A Conservatory Story
Edward Bellamy arrived shortly before eleven with a briefcase, a box of pastries, and the cheerful expectation that someone would be pleased to see him.
Phoebe answered the door.
“I'm looking for CK,” he said. “An old friend. Very well turned out, and capable of making you feel that your arrival has improved the day considerably.”
“That sounds like him.”
“Excellent. I was afraid he'd changed.”
“Not in the ways you've described.”
She led him into the Conservatory, where CK was helping Arthur draft a request to a historical society about estate maps connected with his family research. Jules had suggested that the society might answer more readily if Arthur put the question before the entire family history. Arthur was not convinced.
“CK,” Phoebe said. “Someone to see you.”
CK turned. For a moment his customary composure deserted him.
“Edward!”
“My dear fellow!”
They embraced, then stood back to inspect one another.
“You haven't changed,” Edward said.
“I should be disappointed if that were true.”
“You still know how to make a man feel welcome.”
“That, at least, I hope I've retained.”
Edward placed the pastries on the table.
“There's talk of a school reunion. I've been tracking down the old newspaper staff and collecting photographs. Naturally, I thought of you.”
“Naturally?”
“You were the only one who could persuade people to let me photograph them in the first place.”
“Come and have tea,” said CK. “You may tell me what everyone has been doing while I decide whether I ought to be photographed.”
“Too late,” Edward said. “I've brought evidence.”
CK and Edward had attended school together after CK had already spent several years acquiring the peculiar skill of being the new boy.
His family moved frequently. He learned who preferred formality, who liked being asked about a particular interest, and who wanted to be included without becoming the center of attention. He wasn't chiefly a comedian, though he could be funny. He made people feel appreciated without making them feel studied. Teachers trusted him; other boys included him; strangers found themselves rather pleased to help.
Edward was already an excellent photographer. He recognized the moment before something interesting happened and possessed the patience to wait for it. What he lacked was a way into the room. He tended to appear with a camera and assume that the value of the picture explained his presence.
CK supplied introductions and, more importantly, made the person on the other side of the camera feel the picture might be worth having.
Their school newspaper prospered.
“Do you remember Mr. Pritchard?” Edward asked, opening his briefcase.
“The caretaker? Certainly.”
Edward produced a photograph. Mr. Pritchard stood in his workshop among repaired chairs, lamps, a clock, and a machine of uncertain purpose. Several students held things he'd restored. The caretaker looked thoroughly pleased with the company.
“He refused me three times,” Edward said. “Thought I'd make him look ridiculous.”
“You went in with the camera first.”
“I was a photographer.”
“You were a boy pointing a camera at a man who hadn't invited you.”
“Then you spent an afternoon asking about his repairs.”
“They were worth asking about.”
“He agreed the next day. His daughter still has the original photograph. I found her while arranging the reunion, and she sent me this copy for the display.”
CK took it carefully. “I remember sending him a print.”
“I remember you getting me through the door.”
“Between us, then, we managed a decent photograph.”
Phoebe studied it. “He looks proud.”
“He was,” said CK. “He hadn't expected anyone to be interested.”
Edward had brought more photographs, some clipped from newspaper pages and others kept in an envelope. One showed the newspaper staff looking as though they had recently escaped supervision. Another accompanied their editorial about the school lunches.
“The headmaster let you print a complaint?” Phoebe asked.
“CK persuaded him it would demonstrate confidence in the students,” Edward said.
“It did.”
“And did anything change?”
“We acquired a second pudding on Thursdays.”
“A reform of considerable importance,” Arthur said, joining them.
“It was at the time,” Edward replied gravely.
Arthur studied the caretaker's photograph.
“A useful record,” Arthur said. “Though photographs don't necessarily preserve the names, dates, or circumstances that make them useful.”
“And family recollections aren't always much help,” Jules said.
“Sometimes they're excellent,” Arthur replied. “Sometimes three relatives identify the same gentleman as three different uncles. That's why I ask for the evidence rather than choosing the most agreeable uncle.”
“Then you'd better label these,” Phoebe told Edward.
“That's partly why I'm here. CK remembers people I don't.”
“Not always correctly,” CK said.
“Then we shall have a reunion worth attending.”
They spent a pleasant hour identifying faces, recalling teachers, and disagreeing about whether one photograph preceded the great Thursday-pudding reform.
Edward remembered the opportunities CK created. CK remembered the people Edward noticed when nobody else did. It was agreeable to discover that their recollections fitted together without being identical.
At lunch Edward described his property business: offices in two towns, colleagues he trusted, and clients who returned or sent their friends.
“Most of my work comes through recommendations. If people trust you, they come back.”
