Gramercy Park. Paula Cohen

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СКАЧАТЬ If you feel that that will carry weight with him, by all means, Mr. Buchan, make that a condition.”

      “And if he still insists, Signor Alfieri? If he calls your bluff? Will you then withdraw your offer?”

      “Yes, Mr. Buchan, I will.”

      “And yet you tell me that you want the house very much.”

      “Very much. But not enough to cause a little invalid to be made homeless.”

      Buchan sits up. “Signor Alfieri, there is one point upon which I must satisfy myself. I hope that you will not take offense if I touch upon a … well, a rather sensitive matter.”

      “I am here seeking your assistance, Mr. Buchan. Ask me whatever you wish.”

      “Thank you,” the lawyer says. “But perhaps Mr. Dyckman wishes his luncheon? It is unfortunate that we have to meet at such an awkward hour, but I see no reason to deny him his sustenance, signore, even though you and I may be here for some time, yet.”

      Alfieri nods at the young man. “If Stafford wishes to leave, I certainly will not stop him. But I have nothing to hide from him, Mr. Buchan. We have known each other for years.”

      “As you wish, of course. I will be blunt, then. Before I agree to represent you, I must be confident of your intentions in this matter. You see”—he hesitates, choosing his words judiciously—“your reputation for more than merely singing has preceded you across the ocean. The rumors of your, let us say, ‘expertise,’ signore, with the ladies have been making the rounds of every gentlemen’s club in this city for weeks.”

      Alfieri says evenly: “And you wish to know if they are true, Mr. Buchan?”

      “I wish to know if they have any bearing on your desire to have the late Mr. Slade’s ward remain in his house.”

      Dyckman, silent until now, turns red to his ears and opens his mouth to speak, but a swift gesture from Alfieri checks him.

      “My tastes do not run to children, Mr. Buchan, if that is your concern.”

      “And Miss Adler is not a child, Signor Alfieri; she is a young woman, and therefore your tastes become very much my concern—especially as their catholicity has become a topic of general discussion.” He stops, shaking his head. “I am truly sorry, signore,” he continues more gently. “I do not enjoy treading on such delicate ground, nor do I wish to cause you undue embarrassment. But if I am to argue for Miss Adler to remain in your house, I must be absolutely certain that she will come to no harm.”

      “She will come to no harm. I promise you that.” But Alfieri’s own words remind him of the unease that has plagued him all morning. Disturbed, he says quietly: “You say she is not a child, Mr. Buchan. But I have seen her, and I have spoken with her, and I tell you that I have known real children half her age who were better able to care for themselves than she is.”

      “No doubt. But it is the duty of others to be responsible for her. That is frankly not your place.”

      “Is it not?”

      “No.” Buchan is firm. “Though you might wish to do it for the most unselfish of reasons, it could never appear other than highly improper. It is simply unacceptable, signore.”

      “So much for our Lord’s teachings. Is it unacceptable to provide a haven for a bereaved child?”

      “I repeat: she is not a child.”

      “For a bereaved young woman, then. I would allow her to stay safely beneath her own roof, in her own familiar surroundings, with her own things about her. And you tell me this is wrong?”

      “No. I tell you it would appear wrong. Consider those rumors about you. She would be compromised forever in the eyes of the world.”

      “And what does it say for the world, Mr. Buchan, that it could read something indecent into the desire to do a kindness, or suspect the worst of a little invalid because she accepted it?”

      Buchan says, almost sadly: “But that is the way of the world, signore. You know the world, perhaps better than most. Why do you deny what you know to be the truth?”

      “Because”—Alfieri’s words are sharp, his face dark—“because the way of the world is paved with hypocrisy, Mr. Buchan, which we both know; and I find no virtue in celebrating that fact.”

      Buchan leans toward him. “And do you speak of virtue, Signor Alfieri?”

      Dyckman sucks in his breath. The tenor’s eyes widen and he half rises from his chair—only to sink back, looking at the attorney with a frown and a small, puzzled smile.

      “Do you know, Mr. Buchan,” he says, after a pause, “I think you are trying to make me angry.”

      “Why would I want to do that, signore?”

      “Perhaps to hear me admit, in an unguarded moment, that I am Don Juan and Lothario and Casanova rolled into one, and that I plan the imminent seduction of little Miss Adler. Well, I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Buchan; truly, I am. But she is so small, and so very much alone. Only a monster would take advantage of her; and I am many things, but I am not a monster. I do not prey on the defenseless.” He spreads his hands helplessly. “I do not know what else I can say to convince you, and you must decide for yourself, of course. But if you could find it in your conscience to help her, I would be very grateful.”

      The two men regard each other in a silent appraisal that ends when Buchan’s face relaxes. He extends his hand to the tenor.

      “Signore, I will be pleased to speak to Mr. Chadwick on your behalf.”

      The relief is plain in Alfieri’s face. “Thank you, Mr. Buchan, so very much. You cannot imagine how pleased I am.”

      “But you must not be too hopeful,” the lawyer cautions. “You must realize that the odds are not with us.”

      “As I told Mr. Chadwick last night, I am an incurable optimist.”

      “Then let us hope that your optimism is justified.”

      “Amen to that.” Alfieri rises and walks to the window, where he stands gazing out at the brown bulk of Trinity Church across the narrow street. “I should like, by the way, to speak briefly of those rumors you mentioned, if you would care to listen.”

      Buchan looks surprised. “There is no need for that now, surely? I brought them up only because—”

      “I know why you brought them up. But I would rest easier in my mind if I thought that you understood. You see, Mr. Buchan, very simply put … women make themselves available to me. They do it in embarrassing numbers and with a regularity that astonishes even me. But do not be fooled, Mr. Buchan; I am not so irresistible as the numbers would seem to indicate, although I would not be honest if I said that I did not sometimes flatter myself on that score. Nevertheless, what most of the ladies are seeking is the carnal equivalent of an autograph; and while most delude themselves into believing that they are in love in order to justify what they do, their real desire is not for me—it is for the heady experience of being in the bed of someone world-famous.”

      He turns and faces the lawyer. “What is wrong, Mr. СКАЧАТЬ