“What’s your favorite mural, Clover?” I asked, feeling that the two of them were never going to reach the end of this conversation unless I interrupted it. Clover sighed.
“When I was younger,” she began, “when I was younger … I think I liked Love Letters too, Franny, like you. I never cared for The Lover Crowned, I think the red in those roses is, I don’t know, violent somehow. I have always had this thing against brassy reds. In any event. Now the Fragonard painting I like best isn’t in this room, it’s in the Music Room. Let’s go look at it.”
What Clover liked best were three slender decorative panels of hollyhocks. I always thought of hollyhocks as being that wonderful shade of purple-blue but these ones were white and wintry. They made me sad. But knowing what I knew of Clover’s life, and how devoted she was to protecting her solitude, I could see why she was drawn to them.
“Boring,” said Valentine, who had not forgotten Clover insulting the color red in The Lover Crowned.
“You do have to be older to appreciate these,” said Clover. “You have to be older and you have to have lost things.”
“I’ve lost things,” said Valentine, hands on hips. “I’ve suffered. I’m suffering right now.”
“Oh, I meant,” said Clover with a little laugh, “you have to have lost things again, and again, and again.”
Was she thinking of her love affair with Digby, I wondered, or were there other men she was thinking about too? Also—and this question was very important—when I got to be Clover’s age, would I be the keeper of so many secrets myself?
After this we went and sat by the fountain in the middle of the courtyard. Clover said that this was one of her favorite places in the whole city, and I could see why. I loved the delicate sculptures of swans and marine nymphs, which reminded me of Clover’s own sculptures and her “old-fashioned sensibility.” But most of all, I loved the gentle sound of the running water. We cooled ourselves by sitting there before going out again into the hot city. A question occurred to me, sitting there:
“What is Aunt Theo’s favorite mural, do you suppose?”
Clover laughed, and said, “Oh, that’s easy.”
“Well, which one?”
“The second mural, The Pursuit. Before you get to Love Letters.”
“Oh? Why do you think that?”
“Because, silly,” Clover said, “Aunt Theo is all about handsome strangers and secret admirers. Intrigue; desire; mischief.”
18
Thunder!
Clover wanted to take Valentine and me out to dinner at this old French restaurant in the East Fifties called La Grenouille. But as the afternoon wore on, none of us felt like it. It was so hot out; we were in the middle of a heat wave. Clover said that most people who had the money to get out of the city in August did, but that she kind of liked it at this time of year.
“You do?” said Valentine, yawning. Now that things hadn’t worked out with Julian, she was ready to get back to San Francisco, and school, and especially her friends.
“Well, for one thing, all the summer places are way too crowded right now. I’m contrarian that way. I like to go to the seashore after Labor Day. I like the beach in winter.”
“Are we really supposed to go out for a big dinner later on?” Valentine went on, sounding a little ungrateful, I thought. But I had to admit that she had a point: who wanted to go to a French restaurant in the middle of a heat wave and have to eat all of those fatty things in thick creamy sauces? And I love French food, just not tonight!
Clover, as if reading my mind, said, “Well, we could cancel our reservation, I guess. Come to think of it, La Grenouille is really more of a winter restaurant. I’ll take you there sometime, though, sometime when you come back to New York.”
“But what are we going to do?” wailed Valentine. “What are we going to do if we don’t go out to dinner?”
“How about the Oyster Bar? Oysters can be so cooling,” added Clover.
“Oh, you and Val go. She’s never been there before and I have. And anyway—”
“What is it, Franny?”
“I think I’d like to spend tonight alone.”
Somehow it seemed to me that this was the best way to truly experience New York: alone. Clover understood immediately what I was talking about, exclaiming, “Of course, Franny! Do whatever you like. Just promise me you won’t get into any trouble! And call me right away if you need anything.” Ever since the night I’d taken the cab ride by myself all the way from West Harlem, Clover had been acting more protective in her duties as “chaperone.”
“You wouldn’t let me go out and do whatever I like,” Valentine sulked.