26

Other than Loelia Manchester, Jamesey Crocus, and Cora Mandell, Gus Bailey was the only person allowed to see the new residence of Elias and Ruby Renthal prior to the splendid ball that was being planned to launch it. His visit, which was professional, had been arranged for by Loelia Manchester and Jamesey Crocus, who felt that a Sunday piece in the Times Magazine would be an important way for the rich newcomers to talk about their many charitable interests, especially since Florian Gray had started referring to Ruby in his column as the Billionaire’s Wife.

The fabulous Renthal Impressionist and Post-Impressionist art collection, ever growing, rested against the drawing-room walls, ready to be hung after the final of the nineteen coats of persimmon lacquer had been applied to the huge room. Ancestral portraits of other people’s ancestors, grand ladies and patrician gentlemen, some in coronation robes, by Sargent and Boldini and Oswald Birley, leaned against the hall and dining-room walls.

“That’s King Boris of Bulgaria, in hunting attire,” explained Elias to Gus, in his role of art collector.

Drop cloths covered pieces of antique furniture, which Jamesey Crocus told Gus over and over again were of museum quality, ready to be arranged. Upholstered pieces, the trademark of Cora Mandell’s look of cozy grandeur, were wrapped tight in brown paper and tied with ropes. All work was at a momentary standstill, waiting for the nineteenth coat of persimmon lacquer to dry before the twentieth and final coat could be applied.

“Elias adores collecting. He thinks nothing of getting on our plane and flying anywhere when Maisie Verdurin or our curator, Jamesey Crocus, tell him about any artwork that is coming on the market,” said Ruby. She had become conversant in matters of art and furniture and porcelain and decoration and knew the history of each addition to her new collections.

Gus Bailey marveled at the transformation of Ruby Renthal since their first meeting at one of Maisie Verdurin’s dinners, when she had been dressed in bright blue sequins and shared with Gus a deep secret of her life that bound the two of them together. Since then, almost no reference to that moment had ever been repeated on the several occasions they had met in New York, but there was an unspoken understanding between them. Dressed now in simple but stylish elegance in a black-and-white hounds-tooth skirt and black cashmere sweater that perfectly showed her splendid breasts that people said had been reduced to their present perfection by cosmetic surgery in Brazil, she lounged gracefully on the edge of a packing case. Her only jewelry was the massive diamond she wore on her engagement finger. She had removed the hounds-tooth jacket that matched her skirt, and it lay next to her, the label Nevel, Leven spelled backwards, visible on its satin lining. Her smart Minardos pump dangled elegantly on the tip of her toe as she described their life.

“As you can see, we’re camping out, Mr. Bailey,” she said, and they all chuckled, as if Mrs. Renthal had made a witticism. “But if we don’t, you see, the work will never get finished.”

“How many houses do you have, Mrs. Renthal?” asked Gus.

“Does that include apartments?” she asked. “We have apartments, you know, in both London and Paris.”

“Yes, of course,” said Gus, adjusting his notes. “Homes, I should have said, not houses.”

Ruby, puzzled, turned to her husband. “Is it eight or nine, darling?” she asked.

“We sold Palm Beach,” replied Elias, nervously.

“But bought in Nassau,” answered Ruby, as if to remind him of something he had forgot. She thought she detected a signal to halt from her husband.

“Nine, Mr. Bailey,” said Elias, answering the question put to Ruby by Gus. “But, you know, that don’t sound so good in the papers and the magazines, if you see what I mean.”

Ruby mouthed but did not speak the word doesn’t to Elias, correcting his grammar, in the way she had watched Lil Altemus mouth but not speak words.

“What?” asked Elias.

“Nothing,” said Ruby.

There had also been a transformation in Elias Renthal, Gus noticed, a kind of sureness of self that comes with the accumulation of great wealth and the public respect that wealth engenders. There were neighbors Elias encountered in the elevator of his own exclusive building who still did not speak to him and continued to refer to his apartment as Matilda Clarke’s apartment, but the doormen and the elevator men in the building, who were recipients of his large tips, gave him precedence over all the old swells who had dwelled there for decades. That, coupled with his change of tailor, gave the stout financier an impressive and even friendly presence.

“I’ll keep it at eight, if you think that will sound better,” replied Gus. “Is that complicated? Eight houses?”

“Oh, puleeze,” replied Ruby, in the same way that she had heard Loelia say puleeze, “Just to remember the names of the staff in each house is complicated. And I always find that the shoes I need for the dress I’m going to wear that night are in the apartment in Paris when I need them in London and then the plane has to go and pick them up. This is all off the record, Mr. Bailey. This is what Loelia calls the problems of the very, very rich.”

Gus shrugged. “This is good stuff you’re telling me I can’t write.”

“Do you see, Elias, how nice Mr. Bailey is? My husband is convinced, simply convinced, that the press is out to get us.”

“I meant the financial press, Ruby,” said Elias.

“And he thinks my picture is in the paper too much, too, Mr. Bailey,” said Ruby.

“It is,” said Elias.

“ ‘The Billionaire’s Wife,’ ” said Gus. “How could it be otherwise?”

