“Unfortunately, I’d no opportunity to sight-see while I was in Amber,” she said. “From what you told me, though, life seems a bit chaotic there also.”
I nodded.
“It’s good that Dalt’s gone,” I said, “if that’s what you mean. But he was never a real threat, just a nuisance. Speaking of whom-“
“Let’s not,” she interrupted, smiling sweetly. “What I really had in mind was anything else.”
I smiled back.
“I forgot. You’re not a fan of his,” I said.
“It’s not that,” she responded. “The man has his uses. It’s just” -she sighed- “politics,” she finished.
Mandor laughed, and we joined him. Too bad I hadn’t thought to use that line about Amber. Too late now.
“I bought a painting awhile back,” I said, “by a lady named Polly Jackson. It’s of a red ‘57 Chevy I like it a lot. It’s in storage in San Francisco right now. Rinaldo liked it, too.”
She nodded, stared out the window.
“You two were always stopping in some gallery of other,” she said.
“Yes, he dragged me to a lot of them, too. I always thought he had good taste. No talent, but good taste.”
“What do you mean, ‘no talent’?”
“He’s a very good draftsman, but his own paintings were never that interesting.”
I had raised the subject for a very special reason, and this wasn’t it. But I was fascinated by a side of Luke I’d never known, and I decided to pursue the matter.
“Paintings? I never knew he painted.”
“He’s tried any number of times, but he never shows them to anyone because they’re not good enough.”
“Then how do you know about them?”
“I’d check out his apartment periodically “
“When he wasn’t around?”
“Of course. A mother’s privilege.”
I shuddered. I thought again of the burning woman down the Rabbit Hole.
But I didn’t want to say what I felt and spoil the flow now that I had her talking. I decided to return to my original trail.
“Was it in connection with any of this that he met Victor Melman?” I asked.
She studied me for a moment through narrowed eyes, then nodded and finished her soup.
“Yes,” she said then, laying her spoon aside. “He took a few lessons from the man. He’d liked some of his paintings and looked him up. Perhaps he bought something of his, too. I don’t know. But at some point he mentioned his own work and Victor asked to see it. He told Rinaldo he liked it and said he thought he could teach him a few things that might be of help.”
She raised her goblet and sniffed it, sipped her wine, and stared at the mountains.
I was about to prompt her, hoping she’d go on, when she began to laugh.
I waited it out.
“A real asshole,” she said then. “But talented. Give him that.”
“Uh, what do you mean?” I asked.
“After a time he began speaking of the development of personal power, using all those circumlocutions the half-enlightened love to play with. He wanted Rinaldo to know he was an occultist with something pretty strong going for him. Then he began to hint that he might be willing to pass it along to the right person.”
She began laughing again. I chuckled myself, at the thought of that trained seal addressing the genuine article in such a fashion.
“It was because he realized Rinaldo was rich, of course,” she continued. “Victor was, as usual, broke himself at the time. Rinaldo showed no interest, though, and simply stopped taking painting lessons from him shortly after that-as he felt he’d learned all he could from him. When he told me about it later, however, I realized that the man could be made into a perfect cat’s-paw. I was certain such a person would do anything for a taste of real power.”
I nodded.
“Then you and Rinaldo began the visitation business? You took turns clouding his mind and teaching him a few real things?”
“Real enough,” she said, “though I handled most of his training. Rinaldo was usually too busy studying for exams. His point average was generally a little higher than yours, wasn’t it?”