Unfinished Symphony (Logan 3)

"Let me acquaint you with our house before you settle in for what I'm sure is a much needed rest," Dorothy told me. I followed her to the front door, which seemed to open magically as we approached.

A short, stout, bald-headed man with bushy gray eyebrows and a pug nose greeted us. He wore a dark blue suit and tie and had a light complexion with rust-tinted spots along the crests of his cheeks and the base of his forehead. His skull was peppered with what looked like freckles dropped randomly along the middle and down his temples. His thick lips were almost the same shade of orange.

"Hello, Alec. This is Melody. She will be staying with us for a while."

He nodded.

"Very good, madam," he said in sharp, clipped tones with just the slightest nod. His light gray eyes swept over me, making me feel as if I had to pass inspection before entering the house. After a moment, he stepped aside and we entered.

The entryway had dark, rich-looking brown tile that complemented the walls paneled with dark cypress. Above us a teardrop glass chandelier glowed. The stairway, winding up with a mahogany balustrade and detailed spindle work, was polished to a pristine glow.

Spike started up with my bags, Alec right behind him, but I followed Dorothy deeper into the house.

On the right was a very large living room with a dark pine grandfather's clock that bonged the hour of three. All of the pieces of furniture were oversized to fill the great space. Light blue satin curtains draped the windows and the marble floor was covered here and there with large Persian oval area rugs in a matching blue. There was so much to visually gobble, I could only shake my head: great oil paintings depicting scenes in cities like Paris and London, as well as grand gardens, all in elaborate gilt frames, glass sculptures that looked like they cost hundreds of dollars, porcelain figurines so dainty and perfect they were surely hand-painted, silver and gold candelabra, antique swords . . . how could anyone be so rich?

"Cozy, isn't it?" Dorothy asked proudly.

Cozy? It was a room in which one could run tours, not relax, I mused, but only nodded.

She showed me the den, with its rich, plush leather sofas and chairs, Philip's office, the dining room with a table that could seat twenty at a time and the kitchen that looked more like a kitchen for a restaurant. She was especially proud of her ovens, although she was quick to say she never even boiled water for tea.

"That's Selena's job," she declared and introduced me to her cook, a very short and very plump Peruvian woman with eyes as dark as pea

t moss. "Selena lives in the rear of the house," Dorothy explained. "Spike has an apartment over the garage, but my maid, Christina, lives in West L.A. She arrives here at seven in the morning and leaves after dinner, usually about eight. Philip pays them all off the books," she added in a whisper.

"Off the books?"

"Things accountants do to stave off the greedy government. Let's go settle you in. I'm sure you want to shower and freshen up after your trip."

"Yes, I do. Then I'd like to visit the address."

"The address?"

"Where my mother might be," I said.

"Right away?" She grimaced. "Surely, you want to wait until tomorrow."

"I'd rather do it as soon as possible. It's why I'm here," I emphasized. She raised her eyebrows.

"I keep forgetting how much energy young people have," she said. "Very well, if you insist. We'll have Spike ready for you in an hour."

"Thank you, Dorothy, and thanks for showing me your house. It's wonderful."

She beamed.

"I've done most of the decorating myself. With the help of professionals, of course. Holly's been here only once. Can you believe that? I think she's afraid to return, afraid to face the fact that she might like it here," she added with a wink.

I doubt that, I thought. Holly was impressed with spiritual, not material things, I wanted to tell her, but I kept my lips sealed tight.

We climbed the stairs. Alec had already unpacked my things, hanging up what had to be hung and putting my other things in-the dresser drawers. It embarrassed me to realize he had done all this and especially handled my underthings.

I was so shocked by the bedroom though, that I didn't even have time to feel embarrassed. This wasn't a room, but a chamber fit for a princess. I couldn't believe the posh splendor, the opulence! The walls were covered in silk damask, colored a delicious strawberry pink, richer than the pale mauve of what I thought had to be at least a two-inch-thick carpet. There was a king-size white pine bed, the wood somehow treated so it had strands of blush pink through it. There was a canopy and over the bed itself was a soft, furry coverlet. Even the walk-in closet was bigger than any room I had slept in. It had shelves for shoes and a mirror and a small dressing table at the rear. But there was also a vanity table and matching dressers in the room itself.

All of the fixtures in the bathroom were brass. The floor was a whitewashed tile. There was a whirlpool tub, a glass stall shower that looked like it would fit a whole family and double sinks. Mirrors everywhere caught my look of amazement. This was the guest room! What could Dorothy and Philip's master bedroom be like?

"I can't believe how wonderful your house is, Dorothy," I said again.

"I'm glad you'll be comfortable," she replied. "Comfortable! This is a palace. How could anyone not be comfortable?"