"I'd like to insure it for ten thousand, please." He glanced at her, looked at the paper he had taken from the clipboard, and nodded. "Yeah, I can see why you would, lady," he chuckled. "That's a piece of coin you have in that box. Let me have your address, and I'll figure out the cost of insurance."
Janice told him the address, and he wrote it on the form and consulted a chart to compute the mileage. There was a rumble of a cart behind him, then a large crate with stickers on all four sides began sliding through the door, rapping against the frame on both sides as the handler edged it through.
"Please to be careful," Wendy said in sudden concern, her French accent thick with the tension in her voice. "It is very delicate."
"Watch what you're doing, Charlie," the man said absently, still writing on the form, then he turned to the box and jerked a small, yellow envelope from the side of it.
"What is the import duty charge?" Janice asked.
The clerk scratched his ear, pursing his lips and looking at the piece of paper he had taken from the envelope. "Well, this is the customs clearance here, and… looks like you made out, lady – I guess they didn't figure it was worth anything."
Janice and Wendy stiffened. Janice's lips pressed together in a firm line and her nostrils flared as she became pale, and Wendy's face flushed as she glared at the clerk, her eyes sparkling. Christina opened her mouth to say something and made an abortive movement to put her hand on Janice's arm, then she dropped her hand and moved back a pace, sighing and looking exasperated.
"May I ask precisely what you meant when you said Customs presumed the contents of that crate were without value?" Janice asked quietly, the tone of her voice penetrating and acid.
The man looked absently up from the form, then his mouth dropped open and he shrugged in surprise at Janice's and Wendy's obvious anger as he looked from one of them to the other. "Hell, I don't know, lady. It's just some kind of old fiddle or something, isn't it?"
Wendy's face turned crimson, and Janice's became white. "I will have you know that there is a Holtzhausen violoncello and a Bellini bow in that crate," Janice hissed, "both of which were made by master craftsmen and both of which are virtually priceless. I find your sense of humor revolting, and I absolutely will not permit you to refer to a musical instrument of this quality…"
"Look, lady, I didn't mean to pi… make you mad," the clerk stuttered as the handler trundled his cart back through the door, looking at them over his shoulder. "I don't know anything about any Pellinis or Householses…"
"…utterly vile and contemptible to have a priceless musical instrument degraded in such a manner…"
"…telling you that you don't have to pay anything, lady…"
"…quite understand your meaning, and I am personally affronted that an instrument of this quality should be treated in such a cavalier manner as to be presumed without value by…"
"You mean you want to pay?" he shouted in disbelief, waving the form.
"Absolutely!" Janice snapped, her voice still quiet but slashing with its caustic, acid intonation. "I insist upon it! I insist that a fair valuation be made of this instrument and that I be permitted to pay an appropriate import fee for it…"
Christina turned and walked toward the terminal entrance, and the angry voices faded behind her. She sighed and shook her head, then she chuckled wryly and began walking more rapidly.
A fat, middle-aged woman in a fur coat and hat plucked at her arm as she passed. "Excuse me."
Christina stopped and turned. "Yes?"
"I saw you over there with… isn't that Doctor Janice Wycliffe, the famous orchestra conductress?"
Christina sighed. "Well, that's Doctor Wycliffe. And the young lady with her is her first cello."
The woman smiled and nodded eagerly, lifting her large handbag and digging in it. "Oh, I don't know if I have it with me… oh, yes – good, here it is." She took an autograph book from her purse and looked back up at Christina. "Do you think she'll give me her autograph?"
Christina looked back at where they were standing. The freight clerk was now silent, scratching his ear worriedly and looking down at the floor, and Janice was standing straight and rigid, her lips moving rapidly as the scathing tirade came from them. The sound of her voice was only a murmur across the massive room, but it sounded as though she was beginning to break into German. Wendy was starting to join in. And it sounded like French. Christina slowly shook her head and looked back down at the woman. "No, I don't think I'd ask her right now."
The woman stiffened and raised her chin. "Well, may I ask why?"
"Certainly. It's because you're more likely to get you pen shoved up your ass than anything else right now."
The woman flushed and stepped back. "I beg your pardon!"
"You'll be doing more than that if you go over there waving an autograph book around right now." She looked at Janice again, smiling slightly. "You see, that isn't really Doctor Wycliffe the famous conductress right now. That's Fraulein Doktor Janice Wycliffe the musician. Sometimes I think I've never met anyone who can compare with her for sheer lunacy. Look at her – all pissed off because the man won't take her money. But she's also the most beautiful person I've ever met – the most beautiful in every way. Sensitive, emotional, temperamental, and exciting…" She suddenly broke off as tears flooded into her eyes and a quaver entered her voice, and she blinked rapidly. She cleared her throat and began talking again, her voice soft and thoughtful. "With the possible exception of that little chick with her, I really believe she's the only person I've ever met who's been truly alive in all the ways that makes any difference."
"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about."
Christina cleared her throat again and sighed, nodding. "I'm not so sure I do myself. If I did, perhaps I could explain it to you. Perhaps I could even explain it to myself. Take my advice, though – no autographs." She turned and began walking rapidly toward the entrance, pressing her lips together and raising her chin as she blinked her eyes.
The woman looked at Christina walking toward the entrance, then turned and looked at Janice for along, thoughtful moment. She put her autograph book back in her purse with a shrug and walked on.