“He’s out fishing, probably back in a few hours.”
Great. Right when time was of the essence, her dad was out on a boat fishing.
To keep herself occupied, she headed down to Kenneth’s apartment, where he was holding what he called a “high tea.” Inside, a dozen or so men and a few women were chatting away in groups, nibbling on cucumber sandwiches and macaroons. Kenneth gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before heading back to the kitchen to refill the trays.
Bailey curled up in a nook in one of the large window seats facing Central Park, with a cup of tea and a scone, and let her mind wander. She was so close to finding out the truth. But although she had yet to speak with her dad, there wasn’t much point of getting her hopes up. Even if he agreed, there was no way she could afford a thousand-dollar test.
A familiar, deep growl broke her out of her reverie. Renzo stood near the fireplace, listening intently as Mrs. Stellenbach, who lived in a studio apartment up on eight, explained some kind of repair job in great detail, barely pausing for breath.
He caught her eye and she smiled quickly, then looked away, pretending to be absorbed by a young man plucking away at “You Are My Lucky Star” on the piano. After a few minutes, Renzo put his hand on the woman’s shoulder and made his excuses, then joined Bailey on the window seat. It was the first time they’d been face-to-face since the debacle in the basement with Melinda and Tony.
“I assume you can’t go to a tea party without being monopolized about a clogged sink.”
“Clanging radiator, in this case. Hazard of the job. I try not to socialize too much with the tenants, but I couldn’t pass up Kenneth’s scones.” He leaned back against the wall and studied her.
She blushed. To distract him, she asked the question she’d been wondering for weeks. “How did you get your unique name?”
“Is Lorenzo Duffy unique?”
She laughed.
“My father was Irish and my mother Italian. Deadly combination, as the probability of turning into a boisterous drunk increases twofold. At least that’s my theory.”
“You seem to be doing all right.”
“I’m hanging on. How about you?”
“Meetings every day.”
“I haven’t seen you.”
He’d been looking for her. Her heart skipped over a couple of times. “Melinda warned me, well, to steer clear. Until things have been decided one way or another.”
“Steer clear of me?”
She nodded. “Although you were right to stash away the sheath in the safe the way you did. Melinda and Tony were ready to sell the thing on the black market. The fact that it’s an artifact, an important one, means nothing to them.”
“To you it does?”
“Of course.” She looked out the window, the view a sea of sparkling leaves. “Okay, I did think about the value. How could I not? But to me, the most important items from those trunks were the letter and the photo. And, in a weird way, the finger.”
“What’s the latest from the battle of the basement?”
“The co-op agreed to allow the results of the DNA test to determine who it belongs to. If the DNA from the finger bone and blood match that of Manvel Camden, it’s his and Melinda’s.”
“How are they certain that what’s in the tube belonged to Theodore Camden?”
“The plans are dated the month he died, and there are newspaper accounts about how his finger was never recovered, grisly details like that.”
“It all sounds kind of hocus-pocus-y.”
She couldn’t agree more. “I know. It’s a crazy mix of old evidence and cutting-edge science. The results will be in by the end of the month. But I don’t think I’ll even get a chance to get my DNA tested, although not for lack of trying.”
“Why not?”
She didn’t want to go into it. The money, the fact that she wasn’t a male. “Long story. It’s probably not going to happen.” She paused. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve kept my distance. I wasn’t sure where you stood.”
“I don’t stand with Melinda and Tony, I’ll tell you that much. I hear the apartment is a disaster.”
She frowned. “God, it’s getting worse every day. It sucks that I have to do her bidding.”
“You don’t, actually.” Something dark brewed behind his slate-gray eyes.
“Until I get paid next month, I’m stuck. At that point, I’ll have enough to get me through.”
“Seems to me that you’re making excuses, staying in a poisonous relationship because you don’t have the courage to break out of it.”
She hadn’t asked him for his advice, and the implication infuriated her. As did his audacity to analyze her decisions and motives. She’d put herself out there by approaching Fred Osborn, and now having to ask Jack for a favor that she was sure he would deny. “You have no idea what I’ve been trying to accomplish the past couple of days. It’s taken every ounce of courage I have.”
“That’s great. Because I couldn’t stand the way Melinda and Tony treated you down in my office, like you were beneath them.”
He might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water over her. She felt attacked, exposed. He’d seen her prostrate herself before the two of them, and was calling her out. “What exactly was I supposed to do? Tell them to include me in the testing or I’ll quit? Melinda would have laughed in my face. The power is all theirs; I’m working with reality here.”
“You don’t see in yourself what I see. You have more power than you think.”
He was wrong. “I’m barely hanging on, here. What if it all comes crashing down? You may make fun of Melinda, but she’s stood by me and given me a chance when no one else would. I can’t forget that. If I push to get tested and it turns out I’m not a true Camden, I’ll not only lose one of my only friends, I’ll be totally banished from the New York design community.”
“So you would back down in order to placate Melinda? Do you think she would do the same if the roles were reversed?” He touched her shoulder gently, and she bristled in response. “Sometimes I worry that you’re using this wild-goose chase to avoid dealing with who you really are. In the end, who cares if you’re a real Camden or not? You’re a healthy, smart woman with a bright future ahead of you. Which means it doesn’t matter if Melinda causes trouble. You’ll get a job doing something else; you’ll figure it out. What’s most important is that you move beyond the tragedy of the past, start fresh.”
She wondered which tragedy he was referring to, Theo Camden’s or her mother’s. The shock of her mother’s death, as if it had happened twelve hours ago, not twelve years, hit Bailey in the gut, and she struggled to catch a breath. This usually happened in the middle of the night, when she woke up, heart pounding, certain that the world was disintegrating beneath her. Not in the middle of a crowded party.
Renzo continued on, taking her silence for encouragement. “I understand what it’s like to be barely sober, barely hanging on. But I want to see you stand up for yourself and be counted, not get pushed around by a prick like Tony or a princess like Melinda.”
“I’m confused here. Are you telling me to demand to get tested, or to give it up?”
“Not my decision. Whatever you do, don’t go into it blindly, for the wrong reasons. Or expect it to solve all your problems. That’s all I’m saying.”
Before she could reply, Kenneth came over, pulling two of his friends.
“How many more of those sketches do you have, my dear?” He pointed to the one that was now hanging above his fireplace in a handsome frame.
“Far too many.” She’d gone crazy the last couple of days, trying to capture the building from every angle, as if it might disappear when she no longer lived there. She knew it was silly, but her obsession blunted the pain of having to move on.
“Rory, John, and Edward all want one. I spoke with my neighbors and have already sold six here in the building. I won’t charge you a commission. Yet.”