Heads You Win

Sasha set about planning a holiday Charlie would never forget. They would spend five days on the QE2, and on arrival in New York, take a suite at the Plaza. They would visit the Metropolitan, MoMA, and the Frick, and he even managed to get tickets for Liza Minnelli, who was performing at Carnegie Hall.

“And then we’ll fly home on Concorde.”

“You’ll bankrupt us,” said Charlie.

“Don’t worry, the Conservatives haven’t yet brought back debtors’ prisons.”

“It will probably be in their next party manifesto,” suggested Charlie.

The five-day voyage on the QE2 was idyllic, and they made several new friends, one or two who thought the Labour Party might even win the next election. Every morning began with a session in the gym, but they still both managed to put on a pound a day. On the final morning they rose before the sun and stood out on deck to be welcomed by the Statue of Liberty, while the skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline grew taller by the minute.

Once they’d checked into their hotel—Charlie had talked him out of the presidential suite in favor of a double room several floors below—they didn’t waste a minute.

The Metropolitan Museum entranced Charlie with its breadth of works from so many cultures. From Byzantine Greece, to Italy’s Caravaggio, to the Dutch masters, Rembrandt and Vermeer, while the French Impressionists demanded a second visit. The Museum of Modern Art also delighted her and surprised Sasha, who couldn’t always tell the difference between Picasso and Braque during their cubist period. But it was the Frick that became their second home, with Bellini, Holbein, and Mary Cassatt to draw them back again and again. And Liza Minnelli had them standing on their feet crying “Encore!” after she sang “Maybe This Time.”

“What shall we do on our last day?” asked Sasha as they enjoyed a late breakfast in the garden room.

“Let’s go window-shopping.”

“Why don’t we stroll into Tiffany’s and buy everything in sight?”

“Because we’ve already gone over our budget.”

“I feel sure we’ve still got enough to buy something for both grandmothers and Natasha.”

“Then we’ll window-shop on Fifth Avenue, but buy everything from Macy’s.”

“Compromise,” said Sasha, folding his newspaper. “Bloomingdale’s.”

Charlie selected a pair of leather gloves for her mother, while Sasha chose a Swatch for Elena that she’d hinted about more than once. And such a reasonable price, she’d reminded him.

“And Natasha?” asked Sasha.

“A pair of these Levi’s. They’ll be the envy of her friends.”

“But they’re faded and ripped before you even buy them,” said Sasha when he first saw them in a shop window.

“And you claim to be a man of the people.”

They were on their way back to the Plaza laden down with bags when Charlie stopped to admire a painting in a gallery window on Lexington Avenue. “That’s what I want,” she said, admiring the mesmerizing colors and brushwork.

“Then you married the wrong man.”

“Oh, I’m not so sure about that,” said Charlie. “But I still intend to find out how much it’s going to cost you,” she added before going in.

The walls of the gallery were crowded with abstract works, and Charlie was admiring a Jackson Pollock when an elderly gentleman approached her.

“A magnific

ent painting, madam.”

“Yes, but so sad.”

“Sad, madam?”

“That he died at such a young age, when he still hadn’t fulfilled his promise.”

“Indeed. We had the privilege of representing him when he was alive, and this painting has been through my hands three times in the past thirty years.”