West 47th by Gerald A Browne Page B

“worth more and will always be, but the lavender is far prettier.”
    At that point the stones, enclosed by cotton in individual glassine bags, were on the sofa table where Mitch had placed them. Maddie considered for a moment, then her fingers went straight to the lavender and took it up, as though she knew surely which was which.
    â€œIs that one the lavender?” Mitch asked.
    â€œWell, isn’t it?”
    â€œHow could you tell?”
    â€œJust guessed.”
    He watched Maddie raise her wine glass precisely to her lips. She’d ordered the house red. She took a sip preclusive to a gulp.
    â€œElise was always such a wine snob,” she said. “It never failed to irk me, the way she went on about a wine’s staying power or well-structured flavor or roundness of character and all that. What shit.”
    â€œMaybe since she’s been in Europe she’s been shamed out of that.”
    â€œLet’s hope. That and all things like that.”
    Elise was Maddie’s mother. Biological mother was how Maddie qualified her, not bitterly, just to be truer about it.
    â€œWhat do you think about Elise and Marian wanting to move to Barcelona?” Maddie asked.
    An indifferent shrug from Mitch. He sometimes forgot Maddie couldn’t see such body language.
    She went on. “For some ridiculous reason they seem to feel your approval is required, or rather that I need it.”
    â€œHas there been any mention of how much it would set you back?”
    â€œNot yet, but if it’s anywhere near what it cost for their move from Paris to Marbella or their one before that, from Capri to Paris, it’ll be a small fortune. Why do you suppose they all of a sudden believe you have the power to cinch my purse strings?”
    â€œI’ve no idea.”
    â€œMaybe I should nurture the fear. If I wanted to be mean I would.”
    Mitch couldn’t imagine her mean. She could be tough at times but never mean.
    â€œWould that appeal to you?” she asked.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œThe power to cinch.”
    â€œYou’ve asked that before.”
    â€œNumerous times but you might have changed your mind.”
    â€œWe should order,” Mitch said. A waiter was standing at the ready. Maddie went right through the suggestion. “Sunday afternoon,” she said, “afterward, when you were snoozing, I was remembering when the only kisses Elise and Marian exchanged were hello-goodbye, left and right pecks on the cheeks. Uncle Straw contends that one night in parting they happened to put a lingering one smack in the middle and that was that.”
    Marian had been Uncle Straw’s wife. Thus, Maddie’s aunt by marriage. She and Elise bore such a resemblance they were often taken as sisters. They frequently fibbed about that, told people they were fraternal twins.
    Mitch had met Elise and Marian only once. Not at the wedding. They didn’t show for that. At the last minute Elise phoned to prove by sounding hoarse and sniffily that she had a terrible flu. Said she’d caught the bug while shopping in a chilly Paris rain for a wedding present, said it didn’t matter, that nothing, not even her near death could keep her from attending, said they were merciful dears for not insisting she fly considering what a mess her sinuses were, said her heart would be with them.
    The present, a pair of Christofle crystal candle holders, arrived miraculously intact two weeks later. Carelessly packed in a regular cardboard box rather than securely so in a Christofle carton. Reason enough for Mitch to suspect Elise had owned them for a while.
    Two years after then Elise and Marian came over on the Concorde for a visit that actually was a combined inspection and refinancing, so to speak. They came dressed in Ungaro suits and matching matinee-length strands of ten-millimeter pearls.
    From first sight, first cheek kisses, Mitch and Elise endured one another. She talked through