“How do you do, Mrs. Davenport?” Lea says, her voice soft, respectful. She steps forward and extends her hand with perfect grace.
Eleanor takes Lea’s hand, but her eyes are cataloging every detail. “Song? That’s an unusual name. Where is your family from, dear? You have such an exotic look.”
The question is vintage Eleanor. It’s innocent but designed to extract information while simultaneously establishing a subtle hierarchy. I open my mouth to intervene, but Lea beats me to it.
“My mother is Korean; my father was Italian-American,” she says. “I grew up primarily in London and Chicago.”
“How fascinating,” Eleanor coos, though her tone suggests Lea’s background is more unusual than fascinating. “And what is it you do, my dear?”
“I’m a consultant,” Lea says smoothly. “I’m working with Nico on a project for his foundation.”
The foundation. It’s an actual entity, though primarily a vehicle for laundering certain funds and creating tax advantages. Lea has clearly been paying attention to my instructions.
“The foundation! Of course,” Eleanor exclaims, her eyes lighting up with fresh interest. “I’m always telling you, Nico, you need to be more public with your good work. And to have such a lovely consultant helping you...” Her gaze sweeps over Lea again, this time with a more pointed assessment. “You’ve been holding out on us, darling. What sorts of causes are you two focused on?”
“Educational initiatives, primarily,” I reply, steering her toward the patio before she can launch into a full interrogation. “Please let’s sit. Can I offer you some coffee? Tea?”
“Tea would be lovely,” Eleanor says, settling into one of the patio chairs with the air of someone planning a lengthy stay. “Earl Grey if you have it, darling.”
I glance at Lea, who nods slightly and disappears inside to prepare the tea. The moment she’s gone, Eleanor leans forward, diamonds catching the sunlight as she moves.
“Nico, darling, you must tell me everything,” she stage-whispers. “We’ve all heard about the terrible business at your club. Gunshots! In River North! The entire neighborhood has been talking about it. Arthur Pembroke says his son’s friend’s cousin was there and saw the whole thing. Something about a gang war?”
Arthur Pembroke is an idiot whose son is an even bigger idiot. Whatever story they’re circulating is undoubtedly riddled with inaccuracies. Still, the fact that the incident at Purgatorio has made it to the North Shore gossip circuit is concerning.
“Nothing so dramatic,” I say dismissively. “A dispute between two patrons that got out of hand. The media always exaggerates these things.”
Eleanor looks disappointed but presses on. “And the girl? She’s quite pretty, in an unconventional way. Not your usual type at all. You typically favor the statuesque model types, don’t you? The ones with legs up to their armpits and not much going on upstairs, if you’ll pardon my saying so.”
I don’t pardon it, but I maintain my pleasant expression. “Lea is a business associate.”
“A business associate who’s staying at your lake house?” Eleanor’s eyebrow arches higher. “Come now, Nico. I may be old, but I’m not naive.”
At that moment, Lea returns with a tray bearing a teapot, cups, and an arrangement of the muffins from Eleanor’s basket. She sets it on the table with practiced grace and pours the tea.
“Mrs. Davenport, Earl Grey as you requested,” she says, handing Eleanor a cup. “I added a slice of lemon, but I can bring milk if you prefer.”
“Lemon is perfect, dear,” Eleanor replies, watching as Lea pours a second cup and hands it to me. Our fingers brush in the exchange, and I see Eleanor note the contact with predatory interest.
“So, Lea,” Eleanor continues, “how long have you known our Nico?”
“We met through mutual business connections several months ago,” Lea replies smoothly. “Nico’s reputation in Chicago’s business community is quite formidable.”
Eleanor laughs, a tinkling sound like ice in crystal. “Oh, his reputation extends far beyond business, my dear. Has he told you about the time he made Senator Harrington’s son-in-law cry at the Chicago Symphony gala? Or about the bidding war he started at the Children’s Hospital auction just to drive up the price of a painting he didn’t even want?”
Eleanor is deliberately painting me as some sort of eccentric—a characterization that’s not entirely inaccurate.
“Nico is a man of many facets,” Lea says, her tone teasing. “I learn something new about him every day.”
Lea places her hand on my forearm as she speaks, a gesture of casual intimacy that catches me completely off guard. It’s perfectly calculated; not too possessive, not too timid. The touch of a woman who is comfortable with her place in my life.
Eleanor’s eyes widen fractionally at the gesture, and I can notice her reassessing the situation. This is no longer just a business associate staying at the lake house. This is something else entirely.
“Well, well,” she says, leaning back with a sly smile. “It seems our Nico has been keeping secrets. How long has this... friendship been developing?”
“Some things defy conventional timelines,” Lea replies with subtle evasiveness.The careful non-answer.
Eleanor is not so easily deflected. “I must say, you must be serious about this one, Nico, to have her tucked away out here where no one can see her.” Her eyes gleam with mischief. “Is there something you should tell us? Are those wedding bells I hear, or just my tinnitus?”
