Her Infinite Variety (23 page)

"Do you think I'll let it out of my sight?"

He was so eager to get home with his treasure that she rescinded her invitation to lunch, which turned out to be just as well, for when she came through her own front door she found Polly Madison in the hall taking off her hat.

"I hope you can stay for lunch," she addressed her cheerfully. "Otherwise I'll be all alone. Oliver's left me for a new mistress!"

But when Polly turned, Clara was faced with features quite unprepared for jest. "What do you mean by
that?
"

"Oh, only that he's in love with a drawing I gave him for his birthday."

Polly's eyes widened. "Which is precisely what I've come to talk to you about. Never mind lunch. For a bit anyway. Give me a drink. And yourself one. You're going to need it."

In the living room, before the needed tray and ice, Clara sat and listened to what her friend had to say. She found herself curiously unsurprised.

Miss Tyler, it appeared, had garnered the story from her nephew and brought it to Polly as the only person who could properly break it to Clara. Tony had received convincing information from an undisclosed source that Oliver Kip had, on each of the four occasions when the Tyler Foundation had made grants to the Museum of World Art for the purchase of paintings recommended by him, received a master drawing from the dealer selling the painting.

"Received?" Clara asked. "How do you know he didn't pay a full price for them? He's a known collector, you know, and he buys all over town."

"Oh, we're sure he paid
something.
It would have been folly not to. But Tony's informant suggests that the prices were nominal."

"And what, assuming all this to be true, does Auntie want me to do about it?"

"She hopes, of course, that you will break off with Kip."

"And if I don't?"

"Then she's afraid that Tony will seek to have the board replace you as chairman."

"With himself as my replacement?"

"Well, his position would be that you are not fit for the job so long as you are subject to undue influence."

"He's tried that undue influence business before. Without much success, as we all remember."

"Oh, Clara, do be careful!"

"I'm going to be very careful, I promise you, dear."

"What will you do?"

"Well, I think the first thing will be to have a little chat with Mr. Kip, don't you?"

***

Oliver sat in an armchair before the easel on which her birthday gift was exhibited. He contemplated it in the silence that followed her disclosure to which he had listened without comment or change of expression. The only thing that struck her as different from his normal composure was that he now reached for a cigarette and lighted it.

"That my purchases—and purchases they were—coincided with the museum's could be a coincidence."

"Of course, they could," she agreed hastily. "And I'm not suggesting they weren't. But it could be made to look like a pattern."

"And will be, no doubt, by those who want to see me hanged. Oh, yes, I could well lose my job. The trustees would zap me on a suspicion; they don't need anything as prosaic as truth. But so what? World Art isn't the only museum in creation. My mail contains some pretty tempting offers."

"But would they continue if word got out why World Art let you go?"

He shrugged. "It might be a bit sticky for a while. At least on this side of the Atlantic. But Europeans are less puritan. In fact, there's an institution in Rome where I might be even happier than here."

"There's still something you can do that will stop your opponents dead in their tracks."

"And what, pray, is that, my dear?"

Clara fixed her eyes on him steadily before she spoke. "Make a public announcement that the propriety of your four purchases of master drawings has been questioned. Assert strongly that they were arm's-length transactions, the results of close bargaining. And then conclude with the statement that, to avoid even a scintilla of doubt, you are giving the four drawings to World Art."

Oliver looked at her blankly. "You are very generous with other people's property. Those four drawings are the pearls of my collection."

"Which is just why my idea will succeed!"

He shook his head. "Never! I won't do it!"

She viewed him with amazement. He
was,
after all, the man she had thought him. The man? Well, whatever it was, he was it. Her heart seemed to turn into quartz as she reached for the card she had hoped she wouldn't have to play.

"There is something else that may persuade you. Something that I saw in your eyes when we were looking at
that
in the gallery this morning." She pointed to the Pozzo. "It was something even stronger than what you feel for any item in your collection. It was the desire to
acquire
an item. The collector's passion] It's like a sexual drive. Much more potent than any love for the baby produced."