“I wish I could get my hands on whoever gave me that name,” said Ruby. “It makes me sound like a lady who lunches, and I’m not, except occasionally. I want to do something meaningful. The problem is that there are so many causes after us, and I haven’t sorted out yet what it is that we are going to concentrate on. I mean, of course, after the museum and the ballet.”

“Do you always have bodyguards, Mr. Renthal?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, twenty-four hours a day. They work in shifts,” said Elias, beginning to relax. “When I drive to and from our house in the country, or to and from my office, I don’t like them in the car with me, not even up front with the chauffeur, because I do a great deal of work in my car, mostly on the telephone, and I don’t like other people listening to me, so the guards always follow in a second car.”

“I see,” said Gus, making a note. “Have you ever been threatened or harmed?”

“No. But, you know, there are so many mad people out there who read about people like us.”

“My husband is security mad, Mr. Bailey,” said Ruby. “He built a ten-foot-high brick wall all around our place in the country, with electrified wire on top of the wall. And guards everywhere you look.”

“Ruby,” said Elias, in mock exasperation, as if to control her.

“It’s true,” she went on. “And even this. He wants me to carry a gun. Look at this little pearl-handled number he gave me as a stocking present last Christmas. It used to belong to Queen Marie of Rumania. Elias bought it at auction in London and had Purdy’s put it in working order.”

“Ruby,” repeated Elias.

“Fits right into my bag, it’s so small. I wouldn’t dream of using it, no matter what, but it makes Elias happy for me to carry it.”

“How about if I take you on a tour of the apartment, Mr. Bailey,” said Elias, standing up to terminate the interview.

Later, dressing for a party, Ruby said to Elias, “Who’s Byron Macumber?”

Elias, who was putting studs in his evening shirt, paused, startled. “Why?” he asked.

“Why?” repeated Ruby. “What kind of an answer is why to your own wife?”

“Oh, he’s just some kid who works for Weldon and Stinchfield,” replied Elias.

“He’s a lawyer then?”

“Yeah, a junior lawyer. Why this big interest in Byron what’s-his-name?”

“Charming on the telephone. He called you when you were taking Gus Bailey for the tour of the apartment. He wants you to call him. He said you knew the number.”

“He called here?” There was surprise in Elias’s tone.

“Yes, Elias, Byron Macumber called here, and your wife answered the telephone, and he asked that you call him as soon as you were free. Where are you going?”

“I’m going downstairs. I left my briefcase down there.”

* * *

“What the fuck are you calling me at my house for, you asshole?” said Elias, in whispered fury into the telephone.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Renthal, but you’d left your office, and I knew by morning that the word would be out, and I thought that you’d want to know.”

“What word?”

“Omaha Natural Gas has hired Weldon and Stinchfield as adviser in connection with a proposal by Tri-World, Inc., to acquire ONG,” said Byron Macumber.

“Holy shit,” said Elias.

“I’m sorry I bothered you at home, Mr. Renthal.”

“No, no, Byron. I’m sorry I blew my stack. You did the right thing. Now, listen, it’s not a good idea to call me here at home, but if you have to, here’s a different number, five-five-five, four-one-two-eight, my own private line. I’ll put a message machine on it by tomorrow, and just leave a message, and I’ll get back to you, and, listen, Byron, use a different name. You’re Mr. Brown. Okay?”

When Elias hung up, he looked at his watch while lighting up a cigar. He picked up the telephone again and dialed some numbers. “Operator, this is a collect call to Mr. Rufus Courtauld, in Nassau, from Mr. Nolte.”

Elias drummed his fingers on the table while waiting for the long-distance call to go through.

“Nolte here,” said Elias, when Rufus Courtauld picked up the receiver on the other end. “Fine, fine,” he went on impatiently, getting over with the pleasantries that his Swiss connection invariably engaged in at the beginning of every conversation. “Buy a hundred and eighty thousand shares of Omaha Natural Gas the instant the market opens in the morning.” With that he hung up the telephone.

The door to the little room opened, and Ruby entered. She was dressed in evening clothes. “I can hardly see you through all this cigar smoke, Elias,” she said.

“That’s why you gave me this smoking room, Ruby, so that I could cloud up the air here and not in the swell rooms up front.”

“I’m not complaining. I’m just commenting.”

“You look beautiful, Ruby,” answered Elias. “New dress?”

“Of course, it’s new,” she said, tweaking his chin. “You wanted a wife on the best-dressed list and you’re going to get a wife on the best-dressed list. I need some help with this necklace, Elias. Can you do the clasp?”

“With pleasure,” he said, standing behind her. When he finished, he leaned down and kissed Ruby’s bare shoulder. “Did I ever tell you I was crazy about your shoulders?”

“Yeah, but it’s not something I get sick of hearing,” said Ruby, rubbing her shoulder against his lips.

“Where are we going tonight?” he asked.

“Adele Harcourt’s, and we can’t be late.”

“Oh, Adele Harcourt?” he said, impressed. “Fancy-schmancy.” He pulled himself out of further amatory pursuit.

“Don’t say fancy-schmancy.”

“Why?”

“It’s tacky. We’re past that.”