Page 21 of The Missing Pages
February 20, 1912
Quaritch Ltd
Leicester Square, London
Dear Mr. Widener,
Your lovely letter was waiting for me when I returned from America. My sincerest gratitude is in order for the hospitality and warmth you showered upon me during my trip to New York. I’m still smiling thinking of you in the middle of the Martha Washington dining room, the only gentleman in a sea of women. You were quite brave to indulge my invitation and it will remain a favorite memory of mine, along with the Baked Alaska at Delmonico’s!
I’m happy to say that I have very good news to report. Mr. Quaritch did successfully bid on both Francis Bacon lots during the Huth sale. One of our other clients has purchased the enlarged edition, dedicated to Bacon’s brother-in-law Sir John Constable Knight. It is a rareand beautiful edition with a special provenance, but I can happily report that we still have the second lot available. Another exceptional edition of hisEssaysthat was printed in 1598 and referred to amongst collectors as “The Little Bacon” because it’s nearly the size of a gentleman’s hand. I must tell you that I’ve seen it and it defies description and I know it would be the perfect addition to your collection.
If it’s something that interests you, please let me know and I will make sure it remains here for you to inspect when you arrive in London next month. I am already holding the Cruickshank and Dickens we discussed over dinner. Your inquisitiveness and intellect were truly a gift during my travels, and I can only hope that I can find a way to reciprocate when you come to London.
I hardly think I’m phosphorescent, but your words, albeit too generous, are much appreciated.
Fondly,
Ada Lippoldt
I must have read her letter a dozen times. Was it ridiculous that I also brought the elegant pale-blue paper beneath my nose to see if she might have added her fragrance?
I slipped her letter into my desk drawer, took out a sheet of my stationery, and wrote to her at once. There was no doubt in my mind that I must have “The Little Bacon,” but I also wanted to keep the wheel moving between us. My grandfather once told me he’d heard Mr. Morgan say, “A man always has two reasons for doing anything: a good reason and the real reason.”
The good reason was that I wanted that book. The real reason was that I wanted an excuse to write to Ada.
Dear Miss Lippoldt,
I am overjoyed to hear that Mr. Quaritch has“The Little Bacon” in his possession, and I am most appreciative that you will hold it for me until I arrive.
With my trip to London only weeks away, I’ve already started my preparations. Please let me know if there is an opening in your schedule for me to take you to dinner. I am seeing Bernard Alfred at his club for dinner on Thursday, but the following evening and much of the weekend is free for me.
With fondness and admiration,
Harry Elkins Widener
Her response was exactly what I wanted to hear.
Dear Mr. Widener,
Your most recent letter felt like sunshine for me on this rainy afternoon. It would be my pleasure to have dinner when you’re in London. I’ll be here at the shop when you meet with Bernard Alfred (he’s terribly excited to show you “The Little Bacon” and the other books that are waiting for you) that Thursday when you arrive. Perhaps we could have our dinner on Saturday when I’m not busy at the store. I’m especially excited for you to hold “The Little Bacon” in your hands.
Affectionately and gratefully yours,
Ada Lippoldt
Her letters continued to arrive every few days, and I would immediately write a response. Our correspondence deepened to the point where one afternoon, I wrote:
My dearest Ada…
Her last letter, which arrived only days before my parents and I left on the RMSMauretaniafor Southampton, began “Dearest Harry.”
I slipped it along with the others, storing it in a lacquer box away from prying eyes in the bottom drawer of my armoire.
I could hardly breathe.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Violet kept all the mementos from her time with Hugo inside an old shoebox. The ticket stubs from the first movie they saw together. The key chain with the rower’s oar that she’d plucked from his junk drawer. The purse-sized memo pad that had the beautiful John Singer Sargent portrait on the cover that he’d bought for her at the MFA bookshop.
