The Map of the Sky (29 page)

Miss Harlow, do not make something impossible simply in order to deny me the opportunity to make it possible. I assure you I can make any wish of yours come true, unless you desire to be more beautiful than you already are.

Contented, he handed it to Elmer, his young footman, who passed it on to Daisy, who stood idling in the doorway. In less than a quarter of an hour, the maid was back at her mistress’s residence. Emma opened the small envelope, convinced that at last she would find Gilmore’s polite surrender inside. She gave a sigh of frustration when she saw that this was not the case. What must she do to put him off? Any other gentleman, realizing that not only was she not interested in him, but that his wooing was beginning to annoy her, would have given up. But not Gilmore. He insisted on throwing down the gauntlet. This was no courtship; it was a battle of wills. And not content with that, Gilmore accompanied his challenge with a compliment as inappropriate as it was absurd. Emma took out another sheet of notepaper, and, biting her lip so as not to shock the maid by letting out a string of oaths, wrote:

I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Gilmore, but that is not my desire. My beauty would make you happier than it would me, for beauty never makes the person who possesses it happy, but rather the one who loves and worships it. I wish you better success with
your compliments in conquering some other young woman, for anyone can see that in your case I am an unassailable fortress.

That would put an end to things. She had tried to go about it in a ladylike way, but Gilmore had been incapable of taking a hint, leaving her no other choice but to resort to rudeness. Satisfied with her message, she handed the envelope to Daisy, who, twenty minutes later, placed it once more on Elmer’s silver tray. The footman, noticing the maid’s pink cheeks, commanded in the tone of a kindly but firm general that she be served a glass of water downstairs in the kitchen. Then, after glancing at the young girl in what she thought was a somewhat forward manner, he went up to deliver the envelope to his master, who snatched it off the tray with uncharacteristic urgency.

Emma’s new message pleased Gilmore, for she was continuing to play with him. She referred to herself now as an unassailable fortress, which in the mysterious language of women must have translated as something like . . . an open garden, or a fountain from which he could drink after a long journey. He couldn’t be sure, but he knew it must refer to a place where he would be welcome. Excellent, his strategy was working. Now it was his turn. He took another card and for a few moments stared off into space, pondering his reply. Should he also hide behind a veil of ambiguity? No, as a man he must reveal himself as he was, expose himself fearlessly, cut straight to the chase. What did he want out of this exchange? he asked himself. He wanted to see her again. Yes, to tell her how he felt about her, but not with arrogant pronouncements or stuttering speech. However, for that to happen he must be sure the meeting took place under the most favorable conditions. And there was only one place where he might conceivably appear calm. He picked up his fountain pen and wrote, as though her annoyance were genuine:

Forgive me for offending you, Emma. Allow me to make amends by inviting you to take tea with me tomorrow at my house, at the time of your choice. Then I shall be able to look into your eyes
and see how fervently you desire the thing no one can offer you. I am sure your desire will give me the strength to lay it at your feet, even if in order to do so I must go to Hell and back.

He blew on the ink and reread the message. It seemed a little risky. What if Emma were to say no? If she refused his invitation, there would be little point in going on. Although, truth be told, that prospect did not worry him unduly, for nothing would deter him from his mission, which would only end when one of them expired.

