably that he’s mad for you,” Goldie teased, though there was an edge in her voice, that irritability again.

“Don’t be absurd.”

“Well, whatever it is, you should pretend to be pleased, even if you’re not. I’ve heard he’s very mercurial, May, so try to stay in his good graces, especially now.” She sashayed to the stairs. “Our family fortunes are in your hands.”

It was, unbeknownst to me, no exaggeration. “I won’t disappoint you,” I called after her as she went upstairs.

What should one wear for an appointment with an architect at Coppa’s? He’d asked me to bring my sketchbooks. Perhaps he meant to offer his advice. He’d seen talent, he’d said, and I wanted to believe him. There had been no reason for him to flatter me. I’d been asking a favor. In fact, it would have made more sense for him to dismiss my drawings completely.

So what could he want? Ultimately, it didn’t matter, because I couldn’t suppress my excitement—and yes, the hope—at the idea of meeting him once more, or again that sense that the world was holding out its hand to offer me something I hadn’t known I wanted.





I dressed carefully in a gray suit and plaid waist, along with a hat banded with a red ribbon and black and gray feathers and a small brim that curled coquettishly at one side. The hallway mirror was still gone, not having returned from its cleaning or regilding or whatever, so I could not check myself head to toe, and Goldie was not there to give me final words of encouragement. She’d gone earlier to tea with Linette, and had left me with a kiss on the cheek and “It’s the perfect ensemble. Don’t worry. Show him you’re no one to be trifled with! But remember to charm him too!”

I called the small buggy to take me to Coppa’s. Goldie had already taken the brougham and Nick; Uncle Jonny usually took the trolley to his office.

In Brooklyn, the weather would have taken on a distinctive autumn chill by now, but here the weather was fine and the buggy open as we passed the mansions on Nob Hill with their gardeners still out in force, and then, a few more blocks, and Chinatown, the silk and jade in the shop windows shimmering brightly in the sun, and—

Goldie. That was Goldie, wasn’t it, walking down the street? I would recognize my cousin anywhere, that distinctive sway, the golden hair, the hat with the blue ribbons, which we had bought at the City of Paris. But no, it couldn’t be Goldie. Goldie was at tea with Linette. Goldie would not be walking in Chinatown, nor would she be disappearing through a door carved with Chinese characters into a windowless building that looked nothing like a shop.

I opened my mouth to tell Petey to stop, to go back, but Ellis Farge waited for me at Coppa’s, and I could not be late, and it had to be an illusion anyway, some woman who only looked like Goldie. There was no reason for Goldie to be in Chinatown.

I forgot it all as we grew closer to Montgomery Street, and the restaurant, and my nervous excitement over my meeting with Ellis Farge returned. Petey pulled up before a small restaurant on the first floor corner of the Montgomery Block, where a sign in lights declared ORIGINAL COPPA, with COPPA RESTAURANT painted below.