at the desk says it's pretty close to where you live.”
“It certainly is. But I am astonished to hear from you. Why have you come?” He sounded gentle and as though he genuinely cared.
“I—I don't really know, Mr. Arbus. I—I think I just had to. It's a long story. I … perhaps … we …”
“Would you like to get together?”
She nodded. “Yes, I would. Would that be all right?”
“Of course, my dear. Are you busy now?”
“No. No, I'm not.”
“I'll be there in half an hour. Is that all right with you?”
“Thank you. That would be fine.” Well, she had done it, she told herself after she hung up. She had called him. And she had no idea at all what to expect now. Surely he would come alone. He would not bring Charlotte with him. But at least she would see him, and maybe she would get some answers from him. The only trouble was that she was not yet sure of the questions, but perhaps when she would see him, she would know.
She waited nervously in her room, tapping her foot and waiting. She had combed her hair, washed her face, she was wearing gray slacks and a cashmere sweater, brown Gucci shoes and, as always, there was a camera over her arm, and she nervously took it with her when at last she went downstairs. She stood rooted to one spot in the lobby, watching people come in, and then realized that she hadn't told him what she looked like, and she had no idea what to expect of him.
She stood there for another ten minutes, wondering if perhaps he were already there, and then, as she watched the door, she saw him. She had no recollection of him at all, yet when she saw him, she knew it was he. He was well built, and very elegant, he was wearing a dark blue suit that looked as though it had been made in London or Paris, and he had an interestingly chiseled face and salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes as he looked around were quick and intelligent, and his face was heavily lined, she noticed. He looked like an interesting man, and as he inquired at the desk and then came toward her, she felt a magnetism in his eyes that surprised her. He was an odd combination, she could see. In some ways he looked very young, and at the same time in a certain way he looked quite old. He was in fact fifty-eight years old, but he didn't look it. He had kept his body youthful, and he looked no more than forty-eight or so. He came toward her slowly, as though afraid to approach, and the dark eyes were smiling gently.
“Vanessa?” The voice rang a distant bell. “I'm Andreas.” He held out a hand and she walked toward him. There was something in his eyes that made her trust him.
“Hello.” She smiled and he watched her. Her face was not very different than it had been sixteen years before.
“Do you remember me at all?” He stood before her, looking down at her gently and she shook her head, but then she smiled.
“But I've had a bit of a problem with that.”
“Oh?” He looked at her with concern and then indicated the bar. “Shall we go in there? Perhaps we can find a quiet corner.” Vanessa nodded and fell into step beside him. It was odd, there was something so virile about him that one felt more of a woman at his side. Vanessa felt it as she walked along beside him, and he glanced at her, smiling at the beautiful hair. “You've grown up to be a beautiful woman, Vanessa.” He found a table and they settled down. “But I always knew you would.” He looked at her quietly then. “Do you want to tell me why you're here?”
She sighed again. “I really don't know why I'm here. I just knew that I had to come here.” He said not a word about Charlotte. He only nodded. And then suddenly she felt compelled to tell him the story of how she had repressed it all and remembered it only recently at the birth of Teddy's baby. She had to fight not to cry as she told him, and it seemed absurd to be telling this totally strange man. After all, he was the brother of the man who had killed her mother, and yet she couldn't bring herself to hate him, and she realized