"That's a rather crude way of putting it. But who's to say you don't have a point?"

"Not you, anyway. What I offer you, Oliver, is this: give the drawings to the museum, and I'll pay you for them. At their current market value."

"Clara, that will cost you a fat sum! Think of it!"

"I'd rather think of all the pleasure you will have spending it at auction galleries!"

"But if it should ever get out—"

"It won't get out. I'll pay you over a period. And into Swiss accounts! Will you do it, Oliver?"

"Oh, you know I'll do it. We might even have a drink over it." He rose and went to his pantry from which she heard the pop of a champagne cork. He returned with the bottle and two glasses on a silver tray. He raised his solemnly.

"To the end of our ever interesting affair."

"Oliver! What makes you say that?"

"Well, it's so, isn't it? Hadn't you decided, before you came today, that if I agreed to take your money it would be over between us? Oh, I don't mean our friendship necessarily. We're both intelligent enough to enjoy that. But what the tabloids would call our fling, our walk-out."

"Mightn't they even call it our romance?"

"At any rate, we know what we're talking about. And we both know it's over."

"You're not taking the money to be rid of me?"

"I'm taking the money, my love, because I want the money. It's as simple as that. And I'm always willing to pay the price."

"Isn't that rather begging the question?"

Which enabled them to end a difficult interview with a laugh. Clara put down her glass and almost fled from his apartment. The details of their pact could be worked out later.

She walked rapidly the long blocks home. She knew now that she would survive the break. For what had she not survived? The museum would be silenced by its splendid acquisitions; Tony would be left, as the saying was, with egg on his face; she would be stronger than ever as the foundation chairman; there would be no stain on the radiant persona of Clarabel Tyler. And she might even have bought off a jealous and puritan God by her self-punishment in the cost to her income of her deal with Oliver! Perhaps Sandra was wrong about there being no place for Madame de Pompadour in the age of computers.

At any rate, it was too late for her to change.

T
HE BRIEF KIP SCANDAL
blew away entirely with Oliver's gift of the four drawings, including "Christ Finding the Apostles Asleep," to the Museum of World Art, and their gracious acceptance by the trustees of that institution, and Tony Tyler, presumably relieved that his stepmother had not sought other reprisal, abandoned his plots against the chairman. Or if he didn't, Clara at least heard of none. She never vouchsafed a word on the matter to him and even accorded him a minor grant for his children's school library. She knew the dangers of being a vindictive victor.

She invited Oliver to her bigger dinner parties, and he made himself as agreeable a guest as ever, but she never again worked directly with him over a proposed purchase for his museum, confining herself to the consideration of applications from World Art prepared by the Acquisitions Committee. The reputation of the foundation for judicious and imaginative giving continued to grow, and a large percentage of it was attributed to its active and hard-working chairman.

In the presidential campaign of 1960 Clara contributed heavily from her own funds to promote the election of Senator Kennedy, and after his inauguration rumors reached her from Washington that her name was under consideration for the ambassadorship to the Caribbean island republic of Santa Emilia, a small enough nation, to be sure, but one containing a benign climate, a lush vegetation and a famous winter beach resort, Puerta Castilia.

The first person, however, with whom she discussed the advisability of accepting the post was not enthusiastic. Sandra, who had now moved into the apartment of her boy friend, called early one morning to bring her Grant Lucas's point of view.

"To begin with, Grant is not overly enthusiastic about this whole new Kennedy regime."

"But he voted for him, didn't he?"

"There was no alternative. But he's very dubious about the crowd around Kennedy. They're too rich and bright and handsome and full of themselves. They're the image of idealism rather than idealism itself. Grant says Americans only care for something that
looks
like the real thing. That's what movies and TV have done to us. People actually prefer looks to reality. Or maybe they hope that looks
are
reality!"

Clara found her daughter's boy friend the most tedious type of liberal: the dry economist (he wrote a column for a leftist sheet) who can never be satisfied with any party so long as he can poke a hole in its program. It irritated her that Sandra should submit her better mind to his.

