Bloody Royal Prints (27 page)

•••

The second pub, named the Unicorn, with a carving of that magical animal over the door, was smaller and less decorated than the first pub, but it was snug and cozy, with a lovely garden and window boxes full of multicolored flowers. They were seated in the garden, and Tony ordered what the menu called “the ploughman's lunch,” for both of them.

They sat at a round picnic table, which seemed far too big for the two of them, until the food was served. A large basket of freshly baked bread, still hot from the oven, and a pot of butter, came first. Next, a mammoth tray of cheese wedges, enough for a hungry family of ten, appeared. She looked at Tony for enlightenment.

“The typical cheese for a ploughman's lunch is cheddar, but this pub specializes in the ploughman's dish, and serves assorted English cheeses. Try the cheddar first, but the Stilton's a must-have.”

Next, the waitress delivered a large bowl of salad—fresh mixed greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, tossed with a little oil and vinegar, and a tray of small dishes.

“What's in the little bowls?” Coleman asked.

“English mustard—be careful, it's very spicy. Some people find it too hot. Also pickled onions, various preserves, and other kinds of pickles. Beer is the usual beverage, but I got you some cider. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely,” she said.

She promised herself that she'd eat sparingly—that cheese was not low-fat or reduced-calorie—but it was so good, she ate until she was far too full.

•••

In the car, on the way to London, she said, “What a charming place, what a delicious lunch, what a wonderful experience. Thank you, Tony.” Less than half an hour later, she was sound asleep.

•••

When the car stopped, Coleman sat up, wide awake. “Where are we?” she asked.

“We're at my flat. I left a small supper in the fridge for us here before we left this morning,” Tony said.

“Flat? I thought you lived with your father?” Coleman said.

“I do, but I have this place for privacy. I never have a moment to myself when I'm at home, or in my office. This is my secret getaway.” He unlocked a glass and metal door, and led her through a red-carpeted entry with large vases of lilies on tables on either side. They stepped into a small elevator and rode up two flights to a corridor where he unlocked another door. A short hall took them to a very long room on their left, with a fireplace at one end, and a wall-to-wall bookcase at the other end. A table, seating eight, stood in front of the bookcase; two sofas and a coffee table stood in front of the fireplace. The wall opposite the door was all windows, through which a view of a park could be seen.

Looking at another wall, Coleman said, “I've seen these posters before in Dinah's gallery. Why have you decorated your flat with nineteenth-century American posters?”

“It's my tribute to your country,” Tony laughed. “Seriously, I'm very fond of these images. Art Nouveau was just showing up in both Britain and America, and posters demonstrate this best.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Coleman asked.

“Probably this one, by Will Bradley,
When Hearts Are Trumps
. It's the most romantic, with that title, and the image of a beautiful woman and a satyr surrounded by swirls of foliage.”

“Yes, it's beautiful,” Coleman agreed, intrigued by Tony's emphasis on romance.

Tony continued, “Will Bradley is my favorite poster artist. His
Blue Lady
is another good example. The elegant woman is standing in a woods, all very simple designs. This is Florence Lundborg's
The Lark
, set in California. That's the Marin Peninsula behind the soaring bird. Maxfield Parrish did these two, both of nude women, one reading. This is
Miss Träumerei
by Ethel Reed, and there's a story here: Ethel Reed came to Britain when she was twenty-three, after a successful early career as a poster artist in Boston. She made one poster here—that's it over there,
The Quest of the Golden Girl
—then she disappeared. She might have had an affair, maybe she had a child, with the author of the book advertised by the poster.”

“You know a lot about these,” Coleman said. “You
are
a romantic.”

“Guilty. I became interested, and there was little published information, so I did some research. But, yes, Art Nouveau is romantic.”

“They are all so colorful,” Coleman said. “But who would expect to find a collection like this in a London flat?”

“Do you want to see more, take a tour?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” she said.

