“Ms. Lamond,” I say, and exaggerate my own accent. She doesn’t keep my eyes for long, but she hasn’t flinched at first seeing my face, which does tell me one thing about my father: he must have told her about my scar. I take her hand in both of mine, and kiss it. “How wonderful to meet you at last.”
“Please, come in. I do wish we weren’t meeting under these circumstances.” She leads me through the hallway and Jacopo brings up the rear, shutting the door behind him, clicking the lock as well. “It’s very kind of you to think of me in your own grief,” Lina continues, showing us into a sitting room.
The walls are papered in a dark green jungle-print, and the small windows are heavily draped in dark green velvet and several layers of sheer curtains that kill the light. Fortunately, an ostentatious, low-hanging chandelier lights up the room, which is stuffed to the brim with vintage furniture.
“Please,” Lina says, “have a seat.” I have quite a selection of them: sofas, love seats, armchairs. I take the closest wingback, and Jacopo sits on the ottoman opposite where Lina is standing.
“What a wonderful home,” Jacopo says. “I can see you have an eye for interior design.” Somehow, he says it with a straight face.
“Oh, thank you,” she says, brightening, as she arranges herself on the love seat. “It’s an interest of mine. Ciro encouraged me in—in—I’m so sorry.” She screws a delicate handkerchief into her eyes, taking a deep breath. “Ciro encouraged me in my interests,” she finishes at last, looking up at me with wet eyes, and sniffling. “I just miss himso much, Sandro.”
She stuffs the handkerchief back into her eyes and reaches out blindly toward me. I glance at Jacopo, and he stares with meaning at her hand until I take it. But I make sure he sees my scowl. “Naturally,” I say. “My father had quite a…presence.”
“He certainly did,” she sniffles. She lets go of my hand, thankfully, and looks between us. “Would you like a drink? Coffee? Tea?”
We shake our heads. “My father made provisions for you,” I begin.
“Of course he did,” she sighs. “I told him this house was more than enough, but Mr. Lombardo tells me now that there’s some lifetime stipend…when I never wanted anything financial from your father, Sandro. I need you to know that. I only wantedhim.”
Out of her line of sight, but from the corner of my eye, I see Jacopo give a little shake of the head. He doesn’t believe her. I don’t, either. She’s clearly a woman who enjoys money, enjoys being pampered.
“Did my father speak to you about my half-brother, Julian?”
“Oh, yes. He justlovedJulian. He was very proud of that boy.”
That boy, as though Julian does not have years on her. Did she fancy herself as a Mafia matriarch, I wonder? Soon enough she would have been cast aside, I have no doubt of that. “He mentioned no disagreements with Julian?”
She shakes her head. “Not that I recall. But I don’t understand why you’re—”
“He had no more problems than usual with anyone else?”
She gives a helpless shrug. Jacopo shakes his head again and I know what he’s thinking. This is a dead end.
Lombardo told me Lina Lamond was unaware of the real cause of death. He trotted out the heart attack line with her, too, and it seems she is either silly enough or naïve enough to believe it. She doesn’t even understand why I am probing her with questions.
She knows nothing that will help.
My father may have made many errors in judgment, but spilling Family secrets to this minx was not one of them. I think shewantedto be more involved. She reminds me, in a way, of Teddy—and perhaps I understand him a little better after this meeting.
But at leasthehas provided some possible leads.
Between the crying, and the constant reaching out for my hand, and the way she keeps trying to identify with me “in my grief,” we get nothing useful out of Lina Lamond at all. And then at the end, she leans forward on the love seat to fix me with imploring eyes. “I want to make sure we keep in touch. You’ll keep in touch, won’t you, Sandro?”
Who does she think she is? Making demands ofme, as though she has any right? But Jacopo gives me another look, and I pat the red-clawed hand that she has again thrust into mine, and lie smoothly. “Of course.”
“And the film will go ahead?Streetcar?Only I had a call from casting and…you’ll make sure they keep me on, won’t you, Sandro?”
Ah. So that’s what this has all been about. “I still need to speak with the studios.”
At the door, she reaches out for my arm. “Sandro, honey—when is the funeral?”
I stare at her. Surely she can’t think to attend?
“We’ll get word to you about any memorials,” Jacopo says quickly, taking her hand off me to shake it goodbye.
“Yes,” I say as he nudges me discreetly. “Yes, Ms. Lamond, we’ll make sure you are kept informed.”
“Lina,please, Sandro. Why, we’re family, after all.” She gives another watery smile.