"Sometimes we have to make do with what we've got. And anyway, what has that to do with Santa Emilia?"

"Well, don't you see, Ma, the job Kennedy's offering you is just looks all over again? He's rewarding your cash contribution with a free vacation spot, where you can entertain all your friends and have the titillating title of Mrs. Ambassador! Diplomacy these days is conducted on the telephone between the chief of state and the president, and if anything more is required the secretary of state flies in!"

"And I'll be there to receive him! And how do you know I won't be perfectly happy just to have people address me as Mrs. Ambassador?"

"Oh, Ma, if you're going to make a joke of the whole thing there's no point talking to you."

But Clara had found their little chat more painful than she cared to admit. There was a kind of musical comedy aspect to the rumored appointment, and it seemed to cast an ironic aura over her whole life. Had anyone ever taken her seriously? Did it even matter what grants her foundation made? Wasn't it bound to make them anyway, and wouldn't any half-rational board of trustees do about as well as any other? The needs were endless; anywhere the money went, it would do
some
good.

Polly was better company in her crisis. Stuart was now doing a tour of duty in the State Department, and he had some views on Santa Emilia which he had authorized his wife to impart to her friend. Clara took her out to lunch on the same day that Sandra had called.

"In the first place," Polly announced after they were seated at their table, "the rumor is true. You
are
going to be offered the post. In the second place, Stuart is not at all sure that you should accept it. Of course, this is between us. It wouldn't do for Stuart to be known to have counseled anyone to decline a presidential appointment."

"Of course. And you can be sure it will never be known through me."

"He knows you're my best friend. He wouldn't do this for anyone." Polly paused to let this sink in. And Clara did recognize that from such a bureaucrat as Stuart this was indeed a signal favor. Perhaps one day he would need one from a foundation. God, did she have to suspect
everybody?

"Stuart has a lot of Caribbean friends from his old Panama days," Polly continued now. "And one in particular who does a lot of business in Santa Emilia. He maintains there's a lot more going on there than the CIA is aware of. Of course, Stuart, like most State Department regulars, has no great love for the CIA. He thinks they're neglecting too many spots in the Caribbean in their obsession with Cuba. He thinks they may push us into a mess with Cuba."

"Well, Cuba's a long way from Santa Emilia. I don't know much about Santa Emilia, but I can read a map."

"That's not Stuart's point, dear. His point is that his friend thinks the radicals in Santa Emilia, the so-called People's Party, are much stronger than generally believed. He says they're ready for a coup."

Clara's body froze in immediate attention and excitement. "A coup that will succeed?"

"Who knows? But a coup that will be a blood bath! Stuart thinks you should use all your charm on Kennedy and hold out for Luxembourg. There you could be an overnight success!"

"But can't you see, Polly, that's not what I want? I've had all that!"

"You prefer a blood bath?"

"Much! I look my best in red crepe de chine!"

Polly sniffed. "It's a pity so many have to die to deck you out."

"But they're not going to die for me!
I'm
certainly not causing their deaths. Oh, I know, it may sound ruthless of me to take advantage of disaster, but can't you and I be frank? How else are names made in this world? What would George Washington have been without George III? A surveyor! What would Churchill have been without Hitler? The bungler of Gallipoli! Don't stand between me and my one chance, Polly!"

"Your one chance? My God, if I'd had a fraction of what you've had, my gal! Why can't you rest on your laurels, marry some decent gent and settle down to a life of serene middle age? You have your foundation, isn't that enough?"

"I don't want any more men in my life. Not just now, anyway. I haven't been good with men. Sandra says I've been all mixed up between playing the siren and trying to be a modern female."

"Sandra says that? She has a nerve."

"Well, she thinks it anyway, and to some extent she's right. I was more of a mistress than a wife to Trevor. Maybe that was partly his fault. And I was more of a daughter than a lover to Eric. That was certainly more than partly his fault. And to Oliver, what was I trying to be? A mother? If so, I succeeded, for I had no influence on him at all. Well, what the hell? Now I'm going to be myself."