I wasn’t able to benefit from Carmen, and neither was Renata, proving how much more she would have gained had Ivan lived. She would sing the role of pure Micaela, hardly a good match given her conniving spirit. She was unhappy being relegated to a supporting part and complained to the conservatory president, even to Rosa Ponselle herself, with whom Renata had started a tentative friendship. Ivan had promised her Carmen, she wailed. No one was moved.

  She must have felt very confident to pull the secret marriage out of her hat. It could have made her look guilty to benefit so mightily from Ivan’s death. But by then, suspicion was being centered almost entirely on Hans, poor, downcast Hans, whose affair with Renata cast him in a guilty light. At least the attention was off of Laura and me.

  I knew Laura’s mother was not as confident, however. I’d seen her looks at dinner when Laura had acted so nonchalant about Ivan’s death.

  Hans was the suspect. Hans was the one who looked guilty.

  Maybe, I thought with an enormous exhale of relief, Hans was guilty. Maybe none of us—me, Laura, her mother—had anything to worry about.

  ***

  I stood when I saw her. She walked quickly to the booth in the back where I sat, her arms tightly clutching a black leather purse in front of her, as if she were afraid of coming into contact with anything in the coffee shop.

  “Thank you for meeting me.” She said, managing a smile.

  “Let me get your coat,” I offered.

  She looked quickly around. Seeing the coat hooks at the side of the booth, she turned her back to me, allowing me to slip her light raincoat from her shoulders and hang it up. Underneath, she wore a stylish suit of deep blue, a scarf tucked around her collar, a simple hat with little ornamentation, and plain leather gloves, which she slowly removed. She could have been decked out for a funeral.

  When she sat down, I studied her more closely and saw the strong resemblance to Laura, the delicate features, the green eyes—although hers were paler—the reddish hues in her chestnut hair, cut short and neatly curled behind her ears. Had she been a flapper in her youth? Had she done wild and passionate things—is that why she suspected such action from her daughter?

  “Let me get you something,” I said, looking for the waitress.

  “No, nothing. I’m fine, really. I just want to talk.” She removed her gloves and set them on the table.

  “You want to tell me to stop seeing your daughter.” I had decided on my way into town that this was probably the main reason for this meeting. I was ready for it, having fortified myself with a sip or two from my flask. I would listen, maybe argue a little, and then maybe even promise her I’d do as she wished. But I wouldn’t make up my mind about that. I’d let that simmer for awhile to see how I felt about having Laura snatched away from me.

  I pulled out a cigarette and stuck it in my mouth. She stared at my hands. “Do you mind if I smoke?” I asked. “Or does it make you uncomfortable?”

  She immediately shook her head, blushing, and looked down.

  “Go right ahead.” She folded her hands over one another.

  “I’m not here to tell you to stop seeing Laura.”

  So she figured I’d assume that. Smart lady. She waited while I lit a match and then the cigarette.

  “But I am here to suggest that you be… discreet and allow me to help you.”

  She looked up at me.

  “Of course, I’m assuming you do want to continue seeing Laura.”

  My eyes widened. This was not what I’d expected.

  “Yes, very much so.”

  She started talking in a calm, reasonable way about her husband, about how he loved his “little girl” and would have a hard time seeing her with someone, about how this was a “formidable obstacle,” about how she could help in that regard if I was “serious” about Laura. And also about how “concerned and worried” she’d been when she suspected Laura had been involved in a “romance” with Ivan.

  Here, at last, was the reason for the visit. As she prattled on, I looked at her. She seemed serene on the surface, but her eyes gave away her anguish. She couldn’t stop them from narrowing into a fretful frown, and by sheer force of will, she occasionally calmed her visage by blinking fast to open her eyes into a more restful pose.

  She was convinced her daughter had killed her former lover.

