‘Do you know Charlie Farquharson?’ he began.
‘Yes.’ Of course she did. She knew every family in the Buffalo ‘Blue Book’. She said: ‘Would you like a piece of this toast?’
‘No, thank you, I’ve had breakfast.’
‘Boys of your age never have enough to eat.’ She looked at him shrewdly. ‘Unless they’re in love.’
She was on good form this morning.
Woody said: ‘Charlie is kind of under the thumb of his mother.’
‘She kept her husband there, too,’ Ursula said drily. ‘Dying was the only way he could get free.’ She drank some coffee and started to eat her grapefruit with a fork.
‘Charlie came to me last night and asked me to ask you a favour.’
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Woody took a breath. ‘He wants you to invite Mrs Peshkov to join the Buffalo Ladies Society.’
Ursula dropped her fork, and there was a chime of silver on fine porcelain. As if covering her discomposure, she said: ‘Pour me some more coffee, please, Woody.’
He did her bidding, saying nothing for the moment. He could not recall ever seeing her discombobulated.
She sipped the coffee and said: ‘Why in the name of heaven would Charles Farquharson, or anyone else for that matter, want Olga Peshkov in the Society?’
‘He wants to marry Daisy.’
‘Does he?’
‘And he’s afraid his mother will object.’
‘He’s got that part right.’
‘But he thinks he might be able to talk her around . . .’
‘. . . if I let Olga into the Society.’
‘Then people might forget that her father was a gangster.’
‘A gangster?’
‘Well, a bootlegger at least.’
‘Oh, that,’ Ursula said dismissively. ‘That’s not it.’
‘Really?’ It was Woody’s turn to be surprised. ‘What is it, then?’
Ursula looked thoughtful. She was silent for such a long time that Woody wondered if she had forgotten he was there. Then she said: ‘Your father was in love with Olga Peshkov.’
‘Jesus!’
‘Don’t be vulgar.’
‘Sorry, Grandmama, you surprised me.’
‘They were engaged to be married.’
‘Engaged?’ he said, astonished. He thought for a minute, then said: ‘I suppose I’m the only person in Buffalo who doesn’t know about this.’
She smiled at him. ‘There is a special mixture of wisdom and innocence that comes only to adolescents. I remember it so clearly in your father, and I see it in you. Yes, everyone in Buffalo knows, though your generation undoubtedly regard it as boring ancient history.’
‘Well, what happened?’ Woody said. ‘I mean, who broke it off?’
‘She did, when she got pregnant.’
Woody’s mouth fell open. ‘By Papa?’
‘No, by her chauffeur – Lev Peshkov.’
‘He was the chauffeur?’ This was one shock after another. Woody was silent, trying to take it in. ‘My goodness, Papa must have felt such a fool.’
‘Your Papa was never a fool,’ Ursula said sharply. ‘The only foolish thing he did in his life was to propose to Olga.’
Woody remembered his mission. ‘All the same, Grandmama, it was an awful long time ago.’
‘Awfully. You require an adverb, not an adjective. But your judgement is better than your grammar. It
That sounded hopeful. ‘So you’ll do it?’
‘How do you think your father would feel?’
Woody considered. He could not bullshit Ursula – she would see through it in a heartbeat. ‘Would he care? I guess he might be embarrassed, if Olga were around as a constant reminder of a humiliating episode in his youth.’
‘You guess right.’