CK looked genuinely pleased. “You've done remarkably well.”
“Much of it began with you.”
“With me?”
“You taught me how to make someone comfortable enough to talk. To discover what mattered to them. To make a decision feel possible instead of frightening.”
“Then I'm very glad.”
“I've told people for years you taught me the art of getting in.”
“An art with many applications,” CK said, smiling.
Arthur's family research had led him to an old estate whose papers were being exhibited at a historic house and gardens. He hoped a map in the collection might explain an apparent change of address in his family records. He also wanted to make an outing of the visit.
Jules had prepared an itinerary. Unfortunately, the house tour began in the morning, Phoebe preferred to arrive later for the gardens, and Jules was interested in the maps and gardens but not the guided house tour.
“It's ceased to be an outing,” Arthur said. “It's become a set of unrelated appointments.”
“What did you hope to share?” CK asked.
“The discovery, if there is one. And an afternoon together.”
“Which part would you most like them to see with you?”
“The maps,” Arthur admitted. “I'd like another pair of eyes on them. But I want to take the house tour.”
“Then take it,” CK said.
Jules checked the exhibition hours. “Phoebe and I can meet you at the maps after lunch.”
“And the gardens afterward,” Phoebe said. “Then tea.”
Arthur looked at the brochure again. “But you’ll miss the house itself.”
“We will,” Jules said. “But we’ll be there for the map you wanted to show us.”
“I had intended the tour to be the main event.”
“For you, it still is,” CK said.
Arthur considered this without appearing reconciled to it. “Very well. But I reserve the right to describe the tour in some detail over tea.”
“Then we shall have the benefit of it without attending,” said Phoebe.
Jules made the alteration. Arthur watched him, looking as though he had conceded a point without necessarily accepting the opposition’s reasoning.
Edward had been watching with amusement.
“That's the CK I remember. He'll have everyone agreeing before tea.”
“Not everyone,” CK said. “Arthur may yet decide he'd prefer to go alone.”
“I shan't,” Arthur said. “I shall take the tour, whether or not anyone else appreciates it.”
“An entirely respectable choice.”
Edward looked from CK to Arthur. “You used to be rather more concerned with getting the yes.”
“Perhaps I was.”
“It's not a bad talent.”
“No,” CK said. “It isn't.”
They returned to the photographs while Arthur and Jules began a more promising itinerary.
The property difficulty arrived with the coffee, almost by accident.
Edward mentioned a young couple who had bought an older house through his agency. They loved the place. The roof was nearing the end of its useful life, and the heating system was hardly new. The buyers commissioned an inspection, received the report, and negotiated a price that reflected the condition.
“Now they've had a roofing quotation far above what they expected,” he said. “The husband tells me I made it sound manageable. Apparently he thinks I persuaded them to overlook the risk.”
“What did you say to reassure them?” CK asked.
“I helped them see that an imperfect house might still be worth buying. They had the report. The choice was theirs. And it was a good price. If they'd insisted on a house with nothing wrong, they'd still be looking.”
Edward sighed. “I don't know what they expect. I'm not their roofer.”
“Did they have a quotation from a roofer before committing?” Jules asked.
“Only the inspector's general estimate. They could have obtained another.”
“And you weren't engaged to obtain one,” Arthur said.
“Exactly.”
Edward went on before CK could answer. “I told them the inspector's figure was an estimate, not a roofer's quotation. I didn't disguise the condition. But I also told them what I believed: they were unlikely to find another house they liked as much at that price. They could have waited for a quotation and risked losing it. They decided not to.”
CK considered this. “And you believed the opportunity worth the risk?”
“I did. I still do. My job isn't to remove every uncertainty until there's no decision left to make.”
“That is a fair point,” CK said.
Phoebe had been listening. “What have they asked you for now?”
“They said they trusted me. That they wouldn't have proceeded if they'd understood the expense.”
“Have they asked you to pay?”
“Not in so many words.”
“Do they still want the house?”
Edward paused. “I haven't asked.”
“Then perhaps you don't yet know what they want from you,” Phoebe said.
Edward frowned. “They sounded as though they wanted someone to blame.”
“Perhaps,” Phoebe said. “Or perhaps they're frightened and want help figuring out what happens next.”
CK listened.
“I don't believe I concealed anything,” Edward said.
“I haven’t concluded that you did,” CK replied.
“Someone has to help people act despite uncertainty,” Edward said. “If I presented every possible expense as a reason to stop, nobody would buy an older house.”
“Quite right,” CK said. “I wouldn't want you to stop doing that.”
“Then whose side are you on?”
“I don't think we have enough sides yet.”