“The kitchen is on the right,” he said, “with a table where I can have breakfast or a snack. Down the hall on the left is a bedroom, which I use as my office-library. Sometimes I watch TV or a DVD there. My bedroom is on the right. There are two baths, and a powder room.”

“All for you? Do you entertain here?” she asked

“No, and before you ask, you're the first woman I ever brought here.”

“I'm honored,” she said.

“Don't say another word,” he said. He put his arms around her, and picked her up. She had the same feeling she'd had when he'd kissed her Sunday night. She thought she might faint. He kissed her again and again, and she was afraid she'd fall when he put her down. But he didn't put her down. He laid her on the bed.

He undressed her, and himself with ease and absence of clumsiness. In a few minutes he was on her, and surrounding her. He made love to her, passionately and exquisitely. It was unlike anything she had ever experienced, and when it was over, she longed to start all over again.

He cradled her in his arms, and kissed her again. “I've jumped the gun. I didn't mean to rush you. I should have made my speech first, but I couldn't wait: Coleman, will you marry me? Before you answer, just know that, just as I said I've never brought a woman here, I've never said those words before.”

Coleman was still in a daze, but she heard him, and she tried to sit up.

“Be still,” he said. “I'm holding you until I get an answer.”

“Tony, you can't be serious. I met you Friday night. We hardly know each other. Anyway, I'm not the marrying kind.”

“It doesn't matter how long we've known each other. I knew on the Eye that I wanted to marry you. Do you doubt that we are meant to be together, after our lovemaking?”

“There's a lot more to marrying than lovemaking. Can we change the subject? I can't think straight.”

“What would you like to do? Or talk about?”

“I want to know all about your family.”

“My family is my father. My mother died when I was born. Theirs was a genuine love match, and he could never bring himself to marry again. But he's been after me to get married and have a family since I was in my teens. I was thirty on my last birthday, and he had hoped I'd be married and have a couple of children by now.

“I've told him I'll never settle for anything less than he had—I want a true-love marriage, like his.

“But he and all of his friends keep presenting me with potential brides. He's desperate to get me married and with children while I'm still young. He says old fathers are bad breeders. He makes me feel like a stud horse or a bull.”

“How would he feel about you marrying an American?” Coleman asked.

“He'd welcome you with open arms. That's why I haven't introduced you to him—he'd tell you what a wonderful husband I'll be, and what a great life you'd have married to me and being a duchess. We'd both be uncomfortable and embarrassed.”

“Does he know about me?” Coleman asked.

“Of course he does. He knows everything I do, every breath I take. He doesn't like me doing the art-antiques recovery work. He thinks it's dangerous. But he loved the story about you and your discovery at 23 Culross, and the triumph of the great Dolly.”

“Sounds like you might be asking me to marry you just to get a wife, and get him off your back. Honestly, I'm all wrong for you,” Coleman said.

“Oh, no, you're perfect,” he said. “Please say you'll marry me.”

“Tony, we've just met. I hardly know you, but I've enjoyed your company. Let's make a deal: Don't ask me again until the day before I go back to New York. I promise to think about it, but don't get your hopes up.”

“I'll do anything you want,” he promised.

“Okay. Let's have fun,” she said.

He reached for her, and kissed her again.

Wednesday morning, May, London

When Coleman woke a little after six, Tony was wide awake, lying on his side, and staring down at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I must look awful,” she said.

“I'm staring at you because I'm afraid I'll miss something. And because you are beautiful.”

She sat up, holding the covers around her. “Go away,” she said. “I have to put on yesterday's clothes and go home. Call me a cab, will you? I'll be ready to go in five minutes.”

“I'll drive you home,” he said.

“No, no, I want a cab. Everyone in the neighborhood and all of the people working for Heyward will see your red car,” she said.

“Heyward won't be surprised,” he said.

“Go away. I have an important business appointment this morning,” Coleman said.

“Will I see you tonight?” he asked.

