“And the rest of the time you travel?”
Derian fit a key into the lock of a paneled
wooden door, with a heavy cast-iron number four on it, and pushed it wide. “It
depends on the season and the Grand Prix schedule. Sometimes I’ll stay in one
place for a few months, but not usually here.”
“I’m being nosy, aren’t I. I apologize.”
Emily followed Derian inside and caught her breath. Archways connected the
spacious main rooms, with the windows in the living area facing Central Park.
Streetlights on the labyrinth of the roads cutting through the park glowed,
replacing the stars that rarely shone above the city haze. Twin high-back
sofas, their fabric surfaces subtly patterned, faced one another with a huge
coffee table larger than her dining table between them. Tiffany lamps, plush
Oriental carpets, high sideboards in gleaming woods. She wasn’t sure what she
had expected, but the richness, not in money, but in detail and workmanship,
astounded her.
“Did you expect glass and steel?”
Emily laughed. “You’re reading my mind
again.”
“Am I?” Derian asked softly. “I didn’t
realize I was.”
Emily colored. “It seems you hear what I’m
saying when I’m talking in my head.”
“I apologize if I’m intruding, then.”
“No,” Emily said quickly. “You’re not. I…it’s
just unanticipated, that’s all. Probably my imagination.”
“And tell me,” Derian said, still standing
beside her, her topcoat open, her sleek frame somehow eclipsing the surrounding
opulence, “what did you expect?”
Suddenly very warm, Emily shrugged out of her
coat and folded it over her arm.
“Forgive me, I’m being a poor host,” Derian
said into the silence, taking the coat from her and hanging it in a spacious
closet next to the door. She shrugged out of her topcoat and stored it next to
Emily’s. Her blazer she tossed carelessly over the arm of the sofa as she
glanced back at Emily. “Well? What did you imagine?”
“I suppose I did expect something very modern
and…” Emily, usually so good with words, always finding just the right one to
shade any meaning, searched for a phrase that didn’t sound shallow or
deprecating.
Derian laughed. “Glitzy? Over-the-top?
Flamboyant?”
“No,” Emily protested, laughing. “I’m trying
to think of how one would describe a race car. I guess that’s what I
expected—efficient, beautiful in a high-tech kind of way, but not so…personal.
So intimate.”
“Intimate.” Derian glanced around the room as
if she’d never seem it before. “You’re right, about the cars. I do think
they’re beautiful, a perfect blend of form and function. But I wouldn’t want to
surround myself with them.” She gestured to the marble fireplace, the carved
wainscoting, the complex ceiling moldings. “I think this is probably
Henrietta’s influence. I spent a lot of time with her when I was younger, and
she instilled an appreciation in me for the beauty of craftsmanship, the care
of creating something that will last.”