Arthur, who had been sorting the outing notes, looked up approvingly.
After lunch CK and Edward walked along the old service track used by the workmen. Beyond the planting beds stood the old storage building and Jackal's mural. Beside the path, the saved piece of wall bore a painted branch, a silver streak, and a chipped corner nobody had tried to hide.
Edward examined it.
“Why keep the damaged part?”
“Jackal thought it worth saving.”
“Who's Jackal?”
“An artist who sees rather more in a wall than I generally do.”
Edward stepped back. “I rather like it.”
“So do I.”
They walked on.
“I still think the buyers made a reasonable decision,” Edward said. “And I don't believe I did anything improper.”
“You may be right.”
“Then why am I uncomfortable?”
“Phoebe asked you something worth considering. You don't yet know what they want from you.”
“You've become cautious.”
“Have I?”
“You used to be the first to tell someone not to let uncertainty stop him.”
“I still believe that. A person can become so determined to avoid a mistake that he never makes a decision.”
Edward looked relieved. “Then you understand why I encouraged them.”
“Perfectly. You established their trust before the sale. I wonder whether they're asking what that trust means afterward.”
“Are you saying I should have frightened them?”
“No. I'm wondering whether they had the chance to weigh the roof as seriously as they weighed the opportunity.”
“And if they understand and choose badly?”
“Then it may still be their decision to make.”
Edward laughed softly. “You really have changed.”
“I should hope so. School would be a disappointing high point for one's development.”
“Or you've become so careful about people's choices that you've forgotten what they gain by taking chances.”
CK stopped. “That is a possibility I ought to consider.”
When they returned, Arthur was studying the revised itinerary with the expression of a man who had consented to a compromise and intended to supervise it closely.
“I shall take the house tour,” he informed them. “And I expect everyone to pay particular attention when I describe it afterward.”
“I'm looking forward to the maps,” Phoebe said.
“Precisely. The maps are why we're going.” Arthur tapped the brochure. “Though I still think the house deserves a proper audience.”
Edward looked at the itinerary, then took out his phone.
“I've been debating what to say to the buyers,” he said. “I might begin by asking what they want.”
He went into the hall. The conversation lasted some time. He listened more than he spoke.
When he returned, he looked surprised.
“They don't want to undo the sale. They still love the house. They're frightened they've exhausted their savings and made a terrible mistake.”
“And the roof?” CK asked.
“They've had only one quotation. I know two reliable contractors who can look at it. One might suggest a repair that buys them time before full replacement. I've offered introductions.”
“Did they accept?” Phoebe asked.
“They said they would like the names. They still sound rather shaken.”
Edward sat down and regarded the phone for a moment before putting it away.
Arthur looked up from his letter. “Did they ask you to pay for it?”
“No. They asked whether I knew someone who could tell them what was actually necessary.”
Arthur returned to his letter and crossed out several lines.
“Would you like to change the request?” Jules asked.
“I would like them to answer the question I meant to ask,” Arthur said, crossing out another line.
Before leaving, Edward lifted his camera. “May I have a photograph for the reunion display? CK, with your friends?”
“Certainly,” CK said. Phoebe joined him, and Jules came around the table.
Arthur remained with his letter. “I wasn't at your school.”
“Nor were these two,” Edward said. “It's a picture of CK now, not then.”
Arthur glanced at the group, then at the letter. “Very well. But if I'm to be included, let me put this down first.”
Edward waited while Arthur placed the letter beneath the map brochure and joined the others. He adjusted his position to keep the teapot out of CK's face and took the picture.
“Excellent,” he said, examining it.
Arthur leaned over. “You appear to have made me look agreeable.”
“A professional risk,” Edward said.
At the door Edward shook CK's hand.
“You know,” Edward said, “you were very good at getting us through doors.”
“And you were very good at seeing what was worth photographing once we were inside.”
“I'm glad you remember that part.”
“I remember more than one part,” CK said.
“Will you come to the reunion?”
“Of course I shall.”
“You'll have to let me photograph you there as well.”
“I shall endeavor to make the ordeal tolerable.”
Edward smiled. “I still think you sometimes make decisions harder than they need to be.”
“And I still think you occasionally make them too easy.”
“Then perhaps we ought to have kept in touch.”
“An oversight we can correct.”
“At the reunion, then,” Edward said.
“At the reunion.”
After Edward had gone, CK returned to the table. Arthur was showing Jules his shortened letter. It asked for the map reference, and nothing else.
“I shall send this,” Arthur said. “Then we can argue about the itinerary.”
“We already have,” Jules reminded him.
“Yes,” said Arthur. “But the exhibition is not until next week.”