Chapter 54
Lucy
Dirk and I fall intoan easy rhythm of visits. Sometimes we’ll share a simple dinner at his place or mine, or walk together to a local restaurant. He never says “no” to a walk and talk, and we chat non-stop about all the years we missed, between our first meeting and our engagement, about our children’s milestones and the world events we saw from our own corners of the everyday world.
Always, Dirk makes me welcome with his smiles, or a touch on my arm or wrist.
I would almost be content, but every day is bittersweet. I’m still packing. I really don’t want to move away.
One night, I remember the teaspoons under the window seat. I sit up, heart galloping. They remind me that someone else lived here before I did. Maybe the original owner had more than one Brighton Court apartment. I can barely wait for morning.
Next day, when I drop in on Mrs B, she has just baked a date loaf. She sits me at her bright kitchen counter and hands me a slice, warm and dripping with butter.
“I love my lamps, Lucy,” she says as she pours me a coffee. “You sure know how to decorate. Really brightens up the orange around here. I’ve been telling everyone about you.”
“So glad you like them.”
“I’d leave them on all day if I didn’t have to pay the power bill. First time in my life I’ve longed for night-time, that’s for sure.”
I smile and munch and sip as she chats about her friends, and then I hold up a hand.
“Oh, am I prattling?”
“Mrs B, I just want to know who owns these apartments. I was thinking that even if I missed out on buying my apartment, if I could approach an owner directly, I might be able to buy another one, especially as my alimony will come through soon.”
“Ooh. Yes. Good thinking, Lucy. Let me think... Well, we know who’s in the penthouse, don’t we?” Her special smile makes me blush, and she pats my hand.
“In your place, an older lady lived there for a very long time before you moved in. I might be wrong, but I thought she was related to Professor No. Helga? Hedda? Kept to herself. She was friendly enough, but very formal. Very proper, always beautifully dressed; old fashioned.”
Should I tell her about the spoons? Telling Mrs B about anything might be a bit like broadcasting. Soon everyone would know.
“We saw less and less of her over the years, and then the movers arrived. She had beautiful furniture. Very old fashioned, like something out of a museum, just like Professor No’s furniture – that’s what made me think they might even be related – not that I ever asked – and next thing I knew, the place came up for rent, and you moved in.
“Say, when are you going to finish fixing up our garden, Lucy? Still planning on a pizza oven? Great idea. Take my word for it. Don’t you ask Professor No. Just do it.”
I go to the realty company, but the receptionist tells me there are privacy laws and she can’t give out any information. Then I remember who might be able to find out. I call Hilary.
“Sure, Ms Beston. I’ll do some searches for you.”
I tackle the garden with renewed enthusiasm. The exercise warms me up through the last of winter. It’s easier to see the form of the original garden with so many plants dormant, and wet days make the weeds easier to pull out. Dirk helps me trim back some of the taller plants. It’s another way of being with him and I love it.
Late next day, my phone lights up.
“Hilary?”
“Lucy. Good. Sorry to call so late, but I thought you’d want to know. I’ve had a call from the seller’s agent. Another apartment in your building is coming up for sale, and they’re open to offers. They say this one’s in worse condition than yours, but it’s on the same floor, on the south side, so you’ll get winter sun. Can I make an offer for you?”
“Yes. Please. Oh, Hilary! Start with my original offer, but then, you know how far I can go. Well no. Not that far. It was unrealistic. I really want to give my diamonds to Phoebe, and not have to sell them. Try my original offer and then add up to twelve thousand max. Fourteen thousand. Make it sixteen. No more. Please. Quickly. I’m so excited!”
I barely sleep awaiting Hilary’s response.
Next morning, there’s a knock on my door. It’s Amaryllis, with rare spots of color on her cheeks.
