Chapter 19: Private Viewing, Part One
Vincent Karp met them at the edge of the turntable with both hands open, as if he were presenting not a car but a country. "Mr. Donovan, Miss Ashworth, welcome to your private viewing," he said. "The Corvina Lumen One. One-of-one. Three million dollars. And tonight, for the right conversation, entirely within reach."
"Vincent, you have outdone yourself," Chase said, loud enough for the nearest press cluster to hear. "When Marcus Bell told me this week was invite only, I said, get me on that list. He said, Chase, you are the list."
Olivia smiled the smile she had practiced in the car. "It is beautiful," she said. "It looks like it is moving even while it stands still."
"That is the idea, darling," Chase said. "Speed you can park. I am thinking the Palm Beach house for winter. This silver flank will need its own wall, obviously."
Serena stood at the front quarter panel in her plain dark suit, her hands folded, her stopwatch a small weight in her pocket. She watched the warm lights travel across the Lumen One as the turntable turned, slow and patient, and she said nothing.
Karp guided them forward with a practiced sweep. "Note the finish," he said. "Hand layered. Seven coats. No two panels read the light the same way twice."
"Seven," Chase said. "My tailor says the same about a proper lapel. Layers, Vincent. People either understand layers or they rent them."
Olivia glanced at him. "Your tailor also said the watch was an investment," she said pleasantly.
"And he was right," Chase said, lifting his wrist so the rented watch caught the light. "Champagne, please. Something worthy of the car. Not the house bottle."
Jonah Fields appeared at his elbow. "Of course, sir."
"Then the most expensive one," Chase said. "Three glasses. Vincent will want to remember this."
Karp laughed on cue. "To future ownership," he said. "Shall we admire the silhouette first?"
"Silhouette first," Chase said. "A car like this is architecture. I told the board at Halston, I said, anyone can buy speed, but proportion is taste. They quoted me in the minutes."
Olivia took her champagne and did not drink. Over the rim she watched the woman by the car. The woman had not moved to offer a cloth or a brochure. She stood the way owners stand in their own kitchens, Olivia thought, with no need to explain her place in the room.
Theo Marchetti crossed behind the turntable with a tablet, stopped when he saw the woman, and changed direction without a word. He passed her a small nod, low and precise, the kind of nod men gave conductors before an orchestra began. She returned it with two fingers, barely lifted.
Interesting, Olivia thought. She filed it away beside Nathan's warning, beside the loan with her name and no signature.
"You are quiet," Chase said to her. "Overwhelmed?"
"Observant," she said. "There is a difference."
"Observe this, then," he said, and turned at last toward Serena, though he spoke past her shoulder, as if addressing the car through its staff. "You. Design team, yes? Tell me honestly, does this finish hold up, or will my detailer be polishing swirl marks out of it every weekend? Because I do not buy garage ornaments. I drive what I own."
Serena lifted her eyes to him. "The finish holds up," she said. "It was tested for heat, salt air, and handling by people who did not know what it cost."
"That sounds like marketing," Chase said.
"It sounds like testing," Serena said. "Marketing came later. Marketing usually does."
Karp cleared his throat with a smile fixed in place. "Our design colleague is being modest," he said quickly. "The Lumen One program was, uh, very hands on at every level."
"Hands on is good," Chase said, already losing interest. "Just make sure it is spotless for delivery photos. My followers expect a certain standard."
"Your followers," Olivia said, "will be thrilled."
"Our followers, darling. Think of the announcement. Ashworth and Donovan, first drive at sunset, no caption needed."
"I can think of several captions," Olivia said.
Serena pressed her thumb once against the stopwatch in her pocket and did not start it. Not yet. She looked at Olivia then, really looked, and Olivia felt the attention land like a hand briefly on a shoulder, assessing, not unkind.
Karp sensed the pause and filled it with ceremony. "Shall we move to the flank?" he said, steering them with an open palm toward the long silver side of the car. "That is where gentlemen prefer to have the ownership conversation. Numbers read better beside the car, I find."
"Lead on, Vincent," Chase said, offering Olivia his arm and his brightest smile for the room. "Let us talk about making her mine."