Eleanor stared at her. “Your mother rarely came round to us, perhaps once a year,” she said. “They liked to keep to themselves.”
“I saw him at least half a dozen times a year. My mother liked to bring him and me together.”
“I think they were happy together,” Eleanor said.
“Your father had a gift for happiness,” Louisa said.
“Did he?” Eleanor said. “I shall think about that.”
“This place is huge,” Louisa said. “Mother said it was a wedding present from your father. What are you going to do with his place? It’s very nice for a West Side apartment.”
Eleanor started to back away. “No plans yet,” she said. “Thank you for coming. It must be a comfort to your mother.” She turned to speak to another guest.
Louisa caught her arm and leaned into her ear. “I think I’m your sister,” she said in a loud whisper. “I think your father was my father.” Eleanor turned back to her. Louisa was smiling a death’s-head grin.
“I’m sorry. This is terrible of me,” Louisa said. “It’s been stewing for years, this feeling I’ve had. My mother never denies it.” Her eyes glistened.
“I’m sorry for your pain,” Eleanor said, falling, without thinking, into thoughtfulness. “It’s too hard to talk here. We’ll meet for coffee sometime. Soon. Yes. Soon.” Louisa nodded. Eleanor turned from her and walked down the hall toward her bedroom.
Rupert, who’d watched the two talking, followed her. “You’re white as a sheet,” he said.
“I’d like fresh air,” she said.
They stepped out the rear door of the apartment and went onto the roof. Eleanor told Rupert what Louisa had said. Rupert put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her against him. “It could be true,” he said. “Edward told me he had an affair with her mother when he was in his early forties. The timing would be right.”
“Did my father think Louisa was his daughter?” Eleanor asked.
Rupert gave a flicker of a shrug. “I don’t think so. Marina wanted him to believe it, without lying to him. She was always pushing them to spend time together, ‘to discover their common bond,’ she’d say.” Rupert kept his hold on Eleanor. “He resisted. ‘We each have a daughter,’ he’d say to her. ‘Aren’t we lucky in them?’?”
“Are you saying this to keep my spirits up?” Eleanor said.
“No, your father, whatever his faults, was incapable of false feeling. You know he loved you. Louisa knows he didn’t love her.”
“I don’t know that I would mind, in theory, if he had another daughter,” Eleanor said, “but I don’t want a sister, not that sister.”
“What does she want?” Rupert said.
“Do we throw money at her?” Eleanor said.
“If that will do it, yes,” Rupert said.
“My father had dreadful taste in women,” Eleanor said.
“Do you want to go back in? Do you want to rest? I can send them all home,” Rupert said.
Eleanor straightened her shoulders. “No. I shan’t be done in by her.”
Will came out on the roof. “Are you all right?” he said to his mother. “I saw you leave.”
“I miss Granddad,” Eleanor said.
Louisa and Eleanor met for coffee two weeks later at E.A.T. on the Upper East Side. Eleanor had asked to meet on the Upper East Side, outside her catchment area. “You must think I’m a wretch,” Louisa said, “accosting you like that at the funeral.” She was smiling overbroadly.
Eleanor sat down. “I did think, I do think, you might have chosen a better moment.”
“Do I look like your father,” Louisa asked, “or anyone else in your family?”
“No,” Eleanor said. “You’re nothing like anyone in the family.”
“My father, my mother’s husband, was much older than my mother. He died when I was nine,” Louisa said. “I barely remember him.”
“What do you want from me?” Eleanor said. She was tired of Louisa and her feelings.
Louisa looked startled. “I don’t know,” she said.
“Do you want an inheritance?” Eleanor said.
Louisa’s face fell, then turned blotchy. Eleanor couldn’t tell if she was enraged or embarrassed.
“Do you think I’m doing it for money?” she said.
“I don’t know what you’re doing it for,” Eleanor said. “I don’t know you.”
“That’s not my fault,” Louisa said.
“I can’t help you,” Eleanor said. She reached for her wallet.
Louisa stopped her hand. “I’ll take care of this. I don’t want your money.”
“You need to take this up with your mother,” Eleanor said. “She knows, if anyone does. I haven’t a clue.” She stood up. “Good-bye.”
Eleanor hadn’t been so rude to anyone since she had snubbed Jim’s parents at his wedding. People can be so annoying, she thought. Next time I’m asked to meet with a putative relation, I’m sending my regrets.
That evening, after supper, she told Rupert about her conversation with Louisa. “I’ve forgiven my rudeness. She ruined my father’s funeral. I thought people only ruined weddings.”
“People generally make the most of their opportunities,” Rupert said.
“I’m going to be sixty on my next birthday,” Eleanor said. “I’ve decided it’s time I stopped smoothing over the rough patches. Rudeness is sometimes the only proper response.” She smiled at him. “But you, of course, know that.”
Rupert laughed. “So long as you don’t give me a hard time.”
She gave him a long look. “Too late to start tangling with you.”
“No tangling,” he said. “I’ve always relied on your willingness to let things slide.” He took her hand. “Your dad too. He let things slide. Differently. I miss him.”
“At least he didn’t marry Marina,” Eleanor said. “Do you think any more shoes will drop?”
Rupert reached out and touched her cheek. “No more shoes will drop.”
—
Susanna thought Sam was crazy to pursue the matter with the Wolinskis.
“But what if they are our brothers?” Sam said. “Shouldn’t they get some of Dad’s money?”
“Is that what this is about? Money?” Susanna said. “If it is, just give it to them. I’m with your mom.”
Harry was having third thoughts. “I haven’t time now to think this through,” he said to Sam. “And I’ve pretty much come around to Mom’s point of view. I don’t want to see the Wolinskis again. I don’t want to know.”
Sam was startled. “Of course you want to know,” he said.
“No, I don’t,” Harry said. “I’ve got to go. We’ll talk another time.”