'Maybe I should invest in a few cans of wall paint.'
'Another color might help,' he offered in agreement.
'You miss the point,' she said.
'Not one other color. 'Several I could do a mural ' She glanced at the bare walls, as if conceptualizing her project.
'Wouldn't that please the landlord?'
'Maybe it would,' he said, 'if your work became valuable someday.'
'Of course,' she mused, imitating a carnival barker.
'Come see the mural of the modern-day Anastasia, the claimant to the Sandler chemical fortune '' She uttered a low bitter laugh and continued.
' 'Spent years trying to collect what was rightfully hers. Never collected a penny! Died young and broke! But out of this life of torment came art. R@ art! If you don't mind walking up one flight on Thirtieth Street' She glanced at him, then quickly turned away. A cynical smile was melting. It took him several seconds before he knew she was hiding tears.
'Leslie,' he said, rising and going to her.
He took her in his arms, her back to him. Her hand was at her face. y I haven't cried in years' she said.
'I doni, want you to see me. It's weakness, I know.'
'I won't look' he said with sincerity.
A moment or two passed. She turned to him, face to face, her eyes slightly red but dry already.
'I'm sorry,' she said.
'You deserve better than having a weepy female on your hands.' She didn't allow him time to answer. Instead, she added, motioning around her,
'It's this place,' she said.
'It's abysmal. It depresses me 'I understand,' he said.
'Honestly, I do.'
She nodded appreciatively.
'Did you think of anything else?' she asked.
'About De Septio? De Septio and your father? Or Arthur Sandler?'
He shook his head again, wondering how they'd traveled back to that subject so abruptly.
'There has to be something important,' she said.
'How can we possibly find out?'
'The only real hope' he said, 'would be that Zenger would remember De Septio.'
'Zenger?'
'My father's former partner.'
'Of course' she recalled.
'I'd suggest that we go see him immediately She seemed startled.
'We?'
'Do you object?'
There was a silent moment within the room while she considered it.
'No' she said.
'But I don't see why it's necessary.'
'It's not necessary. But it might be a good idea. You could question him yourself if you felt like it.'
'He won't want to see me,' she said.
'I know that in advance.'
He nodded.
'I know. He won't know until you arrive at the door.
Then he'll have no choice He could see again that she was pondering it, her mind examining the many facets of his suggestion.
'He's expecting me tomorrow,' Thomas said.
'Instead of just me, he'll get us.
'Tomorrow?'
'I already telephoned ' ' he said.
'I said I'd be there sometime by evening tomorrow. There's an Air New England flight-' 'No airplanes ' Her voice was firm.
'The alternative is a hell of a long haul by car and ferry.'
'That's preferable.'
He weighed it, then gave in.
'Have it your way,' he said.
Pensively she broke from his embrace. She went to the second window in the living room and pulled down a shade, sealing off the outside just as she might seal a secret within her soul.
Thomas Daniels watched her graceful movement as the noise intensified from the bar below. No place at all for a princess, he thought. A woman who conveyed elegance and breeding, who said she was the last of a once- dignified family, deserved better than two and a half tacky rooms above a cheap red-light bar.
'You'll stay with me tonight, won't you?' she asked.
Deserved better, he thought. But would she ever have it? What could he honestly do to help?
'Of course,' he said.
She turned from the window, speaking brightly now, her entire mood radically changed and elevated.
'I'd be worried about you returning to your place,' she said.
'They'll be looking for you again.'
Whoever 'they' are, he thought.
'You're precious' she concluded.
'I'll make you as comfortable here as I can.'
'Considering the events of this evening,' he answered, 'tomorrow will be a good day for a trip.'
Part Five
Chapter 22
A cold rain was lashing the entire East Coast that next morning.
Thomas and Leslie left Manhattan very early by car and drove northward through Connecticut, Rhode Island, and the southwestern tip of Massachusetts. The drive was torturous, with gusts of rain and wind battering the car and with the windshield frequently immersed by sheets of water kicked up from passing trucks.
They arrived at Woods Hole at three in the afternoon. The rain still fell relentlessly. They waited at the gloomy colorless depot until the boarding of the late-afternoon steamer to Nantucket, the second and last boat out that day. The ferry encountered a severe squall crossing Nantucket Sound. On board, the storm felt even more intense than it was.
'Where are we going to stay tonight?' she asked, two hours out from Woods Hole. She sat beside a large plate-glass window that looked out on gray sky and water.
He shrugged.
'It won't be a problem,' he said.
'There are a few places open year round' She snuggled close to him, her softness and warmth a comfort on a genuinely unpleasant voyage.
'Let's find an inn for the night' she said.
'The least we can do is have some fun.' She gave him a soft kiss on the cheek, then, noting his sleepiness, disappeared for a few moments.
When she returned and again filled the empty space next to him, he was looking out the window, lost in thought about Sandlers, forgers, and claimants to unfound wills.