Elmer handed the message to Emma’s maid, and twenty-eight minutes later, just as Emma was beginning to think she had finally rid herself of Gilmore for good, another envelope sealed with an ornate “G” appeared under her charming nose. She opened it and read the message in disgust. “What a persistent egomaniac that man is!” she exclaimed after she had finished reading. Much to her annoyance, Gilmore had not only ignored her last message, but he was growing emboldened in his wooing, calling her by her Christian name and inviting her to his house. Had no one taught him anything about courtship? The game was over, his king had been toppled, why couldn’t he accept defeat? Any relationship, amorous or not, required a rhythm, a measured pace, and a series of rituals, but above all it must obey certain rules, of which Gilmore seemed unaware. Such ineptitude was exasperating. She took another sheet of paper and toyed with her pen as she mulled over her response. Clearly Gilmore had no intention of giving up the fight, however hard she tried to discourage him. As he himself had said, he was used to getting what he wanted, and his arrogance merited his being taught a lesson, a lesson he had never learned in the business world. She would not achieve this with words, unless she resorted to insults. And although quite a few came to mind, she would never use any of them, for she was perfectly aware that insults bring more shame on the deliverer than on the receiver. Thus she must think of a way more befitting her upbringing and intelligence in order to humiliate that insufferable swell-head, so that not only did he remove himself from her life but from the city itself.
Emma gently gnawed one of the knuckles of her left hand as she tapped her little foot on the floor. So Gilmore thought he could attain anything she wanted, did he? Well, that remained to be seen, she said to herself, as she began to envisage a possible solution to the problem. What if she asked him for the unattainable? In that case, he would have two choices: he could surrender and hang his head in shame or make a complete fool of himself trying to attain it. It followed that her request must provide some hope of success so that his failure would be even more humiliating. Yes, she concluded, that was the only way; she must play along by accepting the challenge. Only then would she succeed in ridding herself of that oaf. She would go to his house and demand something no one could possibly attain! She seized her pen and wrote:

Very well, Mr. Gilmore. Does five o’clock seem like a good time for you to learn that you cannot get everything you want?

Daisy set off with the question to Gilmore’s house. She halted at the front door and straightened her little hat. Then she rang the door chime, which summoned the footman with a pleasing trill. As he opened the door, Elmer gave her a knowing grin, which she liked, for it wiped away his ordinarily stern expression. After depositing the envelope on the tray with a theatrical gesture, Elmer vanished upstairs, though not before inviting her to some muffins he had ordered to be left on a pedestal table.

Gilmore held the envelope for a moment before opening it. Perhaps it wasn’t a refusal, he thought optimistically. He inhaled sharply and took out the note. He read it again and again to make sure he wasn’t dreaming: Emma had accepted his invitation! Yes, she had accepted that desperate invitation. A joyous smile spread over his face. He had guessed right, he had known how to read between the lines: Emma wanted to see him again. He was sure she had liked him calling her by her Christian name. His challenge had in fact been a pretext, a pleasurable, amusing game designed to conceal his true intention. And Emma, skilled in the art of flirtation, had gamely pretended to accept it in a spirit of competition.
What a truly adorable creature she was! Gilmore conceded, feeling that his devotion to her was boundless. He reached for another card and let out a sigh of love. It was his turn once more, but there was no longer any need for pretense; all he had to do was play along with Emma. He wondered whether there was anything in the world he could not attain, and decided there wasn’t. He sat hunched over the card and, feigning the requisite smugness, wrote:

I fear you will be the one who discovers that you lack the necessary imagination to conquer a man in love, Emma. And five o’clock seems an ideal time. Only death will prevent me from being here to receive you tomorrow.

He slid the card into its envelope and handed it to Elmer, who hurried downstairs almost at a trot. Waiting for him in the hallway was the grateful Daisy, who was still savoring the delicious muffins. They were almost as good as the blueberry jam beignets she bought as a treat on payday from Grazer’s bakery. Thirty minutes later, a few crumbs the wind hadn’t dislodged still sprinkled around the neck of her dress, Daisy delivered the note to her mistress.

Emma tore open the envelope and read Gilmore’s reply, her lips pursed as she stifled a cry of rage. How dare he question the power of her imagination or the ambitiousness of her desires! Although the message didn’t require answering, Emma could not resist responding. There was no sense in wasting any more ink discussing a contest she knew she would win the following day as soon as she revealed what she wanted. It was best to be humorous:

In that case, Mr. Gilmore, I advise you not to practice any dangerous sports until tomorrow.

She placed the card in the envelope and gave it to her maid. Daisy dragged herself over to Gilmore’s house, only to find a plate of blueberry
beignets awaiting her. Before she could recover from her surprise, Elmer held out the little tray with an affectionate smile, and she placed the envelope on its polished surface, stunned yet touched. How could he have had time to go Grazer’s bakery and back? she thought; it was some distance away. That diligent, thoughtful young man must be quick on his feet. With a pompous bow, Elmer took his leave of her momentarily and went up to his master’s study, while she waited below overwhelmed by a feeling of gratitude verging on love.

