Camping out in the empty apartment would be more than she could bear.
The agent looked at her curiously as they both stood patiently, waiting for Mrs. Liebson to return. It was unusual for a seller to help show the apartment, but then again Bettina was an unusual girl.
"Have you found anything else yet?" She eyed Bettina with interest. Hell, Naomi thought, even if Bettina were broke, after they sold this palazzo, she could buy herself something small and pretty, maybe a studio, or a little one-bedroom penthouse overlooking the park. That wouldn't cost her more than 100 thou. The woman didn't realize that it was going to take every dime from the sale of the large apartment, as well as all the profits from the auction, to put her father's estate in the black.
Bettina only shook her head. "I'm not looking yet. I don't want to start until I sell this."
"That's all wrong. You know how it is when you sell. The buyer drags his feet for three weeks, and then suddenly bango, they buy it, and they want you out overnight."
Bettina attempted a smile, but it was bleak. She was planning on moving to the Barbizon Hotel for Women at Lexington Avenue and Sixty-third, read The New York Times every day and of course the Mail, and hoped to find herself an apartment to rent in a matter of days, or maybe even weeks. She was even willing to share, if she had to. And then after that she would look for a job. She had decided not to discuss it with Ivo again. He would just set her up in a fancy office for a salary she didn't deserve and she didn't want that. She wanted to earn her living. She had to find a real job. The prospect of it almost crushed her with exhaustion as Mrs. Liebson returned.
"Aahh just don't know what I'm goin' to do with that kitchen. Honey, it's a mess." She looked reproachfully at Bettina, while still managing a broad smile. She looked at the realtor then and nodded, and with barely a good-bye they left. Bettina stood there for a moment, hating them both, as she softly closed the door. She didn't give a damn if the woman bought the apartment. She didn't want her to have it anyway. She didn't want her touching the kitchen, or anything else. It was her home, and her father's, theirs; it didn't belong to anyone else.
She sat down slowly in the winter twilight and stared around her and then down at the richly inlaid floor. How could he do this to her? How could he have left her in this god-awful mess? Didn't he understand what he was doing? Couldn't he have known? The resentment for her father rose up slowly in her throat like bile, and she let the tears start to flow. They were tears of anger and exhaustion, and her shoulders began to shake as she dropped her face in her hands and started to sob. It seemed hours later when she finally heard the phone. She let it ring for a while, but it was persistent, so at last she stood up and crossed the hall to the discreet closet in the entry where it was concealed. She was just getting used to having to answer the phone herself no matter how rotten she felt. Gone were the days of glory, she thought as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffed.
"Hello?"
"Bettina?"
"Yes?" She could barely hear the muffled male voice.
"Are you all right, darling? It's Ivo. Is this a good time to call?" Her face lit up as she heard him and she suddenly had to brush away fresh tears.
"Oh, is it!"
"What? I can't hear you, darling, speak up! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." And then suddenly she wanted to tell him the truth, all of it... No, I'm lonely, I'm miserable.... In a few weeks I won't have a home.
"What's happening with the apartment? Have you sold it?"
"Not yet."
"All right. Well, we've sold London. The deal closed tonight." He quoted a figure. It was enough to make a healthy inroad in her debts.
"That ought to help. How's your trip going?"
"It seems endless." She smiled into the phone.
"It certainly does. When are you coming home?" She hadn't realized how anxious she was to see
The agent looked at her curiously as they both stood patiently, waiting for Mrs. Liebson to return. It was unusual for a seller to help show the apartment, but then again Bettina was an unusual girl.
"Have you found anything else yet?" She eyed Bettina with interest. Hell, Naomi thought, even if Bettina were broke, after they sold this palazzo, she could buy herself something small and pretty, maybe a studio, or a little one-bedroom penthouse overlooking the park. That wouldn't cost her more than 100 thou. The woman didn't realize that it was going to take every dime from the sale of the large apartment, as well as all the profits from the auction, to put her father's estate in the black.
Bettina only shook her head. "I'm not looking yet. I don't want to start until I sell this."
"That's all wrong. You know how it is when you sell. The buyer drags his feet for three weeks, and then suddenly bango, they buy it, and they want you out overnight."
Bettina attempted a smile, but it was bleak. She was planning on moving to the Barbizon Hotel for Women at Lexington Avenue and Sixty-third, read The New York Times every day and of course the Mail, and hoped to find herself an apartment to rent in a matter of days, or maybe even weeks. She was even willing to share, if she had to. And then after that she would look for a job. She had decided not to discuss it with Ivo again. He would just set her up in a fancy office for a salary she didn't deserve and she didn't want that. She wanted to earn her living. She had to find a real job. The prospect of it almost crushed her with exhaustion as Mrs. Liebson returned.
"Aahh just don't know what I'm goin' to do with that kitchen. Honey, it's a mess." She looked reproachfully at Bettina, while still managing a broad smile. She looked at the realtor then and nodded, and with barely a good-bye they left. Bettina stood there for a moment, hating them both, as she softly closed the door. She didn't give a damn if the woman bought the apartment. She didn't want her to have it anyway. She didn't want her touching the kitchen, or anything else. It was her home, and her father's, theirs; it didn't belong to anyone else.
She sat down slowly in the winter twilight and stared around her and then down at the richly inlaid floor. How could he do this to her? How could he have left her in this god-awful mess? Didn't he understand what he was doing? Couldn't he have known? The resentment for her father rose up slowly in her throat like bile, and she let the tears start to flow. They were tears of anger and exhaustion, and her shoulders began to shake as she dropped her face in her hands and started to sob. It seemed hours later when she finally heard the phone. She let it ring for a while, but it was persistent, so at last she stood up and crossed the hall to the discreet closet in the entry where it was concealed. She was just getting used to having to answer the phone herself no matter how rotten she felt. Gone were the days of glory, she thought as she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffed.
"Hello?"
"Bettina?"
"Yes?" She could barely hear the muffled male voice.
"Are you all right, darling? It's Ivo. Is this a good time to call?" Her face lit up as she heard him and she suddenly had to brush away fresh tears.
"Oh, is it!"
"What? I can't hear you, darling, speak up! Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." And then suddenly she wanted to tell him the truth, all of it... No, I'm lonely, I'm miserable.... In a few weeks I won't have a home.
"What's happening with the apartment? Have you sold it?"
"Not yet."
"All right. Well, we've sold London. The deal closed tonight." He quoted a figure. It was enough to make a healthy inroad in her debts.
"That ought to help. How's your trip going?"
"It seems endless." She smiled into the phone.
"It certainly does. When are you coming home?" She hadn't realized how anxious she was to see
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