apparently a French dealer with an established gallery in Paris. He’s just opened an offshoot in the city to better cater to his American clientele. I’ll give you the address. He’s a few blocks from here.”
Vera tried frantically to think of some way she could redirect her mother’s interest. The idea of traipsing through the city for a Dutch master her mother would not even really appreciate was not Vera’s idea of an afternoon well spent. “Surely his Paris gallery would have a better selection if he’s just setting up here. Why not wait until you’re there next?”
Her mother shook her head. “No way of knowing when that will be. Your father won’t go with me, and I certainly won’t travel alone. Unless you’d like to go with me?”
An hour in a local gallery seemed a less daunting prospect than a month in Europe with her mother, and Vera agreed to go see the painting. After they finished their meal, her mother wrote the gallery’s address on a card. They walked out onto the sidewalk to wait for their drivers to bring their cars. Her mother’s arrived first, and she waved a few fingers at Vera from the backseat. A hint of worry still lingered in her eyes, indicating she had not forgotten Vera’s confession.
After their first lunch together on the day they met, Vera and Bea ate together nearly every afternoon. At first, Vera had alternated between her usual lunch crowd and Bea. Once, she invited Bea to eat with her group, but the blend had not been a harmonious one. All Ella Gregory and Lillie Huntsfield could do was stare, and Bea had pronounced them “dull as flour, but with less taste.” After that, Vera adjusted her schedule to come in late enough that she and Bea missed her other friends entirely. The dreariness of her more appropriate friends could not compete with her new, vibrant friend from the South. Unfortunately, her lively lunches made dinner with her old crowd seem even more tedious. No one in her right mind would choose polite small talk and inquiries about her academic progress over Bea’s naughty asides.
Dinner seating was naturally trickier to navigate, since the evening lacked the casual atmosphere of lunch, and class schedules could not be blamed for interrupting the standing social appointment of the regular table. One night, emboldened by imagining what her new friend would do in her situation, Vera strolled through the dining room right past Ella and Lillie, nodding a greeting but saying nothing. The girls gave her stony looks but would never have dreamed of challenging Vera’s choice. She wove her way around the square, white-clothed tables to take a seat beside Bea.
“Not sitting with the Opera Board tonight?” Bea asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Vera spread her napkin in her lap and scooted her wooden chair closer to the table. “They have each other. I thought you could use some company, too.”
“Maybe they do teach girls up here manners after all.” Bea leaned in and spoke under her breath. “You couldn’t take it anymore?”
“Not for another minute.” Vera laughed. “Your parents may have sent you up here for the good influences of the North, but you’ve been a bad influence on me, Bea Stillman.”
“Impossible. Girls like you are incorruptible.” Bea poked at the sliver of roast beef on her plate.
“I don’t know about that.”
“You’d rather be corruptible? I knew there was a sinner lurking inside you. Maybe now you’ll tell me more about your summer romance.” A familiar gleam brightened Bea’s eyes.
Vera wanted to reply that Arthur’s pursuit was hardly a romance, but she stopped. Of course, technically, it was a romance. He wouldn’t have visited her so often last summer if he hadn’t had marriage on his mind in some way. So why did Bea’s description seem so ill fitting? “Maybe I will,” Vera said at last. She had held off this discussion through weeks of lunches; it was probably time she gave her friend
Vera tried frantically to think of some way she could redirect her mother’s interest. The idea of traipsing through the city for a Dutch master her mother would not even really appreciate was not Vera’s idea of an afternoon well spent. “Surely his Paris gallery would have a better selection if he’s just setting up here. Why not wait until you’re there next?”
Her mother shook her head. “No way of knowing when that will be. Your father won’t go with me, and I certainly won’t travel alone. Unless you’d like to go with me?”
An hour in a local gallery seemed a less daunting prospect than a month in Europe with her mother, and Vera agreed to go see the painting. After they finished their meal, her mother wrote the gallery’s address on a card. They walked out onto the sidewalk to wait for their drivers to bring their cars. Her mother’s arrived first, and she waved a few fingers at Vera from the backseat. A hint of worry still lingered in her eyes, indicating she had not forgotten Vera’s confession.
After their first lunch together on the day they met, Vera and Bea ate together nearly every afternoon. At first, Vera had alternated between her usual lunch crowd and Bea. Once, she invited Bea to eat with her group, but the blend had not been a harmonious one. All Ella Gregory and Lillie Huntsfield could do was stare, and Bea had pronounced them “dull as flour, but with less taste.” After that, Vera adjusted her schedule to come in late enough that she and Bea missed her other friends entirely. The dreariness of her more appropriate friends could not compete with her new, vibrant friend from the South. Unfortunately, her lively lunches made dinner with her old crowd seem even more tedious. No one in her right mind would choose polite small talk and inquiries about her academic progress over Bea’s naughty asides.
Dinner seating was naturally trickier to navigate, since the evening lacked the casual atmosphere of lunch, and class schedules could not be blamed for interrupting the standing social appointment of the regular table. One night, emboldened by imagining what her new friend would do in her situation, Vera strolled through the dining room right past Ella and Lillie, nodding a greeting but saying nothing. The girls gave her stony looks but would never have dreamed of challenging Vera’s choice. She wove her way around the square, white-clothed tables to take a seat beside Bea.
“Not sitting with the Opera Board tonight?” Bea asked, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
Vera spread her napkin in her lap and scooted her wooden chair closer to the table. “They have each other. I thought you could use some company, too.”
“Maybe they do teach girls up here manners after all.” Bea leaned in and spoke under her breath. “You couldn’t take it anymore?”
“Not for another minute.” Vera laughed. “Your parents may have sent you up here for the good influences of the North, but you’ve been a bad influence on me, Bea Stillman.”
“Impossible. Girls like you are incorruptible.” Bea poked at the sliver of roast beef on her plate.
“I don’t know about that.”
“You’d rather be corruptible? I knew there was a sinner lurking inside you. Maybe now you’ll tell me more about your summer romance.” A familiar gleam brightened Bea’s eyes.
Vera wanted to reply that Arthur’s pursuit was hardly a romance, but she stopped. Of course, technically, it was a romance. He wouldn’t have visited her so often last summer if he hadn’t had marriage on his mind in some way. So why did Bea’s description seem so ill fitting? “Maybe I will,” Vera said at last. She had held off this discussion through weeks of lunches; it was probably time she gave her friend
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