When he saw the footman enter, Gilmore snatched the envelope from him and tore it open eagerly. Emma had refused to be provoked by his first sentence and, under the guise of her usual irony, now appeared concerned about his health. Gilmore grinned and shuddered with delight. Could she be any more adorable? He took up another card and wrote:

Have no fear, Emma, besides wooing you, dangerous sports have no appeal for me.

Ah, if only he was as witty when he was in her presence! Elmer hurtled down the stairs and handed the envelope to Daisy, boldly brushing his fingers against hers and causing the girl’s face to flush with confusion. Trying not to swoon from the sudden rush to her head, the maid thanked Elmer for the beignets, and, as a way of breaking the awkward silence that had descended between them, she told him how amazed she was that he had produced them so swiftly. Elmer gave a little cough and, like a child reciting Shakespeare from memory, said in a monotone, “I can make any wish of yours come true, unless you desire my beauty to be more than it is.” Daisy stared at him bewildered, unclear why he thought she would find his looks wanting. Elmer gave another cough and, turning his back to her, consulted the words scrawled on the palm of his hand. Then he turned around again, and, in the same dispassionate tone, said, “I can make any wish of yours come true, unless you desire to be more beautiful than you already are.” Daisy instantly turned
bright pink, stammered a farewell, and walked back to her mistress’s house floating on air, wishing she knew how to write so that she could tell the increasingly attractive footman how she felt at that moment, unaware that he had already seen it in her eyes.

Some forty minutes later, she delivered the card to Emma, who realized despondently that Gilmore also had to have the last word. She tore open the envelope. How could anyone be so brazen? she thought after reading his reply. Did Gilmore have no limits? Emma took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to try to calm herself. She would have liked to reply, but the maid was fidgeting impatiently, as if she had sore feet, and sending her to Gilmore’s house yet again seemed too cruel a gesture, even for Emma. She comforted herself with the thought that, as Oscar Wilde had said, better than having the last word was the prospect of having the first.

XVI

M
ONTGOMERY
G
ILMORE LIVED IN A
P
ARISIAN
-style town house near Central Park. In Emma’s mother’s day, the area had been a wasteland, where the few houses belonging to wealthy residents floated like luxurious islands in a sea of mud. But now those splendid mansions were squeezed between new dwellings and stores of strained elegance. Emma rang the door chime at ten minutes past five—ten being considered in polite society the proper number of minutes to arrive late for an engagement. Accompanying her was her maid Daisy, whose dismissal had been revoked in return for her keeping quiet about the meeting. It was utterly unthinkable for a young woman of Emma’s social class to call at a bachelor’s residence without a chaperone. And so, much to her regret, Emma had been forced to lie to her mother and to offer that deal to her maid, whose joyful acceptance, as you will have guessed, was not entirely due to her regaining employment. Shortly after Emma rang the bell, she heard someone striding jauntily toward the door. Instinctively, she straightened her hat, which matched her crimson dress, and noticed with surprise that Daisy did the same. After admonishing the maid with a gesture, she waited for the door to open and put on her most insincere smile.

The owner of the sprightly footsteps was a slim young footman, who bobbed his head in greeting, then led them to the library the long way round, no doubt at the behest of Gilmore, who wasn’t going to waste any opportunity to impress his guest. Emma followed the footman with an
air of indifference, trying hard not to show the slightest expression of awe at the wealth of exotic, lavish objects. When at length they reached the library, lined with dark walnut shelves and exquisite cabinets filled with ancient volumes, Emma saw that the room gave onto a cool and shady patio, like a cloister, where the tea table had been laid. Shaded by an enormous oak tree, whose leafy branches scattered the afternoon light, the place struck Emma as a delightful sanctuary, which she would have liked to explore further had Gilmore not suddenly made an appearance. Dressed in an elegant dark brown suit, he was accompanied by a dog, which, after giving the two women a cursory sniff, slumped down in a corner and gazed at them wearily.