front entrance a man appears in the doorway.
Thinking it’s Daniel her heart leaps, but as she draws closer she sees Carlos, one of his young assistants.
“Hi,” Carlos says.
“I’m Bitsy Rushworth,” she says.
“Of course, Bitsy. What’s up?”
“I need to see Daniel,” she says.
Before he can answer an intimidatingly tall, very beautiful girl whose name she can’t recollect, drapes an arm over Carlos’s shoulder and stares down at Bitsy.
“Daniel’s contemplating. He is not to be disturbed.”
Old Bitsy would have fled to her car, but the newer, bolder version, says, “This is important. It’s about the financial future of the Foundation.”
“Is it now?” the girl says with just the hint of a sneer.
“Why don’t you get Bitsy a drink, Una, and I’ll see if Daniel is up to an audience?”
Una shrugs and flounces off, folding herself onto a couch.
Carlos, who is clearly her boyfriend—they make an absurdly gorgeous couple—bounds up the wooden staircase, his bare feet drumming lightly.
Una offers no drink.
Nor does she invite Bitsy to take a seat.
Bitsy doesn’t mind, she feels too excited to sit, so she wanders the room, looking at the paintings and artifacts, an eclectic mix of Eastern and Western: Buddhas and Ganeshes rub shoulders with colorful abstracts and primitive Africana.
Her practiced eye approves of what she sees.
Daniel Quant has good taste.
Carlos returns and says, “Daniel’s waiting, Bitsy. Go on up.”
Bitsy mounts the stairs leading to the dimly lit upper level, the piano piece getting louder.
Then the music ends, abruptly and a voice says, “Bitsy?”
She sees Daniel standing at the top of the stairs, barefoot, dressed in a T-shirt and fisherman’s pants.
“Daniel, I’m sorry to come here unannounced.”
“Oh, but I’ve been waiting for you, Bitsy.”
“You have?”
Was this some clairvoyant, precognitive thing he was laying claim to?
He laughs his deep, melodious, laugh.
“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you for months. And you’ve arrived. The new, improved, much-better-Bitsy.” He laughs again. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
“No,” she says, “something has happened.”
“Something has a way of doing that,” he says and seats himself on a pile of cushions beneath a lamp in the corner of a big, bare room.
He gestures for her to join him and she hunkers down, a little stiffly.
He smiles and watches her, his face serene.
“Daniel . . .”
“Bitsy.”
“I hope you don’t think this is very forward of me, but I think I may be able to access the funds the Foundation needs. If they’re still needed, of course?”
“Very much so, yes. A bloody boatload!” He laughs.
“Well, I think my ship has come in.”
It’s only when he chuckles again that she realizes what she has said, and joins in the laughter.
“I’m going to be the recipient of a vast amount of money very soon.”
“Really?” he says.
“And I would like to give it all to you. To the Foundation.”
“That’s very generous,” he says.
“Over the next year a sum of at least a million dollars should be available.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“I’ll be able to give you the first installment within weeks.”
“Fantastic.”
“Do you want to know where the money is coming from?”
“Not unless you want to tell me.”
She hesitates and he says, “I’m sensing a conflict, Bitsy. Is there anything you want to discuss?”
So, in the belief that her secrets are safe with this charming and enlightened man, she ends up telling him about the book Gordon wrote.
And about her agreeing to pretend to be Viola Usher.
“Am I doing a bad thing, Daniel? Lying like this?”
He shrugs.
“I’m not here to judge you. And neither am I a priest ready with glib promises of forgiveness in exchange for a few Hail Marys. You have made a choice.”
“Yes, I have. Why do I feel so deceitful?”
“Do you really think you’re being deceitful?”
“I don’t
Thinking it’s Daniel her heart leaps, but as she draws closer she sees Carlos, one of his young assistants.
“Hi,” Carlos says.
“I’m Bitsy Rushworth,” she says.
“Of course, Bitsy. What’s up?”
“I need to see Daniel,” she says.
Before he can answer an intimidatingly tall, very beautiful girl whose name she can’t recollect, drapes an arm over Carlos’s shoulder and stares down at Bitsy.
“Daniel’s contemplating. He is not to be disturbed.”
Old Bitsy would have fled to her car, but the newer, bolder version, says, “This is important. It’s about the financial future of the Foundation.”
“Is it now?” the girl says with just the hint of a sneer.
“Why don’t you get Bitsy a drink, Una, and I’ll see if Daniel is up to an audience?”
Una shrugs and flounces off, folding herself onto a couch.
Carlos, who is clearly her boyfriend—they make an absurdly gorgeous couple—bounds up the wooden staircase, his bare feet drumming lightly.
Una offers no drink.
Nor does she invite Bitsy to take a seat.
Bitsy doesn’t mind, she feels too excited to sit, so she wanders the room, looking at the paintings and artifacts, an eclectic mix of Eastern and Western: Buddhas and Ganeshes rub shoulders with colorful abstracts and primitive Africana.
Her practiced eye approves of what she sees.
Daniel Quant has good taste.
Carlos returns and says, “Daniel’s waiting, Bitsy. Go on up.”
Bitsy mounts the stairs leading to the dimly lit upper level, the piano piece getting louder.
Then the music ends, abruptly and a voice says, “Bitsy?”
She sees Daniel standing at the top of the stairs, barefoot, dressed in a T-shirt and fisherman’s pants.
“Daniel, I’m sorry to come here unannounced.”
“Oh, but I’ve been waiting for you, Bitsy.”
“You have?”
Was this some clairvoyant, precognitive thing he was laying claim to?
He laughs his deep, melodious, laugh.
“Yes, I’ve been waiting for you for months. And you’ve arrived. The new, improved, much-better-Bitsy.” He laughs again. “I’m not wrong, am I?”
“No,” she says, “something has happened.”
“Something has a way of doing that,” he says and seats himself on a pile of cushions beneath a lamp in the corner of a big, bare room.
He gestures for her to join him and she hunkers down, a little stiffly.
He smiles and watches her, his face serene.
“Daniel . . .”
“Bitsy.”
“I hope you don’t think this is very forward of me, but I think I may be able to access the funds the Foundation needs. If they’re still needed, of course?”
“Very much so, yes. A bloody boatload!” He laughs.
“Well, I think my ship has come in.”
It’s only when he chuckles again that she realizes what she has said, and joins in the laughter.
“I’m going to be the recipient of a vast amount of money very soon.”
“Really?” he says.
“And I would like to give it all to you. To the Foundation.”
“That’s very generous,” he says.
“Over the next year a sum of at least a million dollars should be available.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“I’ll be able to give you the first installment within weeks.”
“Fantastic.”
“Do you want to know where the money is coming from?”
“Not unless you want to tell me.”
She hesitates and he says, “I’m sensing a conflict, Bitsy. Is there anything you want to discuss?”
So, in the belief that her secrets are safe with this charming and enlightened man, she ends up telling him about the book Gordon wrote.
And about her agreeing to pretend to be Viola Usher.
“Am I doing a bad thing, Daniel? Lying like this?”
He shrugs.
“I’m not here to judge you. And neither am I a priest ready with glib promises of forgiveness in exchange for a few Hail Marys. You have made a choice.”
“Yes, I have. Why do I feel so deceitful?”
“Do you really think you’re being deceitful?”
“I don’t
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