Ellen Crosby - The Viognier Vendetta

My gown was the color of spring sunshine. He was right. Everyone else was wearing black.

I slipped my arm through his. “Let’s not get into metaphors, shall we? You brought me here. Now at least go see the exhibit with me.”

Two marble staircases on either side of the Great Hall swept up to the second-floor galleries. At the foot of one of them a small knot of people had gathered in a semicircle.

“What do you bet Tommy’s at the center of that scrum? I wonder where Simon is?” Mick said.

“He’s there,” I said. “On the stairs by the statue.”

Simon deWolfe stood next to a bronze statue of a slender-armed woman gracing the newel post at the base of the staircase around which the crowd had gathered. The globe of the torch she held glowed like a small moon above his head as he signaled for everyone’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, though this evening you have been invited to the premier of the fabulous Asher Collection that Sir Thomas and Lady Asher have so generously donated to the Library of Congress, it is apparent that recent events in the press weigh on the minds of many of you. At this time, Sir Thomas would like to make a few remarks.” His stilted speech echoed in the now silent gallery. I wondered if he had rehearsed it or if perhaps Sir Thomas had written it for him.

Voices bubbled up from the group as Tommy Asher and his wife climbed the steps, stopping on a landing decorated with a marble frieze of children at play. Simon and Miranda Asher stepped back as Sir Thomas, ravenlike in his tux, began to speak. Behind him the brilliant Mediterranean hues and rich gilding on the vaulted ceilings and walls of the second-floor gallery glowed like the inside of a Fabergé egg.

“We’re here this evening in this magnificent place—once called the book palace of the American people—for the unveiling of an astonishing collection of maps, paintings, architectural drawings, and documents pertaining to the early history of our nation’s capital, a city built by men who, though they revered classical architecture for its timelessness and beauty, were some of the most visionary and forward-thinking individuals of their time,” Asher said.

For someone who grew up as the working-class son of a driver to the American ambassador to Great Britain, I noticed for the first time that he’d somehow acquired the cut-glass accent of aristocracy. How much of the man was real and how much was fabricated?

“Long ago when many parts of the world were unexplored, cartographers wrote ‘Beyond This Point There Be Dragons’ when they didn’t know what lay at the edge of their maps,” Asher continued. “But explorers, men like Columbus and Magellan, were not afraid to venture beyond what was safe and known. They were daring, courageous—bold. Some of you have been with me for years—decades—trusting me in uncharted waters to steer a prudent course for you and your financial future. I ask that you please continue to give me the trust and confidence I have earned many times over as we work through a difficult time where some now fear dragons. Thank you and I hope you enjoy the evening and the exhibit.”

There was a smattering of applause, barely enough to be polite. Asher looked grim as he surveyed the crowd. Perhaps it was my dress, a splash of sunny yellow in a sea of black, but it seemed to me that Tommy Asher’s gaze lingered on us as we stood apart, next to a bronze bust of George Washington, longer than on anyone else in the room. He leaned over and said something to Simon, who glanced our way as well. Then Asher took his wife’s arm and descended the stairs. I lost sight of him when he plunged into the crowd and it closed around him again.

“Tommy’s absolutely right,” Mick was saying. “You can’t let a few people running scared turn this into a stampede that will take everyone down with them. If we just hang tough we’ll get through this.”

I finished my champagne and thought of Ian and his theories and David Wildman who was now poring over Ian’s notes. Who was Mick kidding? Did he really believe Tommy Asher could bluff his way through this firestorm and stanch the outflow of money so his firm wouldn’t go under?

“You promised me we’d see the Asher Collection,” I said. “How about it?”

“Sure.” He gave me a quizzical look. I hadn’t been subtle in changing the subject. “Why not?”

We had just started up the stairs when Simon called Mick’s name.

“Do we have to?” I said under my breath.

“His brother is our host.”

Mick led me down to where Simon waited for us.

“Tommy spotted you in the crowd, Mick. And your lovely lady. Good evening, Lucie. Don’t you look stunning? I seem to have lost your cousin somewhere in the Great Hall, but she and I would like the two of you to sit at our table for dinner.”

Simon smiled and kissed my hand as his eyes locked on mine. I felt like a butterfly pinned to a museum display.

“We’d love it,” Mick said.

“Excellent.” Simon clapped Mick on the back. “I think Tommy did a lot to calm the waters just now, don’t you? I know you’re going to stay the course, old man. You’ll be glad you did. Tommy’d like a word with you, by the way. You come, too, Lucie.”

My cell phone rang from the depths of my sequined evening purse. I’d turned off the ringer before Mick picked me up but kept the phone on in case David Wildman called. It must have caught on something in my purse and switched back on. Mick looked pained and a flash of irritation crossed Simon’s face.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I’m sure I silenced the ringer before I put it in my purse.”

“Turn it off, darling,” Mick said.

“It’s caught on something.”

I tugged and the phone flew out of my grasp, clattering on the marble floor. Simon picked it up, his eyes flitting to the display before he handed it back to me.

“Afraid the call’s gone to voice mail,” he said. “Hope it wasn’t important.”

I tucked it back in my purse. “Thank you.”

“Don’t you want to silence that phone, Lucie?” Mick asked.

What I really wanted was to see who called.

“Of course,” I said. “Would you both please excuse me? I need to use the ladies’ room. I’ll turn it off there. And Mick, I’ll meet you upstairs at the exhibit in a few minutes after you men have your talk.”

I started toward the Minerva foyer, but Simon caught my arm.

“Wrong way, love,” he said. “The ladies’ is in the east corridor by the Giant Bible of Mainz. Behind the staircases next to the elevator. We’re walking that way. I’ll show you.”

Mick looked at me like I’d lost my mind as we entered the east corridor through an archway with LIBRARY OF CONGRESS carved in gold above it. Was he right? Already this evening seemed off-kilter, weirdly disconnected from reality after that little pep talk about dragons and cartographers and trust. Then there was Tommy Asher himself now walking purposefully over to the three of us. Who was he, really? A Svengali? The Pied Piper?

He took my hand and held it between both of his.

“Michael,” he said to Mick. “You’re a lucky man. Who is this beautiful creature? Have I met you before, my dear?”

“Lucie Montgomery—” Mick began.

“We met last week at the Pension Building, Sir Thomas,” I said. “Harlan Jennings introduced us.”

Something flickered behind his eyes, which strayed to my cane. I didn’t have it with me last week at the gala and that lightning glance told me he remembered. Had this been a spurious question and I’d taken the bait? Tommy Asher knew exactly who I was.

“Of course.” He turned the full wattage of his smile and charm on me. “How could I forget?”

I felt a draft across my bare shoulders and neck. My evening shawl had slipped down my back and I hiked it up. Rebecca’s spirit suddenly seemed to hang in the air as if I’d conjured her.