Chapter Five
Inez applied a matter-of-fact tone to mask her concern, as one of Flo’s girls would apply a layer of cosmetics to mask her pockmarks. “You have met Signore Donato? He owns the store, and I manage its day-to-day functions.”
“Ah, Mrs. Stannert, you are much more than a manager!” Nico interjected. “You saved my modest commercial enterprise, which I will admit was sadly neglected before you arrived.”
Inez allowed herself a tight smile. Neglected didn’t begin to describe the initial state of the original store when she first came upon it. The place had appeared run-down, almost deserted. Inside, to left and right, stacks of sheet music had slumped on top of glass cases. The cases were a jumble, holding small vases, statuary, and objects she assumed fell under the “curiosity” label of the store. The chaos abated along the plastered walls, with flutes and other woodwinds racked in rows, and a cluster of brass instruments facing off from the opposite wall. A music store selling both sheet music and instruments was unusual, and she had been intrigued by the possibilities.
In the center of the showroom floor, an exquisite Persian rug had claimed space for two dark green love seats, several unhappy ferns in vases of Oriental extraction, a trio of cellos resting against supports, and what looked to be a Chinese gong. At least all the instruments had seemed to be well taken care of. They were just about the only objects in the store that were not coated with a fine film of dust.
“You transformed this establishment,” continued Nico, “bringing a feminine touch to the decor, a practical eye to the bottom line, and imposing a welcome domestic order and calm. Your attention and care frees me to pursue my own engagements and appearances, without worries. You are the muse of the music store!”
Inez wondered if Nico’s extravagant praise was merely his way of making sure the ever-alluring Mrs. Sweet would indeed sign up her “daughter” for lessons and continue to return to the store.
“Thank you for your kind words, Mr. Donato.” She held the bouquet out to him and said, covering her words with a blanket of entreaty, “May I please beg a favor of you? Would you help me by taking these lovely flowers and finding some place on the showroom floor for them while Mrs. Sweet and I attend to business? They are gorgeous, Nico, they should really be displayed for all to see. What a joy it will be for me to look at them while I’m on the floor this afternoon.”
“Of course, of course!” Nico gallantly took the blossoms from her before turning to Flo and saying, “I hope we shall have the pleasure of meeting again, Signora Sweet.”
Inez responded before Flo could answer. “You might if her daughter decides to come for lessons. Which we will determine once she and I have the chance to talk in private.” Inez closed the door gently but firmly in his face to stop further discussion.
Inez leaned her back against the door.
“Well, well, flowers, goodness, Mrs. Stannert, you didn’t waste any time once you left Leadville and settled here in San Francisco.” Flo smirked. “Nico, is it? And on a first-name basis, are we?”
“No, we are not.” Inez crossed her arms. “At least, not in the manner that you are insinuating.” She took a moment to examine the madam. The palette was clearly rose. Beneath Flo’s unbuttoned double-breasted cashmere walking coat peeked a long, slim polonaise casaque of heavy rose-colored silk, silver buttons gleaming up the front and disappearing under a fringed white silk scarf tied in a soft bow over a fluted collar. The hem of the polonaise overskirt swept up to a point just above the knee and sported piping and a wide ribbon over silk chenille fringe. The dove-gray silk underskirt flaunted rows of puffing over a knife-pleated flounce.
For her part, Flo was clearly giving Inez the once-over as well. “Mrs. Stannert, have you been scrubbing floors?”
Inez glanced down at her skirts, tellingly damp around the knees and hem. “I do what I have to do these days, Flo.”
“Well, no need to tell me that. We all do what we have to do. But still. Scrubbing floors? That’s a long way from lording it over the silver barons and millionaires at the Silver Queen Saloon’s gaming table.”
“At least it’s my choice,” said Inez coldly.
Flo wrinkled her nose. “And why the solemn outfit? Black and gray are good colors for you, but you look like you are in mourning. Surely you’re not mourning your divorce to that charming-but-no-good husband…pardon, former husband of yours.”
“Flo!” said Inez sharply, then lowered her voice. “I cannot entirely trust that there is not someone hovering on the other side of the door, ear pressed to the wood. Please, keep your voice down.” She tugged on the handle behind her to be sure it was shut tight, then locked the door and stepped away. “As for mourning, it’s nothing of the sort. It simply makes life far easier if everyone here thinks I am a widow, recovering slowly from the death of my dear husband, who is buried in Colorado.”
“Buried is right,” said Flo under her breath. “He’s hardly got space to breathe these days, and certainly has his hands full with the second Mrs. Stannert. She keeps him coming and going, so to speak. And they have a little son. Did you know that? Takes after the mother.”
A painful twinge thrummed through Inez, composed of sorrow and another emotion—envy?—that she didn’t want to inspect too closely. In any case, the last thing Inez wanted to hear about was her former husband’s new marriage and subsequent progeny.
Flo continued blithely, “And you, dear partner? Am I correct in guessing that, in some nearby boardinghouse, there is a squalling bundle of
