The Prodigal Son(40)
“Davina, he’s a baby! They’re so lovely, and growing all the time — he must be full of tricks and cute stories.”
Now the brows frowned. “At three months he tells stories?”
“No,” said Emily, striving to stay cool. This stupid gold-digger pretended to understand the nuances of English! “I mean that when I ask about him, you should tell me lots of cute stories about him.”
Davina yawned. “Uda could, I suppose, if her English were better. And I have a girl sees to him as well — washes his diapers, bathes him, keeps his linen fresh.” She lifted an impatient shoulder. “But why ask me this today, Emily?”
“I guess I haven’t gotten around to it before. You haven’t been much in evidence since his birth, have you?”
“I hemorrhaged, and it exhausted me. The fools of doctors left it too late for a Caesarean. I am only just recovered.”
“If you ate more sensibly, you wouldn’t have suffered.”
“Pah! Thin is in! Alexis was a small baby.”
“You dieted the strength out of yourself. Bones were made to be covered, not seen.”
The developing argument ceased when Uda came in; Davina turned to her gratefully. “Coffee,” she said curtly.
“You treat that poor woman like dirt, Davina.”
“She is my servant, bonded to me. This you know.”
“In Yugoslavia, I guess anything’s possible, but not here in America. Uda is free, not bonded.”
“The country makes no difference to a bond. Her family has provided mine with servants for five hundred years.”
“Lucky you,” said Emily dryly.
They sat then in an uneasy silence until Uda returned pushing a cart loaded with coffee, savory nibbles and pastries.
“There’s no need to go to so much trouble,” Emily said, her coffee cup in one hand and some kind of curryish bun in the other. She bit into it, nodded. “Very good! But unnecessary.”
“What are you here for, Emily?” Davina herself took black, unsweetened coffee and ignored the edibles.
“To clear up a few things I’ve noticed over the past year.”
Down went Davina’s cup. “What things?”
Emily took another tiny curry bun. “Oh, come now, Vina! Must I spell them out? You know very well what I’m getting at.”
Her answer was a sneer; then Davina shrugged. “When you start getting mysterious, Em, I become the Thomas who doubts.”
“You, doubt? Never!” said Emily with her own sneer. “It’s surprising what there is to see and hear, and how it all adds up.”
The white skin had lost its luster; Davina’s rather flat chest heaved on a breath. “You are just making mischief!”
“Max home, is he? I thought I didn’t see him drive out.”
“We expect the police.”
“You’ll suffer more if I open my mouth and tell Max.”
“Tell Max what? Your usual lies? You’re like the scum that rises to the top of anything left standing, you trouble-maker!”
“I want Ivan to inherit half of the business,” said Emily.
Recovered from her alarm, Davina inspected her long, red-lacquered nails. “Pah! You know nothing because there is nothing to know. This is how you drove Martita away, not so? The slurs, the innuendos … Always convincing her that you said the truth. Well, I am no Martita. I am not a fragile depressive. I am not vulnerable either. You are a proven liar.”
“Perhaps I can prove I’m not a liar — this time.” Emily took a third bun. “You know what I’m driving at, Vina. These are delicious! May I have the recipe?”
“I will tell Uda to write out the recipe in ounces and pounds, yes?” Davina smiled. “Uda is a cook to die for.”
“Do we have a deal?” Emily asked. “Half to Ivan.”
“If you like,” Davina said, sounding indifferent. Then she raised her voice in a shout. “Max, dear! Coffee and company!”
The elegant Ivy Hall furniture had been moved to a pile at the back of the hall, the spot where it now rested having been thoroughly checked by Paul Bachman’s team. That left the vast remainder of the room to examine, including its trash. Donny and Delia represented Detectives; the bulk of the work fell to the Medical Examiner’s people.
Two forensics technicians had already done the worst job — going through the four cans used to receive food scraps. It was the only aspect of the work wouldn’t wait until this Monday.
So on Monday Delia and Donny, Paul and two others, clad in coveralls, bootees, gloves and caps, did the ordinary trash. This had been deposited in ordinary small metal containers of most ubiquitous kind, receptacles scattered in corners, against walls, down the corridors to entrance and toilets, the toilets themselves, and the kitchen.