“What’s his name?” Grillo whispered.
“Paul Lamar. He was Buddy’s partner.”
“Comedian?”
“So his agent’d claim. Have you seen any of his films?”
“No.”
“There’s more laughs in Mein Kampf.”
Grillo was still attempting to suppress his guffaws when Lamar presented himself to Eve.
“You look wonderful,” he said. “As ever.” He turned to Grillo. “And who’s your friend?” he asked.
Eve glanced at Grillo with a tiny smile on her face. “My guilty secret,” she said.
Lamar turned his spotlight smile on Grillo. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name.”
“Secrets shouldn’t have names,” Eve said. “It spoils their charm.”
“I’m suitably slapped down,” Lamar said. “Allow me to correct the error and give you a tour of the house.”
“I don’t think I can manage the stairs, sweetheart,” Eve said.
“But this was Buddy’s palace. He was very proud of it.”
“Never proud enough to invite me,” she returned.
“It was a retreat,” Lamar said. “That’s why he lavished so much attention on it. You should come and look, if only for him. Both of you.”
“Why not?” said Grillo.
Evelyn sighed. “Such curiosity,” she said. “Well…lead on.”
Lamar did so, taking them back into the lounge, where the tempo of the gathering had subtly altered. With drinks imbibed and the buffet scavenged the guests were settling into a quieter mode, eased on by a small band offering languid versions of the standards. A few people were dancing. Conversation was no longer raucous, but subdued. Deals were being done; plots being laid.
Grillo found the atmosphere unnerving, and so, clearly, did Evelyn. She took his arm as they ran the gauntlet of whispers and followed Lamar out the other side to the stairs. The front door was closed. Two of the guards from the gate stood with their backs to it, hands fisted in front of their crotches. Despite the drifting melody of show-tunes all celebration had gone out of the place. What remained was paranoia.
Lamar was already a dozen steps up the flight.
“Come along, Evelyn…” he said, beckoning to her. “It’s not steep.”
“It is at my age.”
“You don’t look a day over—”
“Don’t sweet-talk me,” she said. “I’ll come in my own good time.”
With Grillo at her side she started to climb the stairs, her age evidencing itself for the first time. There were a few guests at the top of the flight, Grillo saw, empty glasses in hand. None of them were speaking, even in whispers. The suspicion grew on him that all was far from well here; an instinct confirmed when he glanced back down the stairs. Rochelle was standing at the bottom, looking up. She stared straight at him. He, certain he’d been recognized and was about to have his bluff called, stared back. But she said nothing. She looked at him until he looked away. When he glanced back down to the hallway she’d gone.
“There’s something wrong here,” he murmured in Eve’s ear. “I don’t think we should do this.”
“Darling, I’m halfway up,” she replied loudly, and tugged on his arm. “Don’t desert me now.”
Grillo glanced up at Lamar, to find the comedian’s eyes were on him just as Rochelle’s had been. They know, he thought. They know and they’re saying nothing.
Again he tried to dissuade Eve. “Can’t we go later?” he said.
She was not about to be turned. “I’m going with or without you,” she said, and carried on climbing.
“This is the first landing,” Lamar announced when they got there. Besides the curious, silent guests there was not much to see, given that Eve had already stated her aversion to Vance’s art collection. She knew several of the loiterers by name, and said hello. They acknowledged her, but only distractedly. There was something about their languor that put Grillo in mind of addicts who’d just found a fix. Eve was not one to be so lightly treated.
“Sagansky,” she said to one of their number. He had the looks of a matinee idol gone to seed. Beside him, a woman who seemed to have all trace of animation drained from her. “What are you doing up here?”
Sagansky looked up at her. “Sssh…,” he said.