I caught Fiona’s eye and motioned if she wanted a drink. She did, and I went to the bar and returned with a glass of wine, an austere California chardonnay in the French style, much like Fiona.
While Debra and Fiona discussed the opera season, Townie disengaged, guided me back to the bar, and asked, “I understand you’re a banker. I’ve got a proposition for Fiona: market rates, fully collateralized. Kind of a no-brainer with a few bells and whistles to keep it interesting, you know?” He patted my shoulder.
“I’m sorry, but what’s your line of business?”
“Construction…but branching out to real estate development.” Townie was a preppy in his fifties. He caught me looking at his tasseled cordovan loafers, and said, “Never one for bulldozing. Spend most of my time nailing the numbers and getting our projects in on time and on the money.”
“So you’re an engineer?”
“No, own the company, Morgan and Morgan. Been in the family for eons.” Giving himself the once-over, he said, “Hey, now you’ve got me worried. I mean, you think I look like an engineering geek?” His deep infectious laugh made me laugh again.
“No, not at all. I meant an engineer by training.”
“No, I went to school, back east.”
“Oh.”
“In Connecticut.”
“Yale?” I asked and thought he was going to tell me about Yale, but he didn’t. “Great school,” I added. Townie stood a little straighter. “As for Fiona’s business affairs, I’ve never had anything to do with them. Besides, I’m in international banking and don’t know much about real estate.”
Debra waved for Townie to rejoin her and Fiona. “Gotta scram,” Townie said. “Nice seeing you again. Hey, let’s get together. We’ll do lunch, my club. Have your person phone mine and set something up, after the New Year.”
“Sounds great,” I said.
I went to the French doors leading to the covered patio at the rear of the house and turned to watch Drew’s friends transform the occasion into a stylish cocktail party. It was wearing quite thin; a cigarette was irresistible. I eased open the doors, slipped outside, and was smoking behind a potted pine when I heard the doors open. Peeking around the tree, I saw Fiona.
A slim, attractive woman in her late fifties, Fiona took expensive care of herself. She was reserved and could be acerbic; if pushed, her volcanic temper erupted.
I flipped the cigarette away, stepped from behind the tree, and cleared my throat.
“Alexander, my God. What are you doing out here?”
“Getting some fresh air.” We hugged.
She backed away. “Smoking again? That’s the very worst thing you can do to yourself.”
“I know. Everyone smokes in Russia. I bummed one at a cocktail party and was right back on them. I’ll quit again, soon, promise. How are you holding up?”
“Well, how do you think?”
I stepped back and put my hands up.
“Sorry,” she said, “but I so loathe my relatives; they’re like wolves, packing together and tearing at me. And such ghoulish questions: ‘Drew looks fine, doesn’t he?’ ‘How’s Drew feeling?’ They want to know if Drew has AIDS, and I’ll be damned if I’ll tell them that he does.”
“Oh dear, I thought so.”
“Drew said that you and he are having dinner this evening.”
“He wants to settle some issues between us.”
“And those issues stem from that summer… that terrible, terrible summer when Tatiana…” Fiona went to the patio’s edge and stared at the rain. “What are you going to do?”
“Play it by ear and see how it goes.”
“I see,” Fiona said, facing me.
“The service seemed like they were celebrating Fred’s suicide.” Pointing inside, I added, “And now Drew and his friends in fact are. It’s macabre.”
“I know, I know,” Fiona said. “I knew it would upset you.”
“Fiona, I’m concerned about you too.”
“I know that too. Ridiculous as it may seem, for a while I thought Drew contracted AIDS to humiliate me one last time. But that was entirely self-centered, and I took your suggestion; Drew and I are going to the Tahoe house early next week to attempt a rapprochement. Drew will tell you this evening. I’ll be quite busy getting Drew settled and arranging for his care.” She came closer. “You’re more than upset?”
“No, just tired.”
“I hope that’s all. I have a favor to ask.”
A knock on the French doors interrupted Fiona. A lady leaned out. “Oh, Fiona, didn’t mean to interrupt, but we have wonderful news: Jim Junior has been accepted early to Whitman College, up in Washington…Walla Walla. Big Jim and I have to go over the financial arrangements with you. Anyway, we won’t leave until we’ve talked.” Big Jim waved to Fiona.
Fiona waved back. “Cousins from Sunnyvale. The trusts pay for their offspring’s education.” Her expression turned wistful. “Times like this, I think of Tatiana; she knew I had money and didn’t care, unlike most everyone else in my life.” Then she looked into the living room. “If I could walk away from that mob, I’d be a happy woman.” Attempting a smile, she asked, “Do you remember how we met?”
“You took French lessons?” My mother had tutored Cal students in French and Russian.
“I didn’t need French lessons,” Fiona sputtered. She had been raised with a nanny from Brittany and spoke fluent French with a Breton accent.
“I was trying for some levity. We met at a hamburger joint around here.”
“It was a Sunday,” Fiona said. “Exhausted and miserable after one of these horrid family gatherings, I walked over to Nick’s for a cup of coffee. I sat at the counter next to you and Tatiana. You both looked so European and had come from the Russian church a few blocks away. You ordered hamburgers and milkshakes in terrible English and went back to the imaginary house you and Tatiana were building in southern France: the garden, the design, colors—all of it.”
“Back then, cheeseburgers and shakes made coming here almost bearable.”
“While I was eavesdropping, I realized that the house was imaginary and said in French that the kitchen should have a view of the sea. You asked if I had more ideas, and the three of us sat there working on the house for the longest time. Time flew like it always did around Tatiana. We walked back here for tea, and I drove you home to Berkeley. Tatiana and I talked every day after that. She never asked for anything.” Fiona dried her eyes. “It was my idea that she tutor French and Russian. I got her organized—not easy with her.” She was about to cry.
“Fiona, that favor you asked?”
She took a deep breath. “Townie Morgan wants me to look at a deal. Actually, it’s Chip’s. Chip, his son, is floating around here somewhere. Anyway, Townie’s company has been around for ages, but I don’t know anything about his business, or how he manages it. He banks at Universal; I’d like you to check around and see what you can find out.”
“Of course, happy to do so.”
Fiona winced when she heard the French doors open. Big Jim, his wife, and Jim Junior approached. “We’ll keep in touch,” Fiona said.
I took her arm. “I’d like to talk to you, away from these interruptions.”
“Of