Reuben had had any lingering doubt that this was Marchent,s uncle - and not his illegitimate son - that doubt was immediately dispelled.
This was the impressive man of the photograph on the library wall - the smiling man amid friends in the tropical jungle; the agreeable mentor of the family from the portrait above Marchent,s desk.
The living breathing Felix Nideck, looking no older than he had twenty years ago. No son could have so perfectly embodied the form and features of the father. And there was about him an unconscious authority and subtle vivacity that marked him off from the other men in the room.
Reuben was shaken. Without moving his lips, he offered a small prayer.
The man was tall, well built, and had that kind of dark skin which is golden, and thick flowing short brown hair. He was dressed almost too exquisitely in a superbly fitted brown suit, caramel shirt, and gold-and-brown tie.
But his generous expression and easy demeanor were the real shock. His smile was immediate, his large brown eyes filled with contagious good humor, and he extended his hand to Reuben at once. He had a naturally animated face.
Everything about the man was inviting and kind.
He sat down directly opposite as Reuben knew he would, and they were eye to eye, of the same height. He leaned forward and said,
"This is a great pleasure." The voice was deep, resonant, and unaffected, without a discernible accent and very warm. "Let me thank you. I,m well aware that you had no obligation whatsoever to see me, and I,m impressed, and grateful, that you,ve come." He gestured easily with his hands as he spoke, and they were graceful hands. There was a green jewel in his gold tie clasp, and a bit of a striped silk handkerchief, that matched the tie, just visible in his breast pocket.
Reuben was powerfully fascinated, as fascinated as he was on guard. But more than anything else, he was excited and he could feel his heart beating in his throat. If he failed to make a favorable impression on this man - but then he couldn,t think of failure. All he could think was that every minute he had with the man had to count.
The man went on talking seamlessly and easily, settling back a little in the chair. He was fluid in his movements, relaxed rather than poised.
"I,m well aware that my cousin Marchent was fond of you. And you know she was so very dear to my father, his only heir."
"But you didn,t actually know Marchent, did you?" said Reuben. His voice was unsteady. What was he doing? He was off to a rocky start. "What I mean is, you,d never met."
"My father had a way of making her quite real to me," the man said without missing a beat. "I,m sure our representatives have explained to you I would never presume to make a claim on the house or the land that she wanted you to have."
"Yes, they have explained," said Reuben. "That,s reassuring. I,m happy to be here, to discuss anything you want."
The man,s easy smile was almost dazzling. His vibrant eyes indicated a warm response to Reuben personally, but Reuben was reserving judgment on that.
How could Reuben really begin? How could he cut to the point?
"I knew Marchent briefly," Reuben said, "but I think I knew her well. She was an exceptional person - ." He swallowed. "That I couldn,t protect her - "
"Now, Reuben," said Simon.
" - that I couldn,t protect her," Reuben went on. "Well, that,s something I,ll live with till my dying day."
The man nodded. There was almost a doting quality to his expression. Then he said in a soft voice, "You,re a beautiful young man."
Reuben was startled. If this guy means to kill me, he,s the devil in hell. And the man went on.
"Oh, forgive me," he said with obvious sincerity and a little concern. "I take the license of an older man in making such a remark. I,m sorry. I am not perhaps old enough to take that license but there are times when I feel considerably older than I am. I meant only that your photographs don,t do you justice. You appear conventionally beautiful in your photographs, a little remote, but in person, you,re much more remarkable." He went on with a beguiling simplicity. "I see now the writer of the articles you,ve published in the Observer. Poetic, substantive, I would say."
The lawyers sat there in rigid and obviously uncomfortable silence. But Reuben was