She gave one last glance at the bookshelf and followed Joshua out of the room.
Two tired-looking sandwiches sat on a plastic tray in the basement kitchen; everything else had been piled up in the trash can. Joshua went to a cabinet and took down two plates, setting a sandwich on each one. “This looks like roast beef, and this one, ham. Do you have a preference?”
She pointed to the ham. “That one, I guess.”
“Would you like some water to go with it?”
“God, what I wouldn’t do for a cup of tea.”
He looked about, hands on his hips. “They have a catering kitchen down here, let me see what I can find. Stay here.”
He was gone before she could say anything further. A few minutes later, after she’d devoured half her sandwich, unable to wait any longer, he walked into the room with two steaming cups of tea on a tray.
“The catering kitchen is full of the basics, so we won’t starve.”
“That’s good to know, thank you.” The tea was warm and comforting, and made her forget for a quick moment what a mess she’d gotten herself into. On the table was an oversized book, and she pulled it toward her. The cover showed the same garden off the side of the house where she and the other models had squirmed in the snow, but in the spring. The snowdrifts were replaced by a wide expanse of green lawn, and the trio of French doors that led into the living hall were bracketed by two enormous magnolia trees in full bloom.
“It’s a history of the Frick Collection,” said Joshua. “I left one on each table for the photo shoot, in case anyone was interested.”
Veronica felt bad that she hadn’t even glanced at it during her lunch with Tangerine, nor had any of the others, she was sure. “Those trees are splendid.”
“They’re some of the largest magnolia trees in the New York area. Planted in 1939 by the board, and chosen because they represent transience, as the blossoms emerge and then drop away every spring.” This bloke was a walking advert for the place.
“Like the way this was a house and then a museum. The way the family was here and now they’re not.”
“Exactly.”
Same with the diamond: a family heirloom and then an unsolved mystery. But she didn’t say that out loud. Instead, they ate their sandwiches in an awkward silence.
Once Joshua was finished, he sat back and placed his hands on his thighs. “While we may not be able to get out, one thing I know we can do, because they did it during a holiday party in December, is light the fireplace in the living hall. I don’t know how much wood there is, but at least that way we won’t freeze to death before dawn.”
Up in the living hall, Joshua arranged some kindling and logs from the rack beside the fireplace while Veronica stood watching.
He placed a log on the fire and turned halfway around to look at her. “Do you want to take a seat or something?”
“I wasn’t sure if I should. If it was allowed.”
“As long as you don’t break it, I think we’ll be okay. Your girlfriends didn’t seem to have any awareness of how to sit in a chair this morning.”
He was thinking of Gigi, with her leg slung over the arm. “They’re not my friends.” She carefully settled on the sofa, the cushions overly soft from years of use. “To think this was all the rage, once. Green velvet with a fringe.”
“Not your style?”
“Not really.” The fire soon sprang to life, warming her toes. She settled back and studied the three portraits on the wall in front of them. “Not that I have a style. I mean, I still live at home. But I don’t think I’d want those three old men hanging in my living room, if I had a living room.”
Joshua pointed out each one, from left to right. “Sir Thomas More, St. Jerome, and Thomas Cromwell.”
“Funny how they’re positioned so it appears as if More and Cromwell are giving each other the evil eye. Makes sense, considering they were enemies in real life. Your Mr. Frick must have had a wicked sense of humor.”
“I like to think he did. I particularly love the one of More, with those rich velvet sleeves and the five-o’clock shadow on his face.”
Veronica had to admit that it grew on her, especially once he’d pointed out the technical artistry. “How did you end up working here?”
“My mother’s an artist, and we used to visit the Frick regularly when I was a kid. She was the one who suggested I apply for an internship, insisting it would be a good use of my art history major, not to mention a stepping-stone to a career in the arts.”
“Where do you go to university?”
“I’m a senior at Brooklyn College, where my father is a history professor. My mom and dad like to joke that this internship is the perfect mix of their two professions.”
“Huh.”
“Huh what?”
“That would make me a taxicab driver who takes steno.”
“I’d hate to be a passenger in your cab, then.”
“True. Might make for a bumpy ride.”
When Veronica next opened her eyes, she was stretched out on the couch, covered by a thick quilt that she recognized from the bedroom upstairs. Between the jet lag and the long day, she’d completely zonked out in the living hall of the Frick.
She sat up and looked about. It was no longer night, but instead of a bright sun streaming through the windows, a wretched wind shook the panes while sleet battered the glass like hundreds of fingernails tapping away. The storm was worse than when it had started. Her watch read nine o’clock in the morning.
Joshua entered, holding two mugs of coffee, and handed one to Veronica. “I was listening to the radio in the kitchen, and the mayor’s declared a state of emergency due to the snowstorm. The city’s shut down through tomorrow morning,”
“You mean we’re stuck here until Wednesday?”
“I’m afraid so.”
Her modeling career was lost for good, then. She had no way of reaching anyone to tell them where she was, or what had happened. Veronica had been given one opportunity to turn things around for her family, and gone and mucked it all up. It would be back to her uncle’s pawnshop, back to her old life of worry and loss. Poor Polly, she deserved so much better than that. While some of the other residents of Kent House had no idea where they were, or why, Polly knew exactly what was going on, that she’d been put away because they couldn’t afford to keep her anymore, like some child’s pony bought on a whim.
Something had to be done.
The treasure was still out there. Whereas last night the idea of taking something that was not hers seemed more theoretical than real to Veronica, today something had shifted. She could not return to England with nothing to show for all this. Polly was counting on her.
Maybe this extra day was a sign, a gift of sorts. She wouldn’t let these next twenty-four hours go to waste.
“You said you’d fallen asleep last night, before we found each other,” she said. “Where do you work?”
“I’m down in the basement, in the old bowling alley. There are no windows, no light, so sometimes I lose track of time.”
“There’s a bowling alley in here?”
“The Fricks had it installed with the very latest in 1914 bowling alley technology. Works like a charm, still. If we get bored enough, I’ll take you down and you can try it out.” He seemed less suspicious of her than he’d been last night, or maybe the fact that they were stuck for longer than expected had tempered his distrust.
“Entertainment. I like that. Why did they put you in the bowling alley?”
“When they were putting in the alarm system, the workers discovered several boxes of files and letters down there. They’d been tucked away in a closet and forgotten all these years, so I’m going through and cataloguing them, finding connections.”
His eyes danced as he spoke; this was a man who enjoyed his work. She felt flashes of that sometimes at the pawnshop, like the day she was unpacking boxes from an estate sale and came upon a pile of old letters. Uncle Donny said to just toss them in the bin, but she’d saved them for when the shop was slow and read through each one, imagining what the letter writers might have looked like, where they might have lived, who they had loved.