“I don't think so. I think Heyward made plans. Here's the deal: I'll see you every night I can until I leave, but most of the time it will be with family—Jonathan and Dinah, Heyward. We'll all go to the theater, opera, ballet, and when it's a family party, I'll stay at Heyward's. When I don't have to be with family, and you and I go out alone, I'll stay here. Don't argue. Now go away. I have to get out of here.”

•••

He stood with her on the street until the cab came, and helped her in. He leaned over to kiss her, but she dodged him. “Go away, I'm in a hurry,” she said.

“You are a hard woman,” he said.

“I'll call you later,” she said.

•••

Coleman used her key to open Heyward's front door. She didn't see a soul. But she sensed that there were people all around, staying out of her way, to spare her the embarrassment of having come in at six thirty in the morning after staying out all night.

She'd left Dolly with Heyward, and he or Dolly must have heard her come in, because when she reached her bedroom door, Dolly was sitting outside it, waiting for her. She picked up the little dog and cuddled her. She stripped off yesterday's clothes, and took a long shower.

She put on the white robe she'd found in the bathroom when she arrived, and pushed the intercom button to the kitchen.

“What can I do for you, madam?” a voice said.

“Would you please bring me some breakfast? Orange juice, coffee, American bacon, toast with no butter, and a blueberry muffin. And will you also please bring Dolly's breakfast?”

“Right away, madam,” the voice said.

Coleman was hungry. She and Tony had forgotten to eat supper last night. She was used to eating three light—non-fattening—meals a day. The meals she was eating here were far from non-fattening. She dreaded getting on a scale. There was one in her bathroom, but she was ignoring it. She'd pushed her weight out of her mind. When she thought about Tony, she shoved those thoughts away, too. She had things to do, and places to go.

What would she wear today? It was a business appointment, but with another woman. A suit, but not too uptight. The tangerine suit she'd worn her first day in London would be perfect.

Someone tapped on the door, and a maid came in with a trolley loaded with her meal, and Dolly's. Coleman put Dolly's dish out on the balcony, with a full bowl of fresh water, and sat down at the trolley to enjoy her breakfast. She ate slowly, savoring every bite.

When she had finished her breakfast, and was dressed and ready to go, she was still early for her ten o'clock appointment. She'd go downstairs and face Heyward. Would he mention her overnight absence? She didn't think he would. He was the soul of tact.

Heyward was sitting at the dining room table drinking coffee, and reading the
Wall Street Journal
. He'd already finished the
Financial Times
—it was folded neatly, lying on a chair. He read both every morning. He was always working. She smiled to herself; she was like him that way. She liked working night and day. This time in London had been a rare holiday. She joined him and accepted another cup of coffee. She told him she was on her way to visit
Cottage & Castle
.

“Great,” he said. “I'll be interested to hear what you think. Will you be back here for lunch?” he asked.

“I think so. I'll call you when I know for sure,” she said. “If she suggests we lunch together, I probably should do it.”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I think you have this on your calendar, but in case you've forgotten, we're going to the ballet tonight—Sadler's Wells. You and me, and Dinah and Jonathan. Is that all right with you? We can invite Tony, if you like. I'm sure I can get another ticket.”

“No, just the four of us sounds great. After lunch today, I have to see Rachel, then I'm going to spend the rest of the day in my room. I'd like to sleep all afternoon, so I can be wide awake for the ballet.”

“That's a good idea. Your stay here has been far from restful. I hope you like
Cottage & Castle
.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Am I going by car?”

“Yes, of course. William is waiting for you. Give me a call later about lunch.”

•••

Coleman liked Kathleen Mann as soon as they met. She asked Coleman to call her Kathy, and they settled down to talk about
Cottage & Castle
.

“Why do you want to sell?” Coleman asked.

“I don't want to sell; I have to. I can't compete with
Country Life
. They're a weekly, with a huge staff. I'm a monthly with a small staff. I'm always behind—can't ever beat them to a story. We have a much smaller subscriber list, and can't come close to their advertising. I'm short of capital—can't afford to expand the staff. It's hopeless.”