  That’s what I heard when she talked about Laura’s “nervous disposition,” about Laura’s need for a “settled and calm world.” That’s what I heard, a drumbeat under everything else she said, when she confided in me that Laura had always been “high strung,” and that’s why they’d not stood in the way of her music ambitions, even though she would have preferred if Laura had gone to finishing school like all her friends.

  She was convinced her daughter had killed her former lover.

  That’s what I heard when she talked more about Jack Reed and the need for her to prepare him for any “future plans” Laura would make with a “young man.” That’s what I heard when she mentioned that whatever young man Laura chose, the family would, of course, help set up the couple.

  At the end of this recitation, I tapped the last ash from my cigarette and stubbed it out.

  “I have envisioned a future with your daughter, Mrs. Reed,” I said. “And I’m glad you approve. I would appreciate your help with any family obstacles.”

  “Laura has a trust fund. I’m sure she’s told you.”

  “No, she hasn’t.” I sipped my coffee, wishing I could reach for my flask and a dash of whiskey.

  “When she marries, she—and her husband, of course—can take the money in a lump sum or live off the interest.”

  “Well, that’s wonderful. But I’m sure you know I’m not interested in Laura for her money.” I knew she’d want to hear that, and it held truth. I’d not known about a trust fund, about the Reeds’ desire to help Laura’s betrothed.

  “If Laura’s father doesn’t approve, he could tie up the fund for years, maybe even forever,” Mrs. Reed said with real regret. “So it’s very important, you see, to proceed with caution. You may not want the money, Mister Silensky— ”

  “Please call me Gregory.”

  “—Gregory, but Laura shouldn’t be denied what is rightfully hers. I’m sure you’ll agree.”

  She looked down at her perfectly manicured hands with their buffed nails and smooth skin the color of pale pink roses.

  “What are you suggesting?” I asked. I thought I knew, but I wanted to hear it clearly.

  She looked up and smiled.

  “Well, Gregory, I don’t think I need to tell a young man how to court a lady.” She laughed but it sounded artificial and I could tell she knew it. She cleared her throat.

  “If you assure me you are serious … ” she leaned into the table, “I will do everything in my power to convince Mr. Reed that it is in Laura’s best interests to pursue a relationship with you. I would suggest, however, that you make your intentions known quickly—your honorable intentions, of course—so that Mr. Reed doesn’t think you are taking advantage.”

  She paused and stared at me.

  “Is that what you will do, Gregory—make your honorable intentions known to Laura?”

  She was asking me if I intended to marry her daughter. When I didn’t respond immediately, she went on.

  “In addition to Laura’s trust fund, we would, of course, secure an apartment for you. And I have some friends on the boards of various schools—St. Paul’s, Friends, Gilman—and would make inquiries for you for teaching positions.”

  “My intentions are most honorable,” I said, sounding like an English barrister. “And I will be making them known very soon. Should I approach Mr. Reed?”

  She smiled and shook her head.

  “I will do that. I will tell him you wanted to talk to him, but spoke with me instead. He would be far more willing to accept a fait accompli, you see. That is, if you’ve already asked for Laura’s hand, he would be more willing to accept that than you actually telling him you were going to do so. I’ll make sure he understands, though, that you were courteous and approached me. And then, of course, we would plan something quick and quiet, but very elegant. Oh dear, Gregory, I don’t mean to offend or even to rush you. I’m so sorry to put it this way. My husband is a good man. He wants the best for his daughter. And I’m sure he imagined she’d marry a man like those in our club. It’s only natural, you see, to want those things for your children—to want what you think is the best. It would break my heart if Laura were cut off from us. But if you were to ask Laura for her hand, he wouldn’t be inclined to be so strict if I prepared him in advance, and we didn’t make a big fuss about things. So you see, Gregory, if it’s handled the right way, it could benefit everyone, not just Laura. It would save this mother’s heart. Where is your mother, Gregory? I’m sure she’d understand.”

  “My mother passed away about eight years ago,” I said.

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I thought I’d mentioned it already.”

