He looked around the room. There were holly bows everywhere, and candles and ribbons, and clusters of the same kind of decorations he had seen near the study, the ones that were too small to account for the piece of tin on Robert Hannaford’s study floor. There were miniature Christmas trees and miniature Santa Clauses. There was even a miniature crèche, with the Christ child missing from the manger. Tibor would have approved.
He turned his attention back to the Hannafords, shrugging off his coat as he did so. The two people in the room he hadn’t paid attention to before—a man who epitomized the Complete Corporate Yuppie and a woman dressed like a thirties movie star playing a tramp—were just shell-shocked. Gregor turned to the stout middle-aged woman. Her manner said he’d have to deal with her first. He thought he’d give her what she wanted. Besides, he felt a little sorry for her. She was a mess. Her tweed skirt was wrinkled. Her cashmere sweater was stained and out of true. Even her pearl necklace was hanging out-of-kilter. She didn’t look like the kind of woman who usually allowed herself to look out of control.
He got his coat as far as his wrists, and Bennis came to life.
“Oh, God,” she said. “I didn’t even take your coat. Nobody took your coat.”
“Why should anyone take his coat?” the Movie Star said. “Who is he? Why is he staying?”
Bennis sighed. “I’m Bennis Hannaford,” she told Gregor. “That’s my sister Myra Hannaford Van Damm. Mrs. Richard Van Damm. Can I put that somewhere for you?”
Gregor handed her the coat. Bennis folded it over her arm, looked around the room, and finally settled on laying it out across a vacant chair. There were a lot of vacant chairs. The room was enormous, and stuffed as full of furniture as an exhibit in a second-rate museum.
“This must be Gregor Demarkian,” Bennis said. Gregor nodded, and she smiled. When the rest of them looked blank, she added, “Daddy’s dinner guest, remember? In all the confusion, we forgot to head him off at the pass.”
“Of course,” the Yuppie said. “Anne Marie strikes again. Efficiency in action.”
“Oh, shut up,” the stout woman said. “I’m as efficient as you’ve got any right to expect me to be. It’s not as if I had any help.”
Bennis shot Gregor an apologetic look, then stepped into the middle of them and started pointing. “That’s my brother Bobby,” she said, indicating the Yuppie, “and you and Myra have already been introduced. The man on the floor is Theodore,” (the brace, Gregor thought) “and the woman behind Mother is Anne Marie. You probably guessed. The person who looks like he just came back from a Grateful Dead concert is Christopher. And this,” she waved her hand over the very young woman’s head, “is Emma.”
“Every time you introduce me to anyone,” Emma said, “you always make it sound as if I’m Sarah Bernhardt.”
“Well, you are Sarah Bernhardt, sweetie. It’s just that nobody knows it yet but me.”
Emma had been sitting on the floor, with her back against the legs of a Victorian sofa. Now she stood up, in a single fluid dancer’s motion, and went to Cordelia Day Hannaford’s chair.
“This is our Mother,” she said. “Mrs. Robert Hannaford. She—”
“She’s very ill,” Anne Marie said.
Emma flushed. “He can see that she’s very ill,” she said angrily. “Anyone could see it. I was just trying—”
“She’s only trying to be polite,” Myra said. “God, Anne Marie. Sometimes I wonder what goes on in your head. You know how Mother feels about manners.”
“Stop talking about her as if she can’t hear,” Emma said. “There’s nothing wrong with her ears, and there’s nothing wrong with her mind, either.”
“Oh, Christ,” Chris said.
In her chair, Cordelia Day Hannaford stirred. Her movement stopped all other movement in the room. The pain of it was a tangible thing. Gregor had to go rigid to keep himself from rushing to her aid. Her children knew her far better than he did. If she liked help, they would help her.
Surprisingly, when she began to talk her voice was clear, almost steady. “Mr. Demark-ian,” she said. Her hesitation was so slight, Gregor wouldn’t have caught it if he hadn’t been listening for it. “My husband—was look-ing—for-ward—to—your—visit.”
“Thank you,” Gregor said.
“You must—have—a—seat.”
“Yes,” Gregor said. “Thank you again. I think I need one.”
Cordelia raised her hand, very slowly, and touched Anne Marie’s arm where it rested against the back of her chair. “Ring for Marsh-all,” she said. “We must—have the—the cart.”