“I’ve seen dirty dishes before. Get the coffee, black for me. I want to show you what I found in Dorothea’s desk.”
Simon’s heart did a thump. He went to the urn and poured two cups. When he got back to the table Mrs. Mills was opening her handbag. She pulled out a worn leather book and a pair of glasses and said, “Did they tell you in your instruction course that she kept a diary?”
“They told us she kept a strict record of all her art purchases.”
“I mean a personal diary. I was pretty sure it would still be up in her living quarters to which I have access. Sure enough, it was in her desk. You’re right, this coffee isn’t bad.”
She sipped appreciatively, then began turning the stiff, yellowing pages of the book. Even looking at it sideways Simon recognized Dorothea’s handwriting — it was all over the museum — and now here it was at his elbow about to speak to him before he was born.
“Listen to this.” Mrs. Mills pressed the book open and started to read. “ ‘December 20, 1925. Something very upsetting happened last night after the dinner for the ambassador. Our little stableboy apparently stole the utterly valueless but dear to me napkin ring that Everett bought me on our honeymoon. He ran off with it after a scuffle with a hired waiter. I’m very upset. I like the child. I hope he has the courage to return it. I’ll reward him.’ ”
Simon sat like a statue as Mrs. Mills turned some pages. She read on. “ ‘No sign yet of little Willie. None of the servants seem to know where his home is or I’d go there. I suppose I’ll forget the whole episode in time. Why does it trouble me? Probably because the child was too appealing.’ ”
Mrs. Mills closed the book and picked up her cup. “So you see, she cared enough about the boy to feel bad that he would steal something. Doesn’t that make you feel better?”
“No,” Simon said, feeling worse, “because he didn’t steal anything. Some waiter stuck the napkin ring in a roll and Willie got it by mistake. He tried to give it back but he can’t remember how.” He knew Mrs. Mills was looking at him in bewilderment, but what was the point of going into it? He stood up. “Thanks for coming here, Mrs. Mills, and for reading me that.”
“Simon,” she put her hand on his arm, “I want you to go back to work at the museum.”
He looked at her in astonishment. “I’ve been fired, remember?”
“Not if I say you haven’t.” He believed her. “As the senior member of the board, I have the last word on such matters and I think you should return.”
“No!” It burst from him. “I never want to see the place again!”
Was she pleased that he sounded so shaken? He didn’t care.
“You’re being childish. It’s the ideal job for you. Admit that you love it there.” I did, I did, until... “You just made a silly mistake that didn’t hurt anybody or anything.” She handed him her cup. “Get me a touch more. Besides,” she began to smile, “I rather think Dorothea would agree with me.”
Oh, you don’t know her as I do! She wanted to throw me out!
“So report to the museum tonight for that wedding. Bring that pretty nurse with you. The bride’s grandmother is a friend of mine and we lug all our friends to these things. I get the impression that Volanda — charming name — is special to you. Now, my coffee, please.”
Simon walked to the urn in a turmoil, paid for the coffee, and followed Mrs. Mills down the hall. At the front door she drained her cup and handed it to him, smiling brightly. “See you tonight.”
Volanda said of course he should go. “And of course you’ll go back to work there! She’s a sweetie!” When Volanda was excited her brown eyes had lights in them. “Oh, Si, I’m so happy!”
“I’ll only go tonight if you will.”
She thought for a minute. “Sure, I’ll come later if your mom or Aunt Hannah can come here.” She put her arms around him. “Si, don’t laugh, but it’s almost as if Mrs. Fox-Nugent knew and was trying to make it up to Willie.”
But he was sick at heart because Mrs. Fox-Nugent still thought he was a thief.
Simon loved to see the museum lit up for Christmas. Add a wedding and, wow.
Cars lined Sun Circle and halfway up Sapphire Drive, which meant the parking lot was full. As he walked his motorbike up the driveway, music floated down from the garden. He walked into the office where five guides were already assembled and retrieved his blazer from the back of the chair. Somebody asked what it was doing there and he said the lining had needed mending. He put it on, hoping that its presence here meant that Mrs. Mills had broken the news of the miscreant’s return. Apparently she had, for when Mr. Lucas came in his eyes flicked past Simon with no signs of surprise and he began to speak quickly, looking hot and nervous in his white dinner jacket.
“You all know these private affairs require extra vigilance. The grounds are where you’ll be needed first. The ceremony will be held in the Neptune Grove followed by dinner and dancing. It’s supposed to stay warm so everything will happen out there and people can ask you about the outdoor exhibits. No indoor tours till after the tables are removed. The bride’s mother says you’re welcome to help yourselves at the buffet, but keep circulating and be available for questions. There are some young children, so watch out they don’t climb on things.”
“They love the Etruscan bull,” said somebody.
“And St. Francis’s wolf,” said somebody else.
“Well, this is a museum, not a playground.” Mr. Lucas’s voice was growing irritated. “Just keep your eyes open.” He took a paper from his desk. “There are about a hundred guests, so when the tours start, make it groups of twenty. We don’t want to be here all night. Go in this order.”
A paper was passed around and Simon saw that his name had been added in pencil at the bottom of the list. Good. Volanda would be late; they could leave together.
“Come meet your hostess,” said Mrs. Mills as they filed out to the hall. She’d replaced her hat with a red hibiscus stuck jauntily in her hair and wore a long, flowered dress. Simon felt a real fondness for her as she smiled around at them, winked openly at him, and preceded them to the garden.
Brilliant flares in each corner, candles on the tables, and a magnificent Christmas tree made the music-filled enclosure an enchanted place. Guests laughed and chatted and circled the buffet. Simon wondered, was it like this the night that Willie waited and waited to get at the garbage pail?
Mrs. Mills led them to a tall, rather distracted-looking woman talking to the bandleader. She nodded to them, asked that when the band played “Here Comes the Bride” would they please round up everybody who might be wandering around looking at statues or whatever and get them over to the Neptune Grove for the ceremony. Then she said she really appreciated their coming and the bar was over there.
Simon got a soda and turned to find Mrs. Mills behind him. She said, “You’re a good sport.”
“I’m a good sport? I feel so darned lucky to be back I don’t know what to say, except thank you.”
“That’ll do.”
He looked around the lovely, flickering scene floating in music. “Was it like this the night...?”
“Very like. Not a wedding, of course, but quite a grand affair in honor of the French ambassador. I remember Dorothea wore the blue satin evening gown she was painted in because it was designed in Paris.” Her eyes fastened on his face. “Simon, you started to tell me something about Willie this afternoon but you didn’t finish. What was it?”