  “Oh … well then, I apologize for not remembering.”

  She brought her purse up onto the table, and for a moment, I thought she was getting ready to leave. Instead, she drew out a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes. This must have been hard for her.

  “What do you want to do with your life?” she asked gently.

  “Compose.”

  “Have you been having any success?”

  “I won second place in the Kliegman.”

  When she looked confused, I explained.

  “And that allows you to make a living—composing? she asked.

  “Hardly anyone makes a living just at that, though. Teaching, conducting are part of the life. Unless you go to Hollywood, of course.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Some serious composers—like Erich Korngold—write music for the cinema. They make decent money from what I hear. But then they find it hard to be taken seriously by their colleagues. By the Roustakoffs of the world.” I felt my breast pocket for another cigarette but didn’t pull one out. I also felt my flask there. I sipped coffee again. “He’s the one who won the Kliegman, by the way. He’ll get the notoriety and the money—too late.”

  Mentioning the dead man made Amanda Reed uneasy. She fidgeted in her seat. “Talent finds a way to succeed,” she murmured.

  I laughed. “Tell that to Mozart, who died young and poor.”

  Her head shot up at his sarcasm. “That’s why it’s so important to be careful with Laura. Making sure she’s not cut off, that is. And, as I said, we could help you with securing a decent position. Maybe even something permanent at the conservatory itself—if that’s what you’d like to do?”

  “I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Laura.”

  She fidgeted again. She wanted to say more, but was having a hard time with it. What else did she want from me?

  “This Roustakoff death is quite the scandal,” she said casually. “I spoke with some friends who know his sister well. She will not rest until someone is brought to justice.”

  “But he might have killed himself—accidentally, of course.”

  “Louise is ferocious in her quest. She won’t stop until her brother’s killer is caught.”

  “There might not be a killer.”

  She gave me a quick smile that faded as soon as it lifted her lips into position. “Louise always felt the need to defend her brother’s choices in life,” she said. “I imagine she feels this is her last chance to make sure his name isn’t sullied.”

  “Then perhaps someone should set her right.”

  “At the very first opportunity, I intend to try my hand at consoling her and offering her some advice. In the meantime, people could get hurt. Innocent people.” She stared at me. “You said the police had talked to you and Laura?”

  I nodded. “Police have talked to me twice.”

  She sat stock still. “Are they talking with everyone?”

  “Everyone who knew him I guess.”

  “Lucky for you Laura was with you.” She laughed lightly, again artificially. So this is what she really wanted to talk about.

  “Not that it matters, but she only walked with me to the rehearsal hall that night. She can’t vouch for me after that, nor me for her.”

  She swallowed, sucked in her lips, composed herself again, smiled.

  “One more reason why a marriage would be so beneficial.” She grimaced slightly.

  “Not that you need it,” she said in a rush, “but once you are married, you can’t testify against each other. That will be a blessing for someone like Laura, who is so easily upset. Knowing she won’t be badgered by the police, that is.”

  “The police think we were in a studio together, and I have no intention of correcting them,” I said steadily.

  She smiled, this time more genuinely. She pulled on her gloves, and then opened her purse again, grasping from it a small envelope. She handed it over to me.

  “I have absolute faith that you will do the right thing, Gregory. But I know there are many expenses in planning a wedding, even a small one. I thought perhaps you could use a gift to help you get started.”

  When she left, I looked inside the envelope and counted the money. She’d given me a thousand dollars.

  *****

  Dear Sis,

  I wished I could have talked longer when I called last week. Mom says you are serious about a guy and I’d like to hear more about him. She seemed to think you might be moving fast with things, due to all the war talk.

  Whatever happened to that conductor fellow you were so taken with last year? If things didn’t work out there, it’s only natural you’d want to take up with someone else. But sometimes that can be the wrong thing to do. Let your heart mend, little girl.

  I’ll write more later. Even though I’m bored most of the time out here, there’s always something I have to do.

