Holding the umbrella to shelter both herself and Antonia, Inez approached the glass-paned door to the store. There inside, readily visible in the well-lit interior was Nico in his evening clothes. Standing with Nico was a man she had no trouble recognizing, despite the passage of time.
Harry Gallagher.
The lamb and pie in her stomach settled like a lead weight, and she took as deep a breath as she could, given the meal and the suddenly much-too-tight corset. Inez had suspected she would eventually have to face this particular ghost from her disreputable past, just not so soon.
Both men had cigars. Nico, who seemed to be doing most of the talking, gestured with his, sweeping his arm grandly around the store as if showing off the extent of their wares. The smoke drifted up and curled in the air above their heads, like a vengeful wraith.
“Who’s that with Nico?” Antonia leaned close to the glass for a better look.
Inez swiftly guided Antonia away from the storefront and toward the door leading to their living quarters. “A gentleman I’ve been expecting. Business. You shall have to see yourself upstairs and memorize those lines Miss Pierce set forth for you. You can recite them to me over breakfast tomorrow.”
“Aren’t you going to play anything tonight?” Antonia didn’t hide her disappointment. One of their after-supper rituals on Mondays was for Inez to play the grand piano. Antonia liked to crawl under the instrument, lie on the rug, and dream to the music. Inez always saved Antonia’s favorite, Für Elise, for last.
Inez unlocked the door, and they entered the dark entryway.
“After I’m done talking with the gentleman there, I shall have to prepare for the usual visitation from Carmella’s beaus and the rest.” She had never made a secret of the Monday night gatherings for cards and conversation in the back room.
“Tomorrow night, I promise.” Inez added. She hated to let Antonia down, but it couldn’t be helped. Inez lit one of the oil lamps waiting at the bottom of the stairwell, helped Antonia hang her wet mackintosh on a peg by the door, and hung her own alongside. After giving Antonia a quick hug and handing her the lamp, she continued, “Now, go along.”
Antonia dragged herself upstairs, her heavy tread expressing her disappointment.
Inez stifled a sigh, thinking that she would much rather play for Antonia than deal with what was coming next, then gave herself a shake. I can handle Harry. I have in the past, and I will now. I must remember: the focus of his visit is his son. He wants information. I need only convince him that I have none, and he will look elsewhere. She closed and locked the door, returned to the store entrance, grasped the doorknob, twisted it harder than necessary, and entered, head high.
The two men turned toward her. Inez placed her umbrella in the elephant-foot stand by the door, eyeing Harry in his bespoke eveningwear. The obligatory swallow-tail coat and black low-cut waistcoat—both of a black so deep and rich it seemed to swallow all light—and the blinding white cravat and shirt said plainer than words he was on his way to an important event. The lid of the nearby grand piano held his overcoat and a silk hat. The two men were dressed almost identically. With their similar heights, the casual way they held their cigars, the equally intent manner in which they attended to her entry, they could have been matching bookends.
Inez said, “Good evening, gentlemen,” as calmly as her racing heart would allow and walked forward, pulling off her gloves as she approached.
“Good evening, Mrs. Stannert.” That was Harry, polite to a fault. The years since they had last spoken faded away, leaving her almost dizzy.
“Ah, Signora Stannert. It appears you have a very wealthy admirer who has traveled all the way from Colorado to see you.” Nico’s obsequiousness oozed as sticky sweet as the apple pie filling.
Inez wondered what Harry and Nico had been discussing. She was willing to bet it wasn’t pianofortes or Oriental vases.
However, all Nico said was, “Signore Gallagher was telling me he’s heard you perform in Colorado in the past, and was praising you for being an accomplished pianist. I, of course, readily agreed, having known this since the day of our first acquaintance.” He sounded grudging and dazzled at the same time.
“Thank you, Mr. Donato, for your kind words on my behalf.” She turned to Harry. “Welcome to San Francisco, Mr. Gallagher. What a surprise to see you here.” She couldn’t force herself to add the adjective “pleasant.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mrs. Stannert,” Harry responded.
Nico cleared his throat. “Well. I must be off. I am to perform at the Floods’ tonight and need to gather the rest of the quartet.”
Harry diverted his gaze to Nico. “I shall see you there, Mr. Donato.”
“I look forward to that, Signore.” He executed a deferential bow.
Inez thought sourly that Nico probably hoped to cultivate yet another wealthy patron, even a visiting one. Perhaps he was angling for employment at a soirée or some other private, high-toned function hosted by Gallagher while he was in town.
Once the door closed behind Nico, Harry said, “Is there someplace private we can speak, where we are not on display to the world like a case of dry goods?”
The last thing Inez wanted was to be enclosed somewhere private with Harry Gallagher. She glanced at the plate-glass windows facing the rainy, dark streets, considering her response. At that hour, pedestrians, carriages of all kinds still filed past. With the lights inside, the two of them would appear as actors on the stage to those outside. Also not what she wanted. “There is an office in the back. But I only have a few minutes. I am expecting other visitors.” She took an almost childish pleasure
