“You wouldn’t think so, would you? But both had strong feminist sensibilities, even before the term was coined. They were outstanding in their chosen fields. They both enjoyed the company of younger men.”
I smiled as he chuckled and went on. “They were both successful writers on Broadway as well as in other genres. Both were destined to suffer through at least one unhappy marriage.”
“Do you think Frances gave her this book?” I asked, holding up my copy of The Secret Garden.
“Probably. Frances gave Mae several autographed copies of her books. I have three of her most famous works on display here.” He stopped at a glass display case mounted on a pedestal at eye level. It held three books: The Secret Garden, Little Lord Fauntleroy, and A Little Princess. They were all standing and held open to the title page. A viewer could circle the cubicle and see the front-cover illustrations and gilding designs as well as the signature of the author on all three books.
“And these all belonged to Mae?”
“Yes.”
The Secret Garden in the case looked like the exact same limited-edition version that Vera had bought at the garage sale. The other two books on display were similar in style, but not quite as elaborate.
I turned and looked at him. “I just realized I never asked. Would you be interested in acquiring the copy I have?”
He chuckled again. “As you can see, I’m fascinated by anything connected with Mae. But I already have two copies of the same book, both signed.” He pointed to the three books within the glass case. “These were in her home when she died, and they mean so much more to me, knowing they were with her throughout her life.”
“I understand,” I murmured.
He sniffled once and collected himself. “It simply wouldn’t be right to bring in another book and disturb the balance I’ve achieved in this room.” He wiped away a tear and shook his head. “Forgive me for unloading my personal feelings on you.”
“I don’t mind at all. I appreciate your honesty.”
“Good,” he said, with a stiff exhalation of breath. “Good. Then I would rather see your book go to the Covington Library or another worthy organization that would display it for all the world to see.”
“That’s very generous.”
“Mr. Edward.”
We looked over and saw Mrs. Sweet standing in the doorway, beaming at us. “You have a phone call, sir.”
“Oh, I think I know what this is about.” He patted my arm. “Would you excuse me for just a moment, my dear?”
“Of course.”
Edward strode out and Mrs. Sweet toddled along after him. I probably should’ve taken the opportunity to say my good-byes, but I wanted to wander and explore more of the library. I might not ever have the chance again.
I took a quick look out at the view before reaching the display case I’d noticed before. It contained the complete works of Shakespeare, in folio.
In between the Shakespeare cabinet and the next one was a burgundy velvet curtain hanging on the wall. Without thinking too much, I pushed it aside to take a peek at what was hiding behind it.
It was a single oil painting. I pulled the curtain back farther to catch the light and saw a startlingly lifelike depiction of Mae West and Edward Strathmore in a romantic embrace.
“Whoa.” It was obviously somebody’s idea of a fantasy, since the two appeared to be contemporaries and both looked young enough to be in their late twenties. Her platinum blond hair was curled around her in sexy disarray. He wore a tuxedo and was as wildly handsome as a movie star.
Definitely a fantasy, I thought. Especially since Mae West had died years ago and Edward, despite his Old World manners and frailty, was probably only in his late sixties.
I stared at the painting and realized something else was odd about it, beyond the creepy fantasy factor. What was I missing?
I heard Edward’s footsteps on the hardwood floor of the hall and quickly returned to my study of the Shakespeare folios.
“I should probably be going,” I said, as soon as he walked back into the room. “I’ve enjoyed myself so much, but I think I’ve taken up enough of your time today.”
“It was a pleasure,” he said, with a slight bow. He slipped his arm through mine again and led me out of the room. “You’re a delightful girl.”
“Thank you. I’m so grateful you allowed me to see your library.”
“I don’t let every Tom, Dick, and Harry come in there.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “You have so many treasures and not everyone would appreciate them.”
“Exactly so.”
“And thank you again for all of your insight into Mae West. It was so helpful.”
“Oh, my dear,” he said, “anytime I can talk about Mae is a special day for me. Never a chore.”
“I’m glad.”
As we headed back down the hall toward the front door, he said, “We’re having a party next Saturday. I know it’s late notice, but I would be so honored if you could come.”
That took me by surprise. “I would love to.”
“Be sure to bring your husband or your beau.”