  Your loving brother,

  Richard D. Reed, Ens., U.S.N.

  U.S.S. Arizona

  Pearl Harbor, Hawaii

  Chapter Eleven

  “Laura, my sweet, I think we should get married.”

  “Oh darling, yes! Yes, yes, my love!” And she asked, in that innocent, beguiling way of hers, how I’d like to make love to her, folding her body’s curves into mine, her shapely posterior settled against my loins. I took her as she presented herself.

  ***

  It wasn’t as if a short engagement was unheard of. It wasn’t as if people didn’t run off and get married and live happily the rest of their lives.

  I’d not given much thought to how I’d ultimately propose to a girl. But what became clear to me after my meeting with Amanda Reed was that I’d be a fool not to grab a chance with Laura—a phenomenal beauty, an uninhibited lover, a woman of means.

  So I broke it to Sal that week and asked if he’d stand up for me. I expected him to be surprised, but not so passionately opposed.

  We were sitting at a tavern near the harbor on one of the few afternoons I had free—no rehearsals, and, since Laura had a lesson that afternoon, no tryst.

  We’d had a few beers and I’d just ordered a gin and lit a cigarette when I told Sal I was going to marry the girl.

  “Holy shit, Greg, you’re pulling my leg now!”

  “No, I’m not. I love her. She loves me. Her mother approves.”

  “Just her mother? Don’t she have an old man?”

  “Her mother is going to bring him around.”

  “How you gonna support her—ain’t she got money?”

  “Yes, she does.” I explained about the trust fund, the connections, the family’s desire to help us get started. I didn’t tell him about the thousand.

  He took a long drag on his cigarette and blew a plume of smoke over my shoulder.

  “You knock her up?”

  I laughed. “Not that I know of.”

  He took a different tack. “What’s going on with the case?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one with the cousin on the force.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that Laura girl was knocked up by the murdered guy?”

  So Sal was putting pieces together. And why shouldn’t he, I thought as I sipped at my gin. He was a smart fellow, street smart. That’s what I liked about him.

  “Yeah. But that was over before the guy died.”

  He tapped embers into the tin ashtray between us and slowly shook his head.

  “It don’t smell right to me,” he said at last. “And I’ll bet you she’ll want out eventually, after all the drama’s over.”

  “Thanks for the confidence in me, pal.”

  “Nothing against you. I’m just thinking she’s the kind who’ll want the finer things.”

  “You’ve not even met her.” I drank again. “And besides, we will have the finer things.”

  “Where you gonna live?”

  “An apartment near the university.”

  “You bring her round sometime, and Mamma will cook her a nice meal.” He slapped me on the back, but it was artificial cheer. He knew that such an image—the refined Laura Reed at the Sabataso dinner table—would tell me all I needed to know about how wrong my dream was.

  With the help of another gin, I pushed doubts aside. I paid for a couple rounds, and by the time we left the bar a few hours later, we were the same pair of friends we’d always been, laughing and singing as we walked home. He agreed he’d stand up for me. I needed only to tell him the day and the hour.

  “Greggie, my sister ain’t never gonna forgive you,” he said when we reached my home.

  ***

  I learned in the next few days just how powerful an old monied family could be. Amanda Reed produced in short order: a hurried marriage license (is this how Renata had done it?), an appointment with a judge at City Hall, a small celebratory dinner at the Chesapeake Restaurant on Charles Street, a convinced if grudging Jack Reed, and a new “trousseau” for her only daughter.

  She also furnished our apartment, in a beautiful new building on Charles and University, on the third floor. As soon as the opera was over, I’d sell my old place in Sal’s neighborhood.

  In the week after the wedding, I had Sal stop over, and he was appropriately impressed with the tall windows and high ceilings, the spacious living and dining rooms, the large kitchen and equally grand bedrooms—there were two—as well as the marble in the bathroom and the prints on the walls.

 

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