“So?” Pansy asks when she’s done.
“So the position of the Baroda family is that the Moon of Nizam was stolen.” By Patel’s tone, it’s clear Pansy’s managed to irk her. Good, thinks Nell. “After a party in the 1920s,” Patel continues.
“Wait. What now?” Baldwin asks.
“Most of this information is online,” Patel says.
“Hold on,” Baldwin says, drawing himself up straight. “Ambrose Quincy didn’t steal things. Why, there isn’t a Quincy in the world who was a thief. I can assure you.”
“I think it’s kind of badass,” Pansy says. And she would, probably imagining James Bond or Indiana Jones instead of a sneaky guest pilfering during a dinner party. “Weren’t there stories that Ambrose ran out of money over there?”
Patel looks at Pansy, stymied for a full minute by this comment, and then turns to Baldwin. “No one’s accusing anyone of anything. And it wouldn’t have to have been a Quincy who stole it. Maybe he bought it from the thief. These things are rarely clear-cut. And I should restate,” she says, looking at Pansy. “The necklace hasn’t actually been authenticated as the Moon.”
Nell notes Patel’s use of the gray area.
“Yet,” Pansy says, and Nell notes her proprietary tone.
“If it were,” Patel says, “we’d predict extensive negotiations with the country of origin, but similar negotiations have been successful in the past without repatriation. The Toledo Museum of Art just concluded a successful negotiation with Syria, right before everything began over there. It was in the news. Then again, we just had to return an important tenth-century statue of Hanuman to Cambodia, so I should tell you that these things are never assured.”
“I don’t think you’d have a hard time getting the rest of the family to agree to a donation,” Walker interjects. “As Reema here just laid out for us, you might have a harder time if you pursue other venues.”
“Last I checked, I don’t need the rest of the family to agree to anything,” Nell says.
“A legacy from the Quincy family,” Baldwin says.
“Wouldn’t that be the Merrihew family?” Nell says.
Baldwin clears his throat and squirms in his chair. “It was bought by Quincys. It’s coming from Quincys. It should have the Quincy family name on it.”
Nell leaves it unsaid that it would be gifted by a Merrihew.
Nell views the complicated mechanics that have gone on while she’s been immersed in her own life and work. In those few months, Pansy has lawyered up, Reema Patel has started strategizing, and Baldwin has claimed naming rights.
“Well.” Nell looks straight at Pansy. If it’s an ambush, then now is the time to fire back. “As your lawyer”—Nell waves a hand at Walker—“has probably explained to you, my claim on the Moon is absolute. And it’s not something I’ll be relinquishing. Pursuing litigation would be entirely your decision and, as I am sure you can explain to her,” she says to Walker, “entirely your loss.”
“Now, calm down,” Walker says, palms flat on the table, as if stabilizing it. This of course makes Nell feel the opposite of calm, as it is meant to. “There’s no need . . .”
“As for any specious claims the twelfth maharaja may have to the piece,” Nell interrupts, turning to Patel, “I doubt they’re as clear as you’re portraying them. Have they reported it stolen until now, almost a century later?” Nell knew enough from her Internet searching that they hadn’t ever made a formal claim. “Even if they did, that family would have little standing in a US court and any interference on their part would be actionable, potentially tortious, if you want to go that way.”
It’s then that Pansy takes a break from picking at the remnants of her fish to look up. “There’s no need to get nasty, Nell.”
“May I speak with you?” Nell rises and leaves the room, fully expecting Pansy to follow.
Nell walks with purpose, despite being afraid Pansy will just stay seated, and she is relieved when Pansy follows her into the ladies’ room, as big as Nell’s living room with a full vanity and four flounced seats before a dressing table and a matching fainting couch. Pansy does a quick check of her clothes in the full-length mirror and then looks under the doors of the stalls, ensuring no eavesdroppers, before she faces Nell.
“I told them you’d be reasonable,” Pansy starts. “I figured when we laid it out for you, you’d see it’s the right thing to do.”
“Is anyone asking Emerson to donate his painting?” Nell questions.
Pansy turns back to the mirror, calmly leaning in to check her undetectable lipstick. “I always said I’d want you on my side in a fight.”
“Who’s fighting?”
“This is all just information for you. I know this is so new to you, I wanted to expose you to some options.”
“I’m aware of my options.” Nell fiddles with the hand sanitizer on the dressing table.
“I know you don’t want things to get unsavory, either, but you know as well as I do that the necklace isn’t really yours. And the right thing to do would be to donate it,” Pansy says in a chummy tone of complicity. “Granny Lou was going a little nuts at the end, I guess. Living out there with nurses. Strangers, really. Giving things away out of the family. She gave away almost all of the silver.” Pansy nods at Nell’s raised eyebrow. “Yes, even that nice little piece of Paul Revere. She gave it to some physical therapist who came to the house once. I had to track down her address, go visit her, and have a little talk.” Nell gives a shudder, thinking of that hardworking home health aide opening her front door to a righteous Pansy. “Luckily she had no clue what it was. Thought it was pewter and gave it back. That’s when we put everything on lockdown.”
And all the good jewels in the safe, thinks Nell. Nell wonders then if they’d found the Moon, whether they’d have put it downtown in Pansy’s safe-deposit box. Then things would have been much messier.
“Not that you’re not family,” Pansy is saying. “But let’s be real. You’re not really family, either. I mean, you certainly won’t have to worry about an undue influence claim or anything. You hadn’t seen her in years.” It both stings and illuminates. Pansy has been pursuing all her legal arguments. “You’re very much your mom’s child. And Daddy was the one who had the bond with her.”
“You’re being nuts.”
“What’s nuts is you’re back here trying to pretend you’re a part of this. For you to be in charge of something so monumental and not have the family involved in what happens to it. Don’t you think it’s confusing?” she asks. “Confusing” is Pansy’s evasive word for infuriating. “I can’t imagine what she was thinking, but there’s no way she knew how valuable it is. And you wouldn’t know this, but she would have wanted it donated. Philanthropy was huge with her.” Pansy rises, smoothing down her black layers. “We should get back. Just listen, would you? I think you might come down the same way we all do.”