The Bookish Life of Nina Hill(35)

“Nina!” Peter stood and came over to her. He took her hand and leaned in close. “Don’t pay any attention to this; let it wash over you.” He pulled back a bit and looked at her, smiling. “Lydia is not speaking for most of us.”

Nina nodded and caught sight of Archie over his shoulder. He was also smiling at her, so maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. She took a seat in the total silence that had fallen and felt several pairs of eyes trained on her. She tried the in through the nose, out through the mouth breathing a long-ago therapist had suggested. The table was very nice, so she looked at that. Spruce, if she wasn’t mistaken.

“Would you like a glass of wine?” asked Peter. “It’s terrible, but there’s alcohol in it.”

Nina nodded, and he got her a glass that, as he had warned, was pretty bad. Nina wasn’t a wine snob or anything, but she was a millennial, and as you’ve probably heard, they drink more wine than any generation in history. This would probably be disputed by the ancient Romans, but the Internet doesn’t check sources very thoroughly. Nina had a policy of treating the Internet the way she might treat a guy in a bar, one who’s wavering gently on his stool and holding a honey mustard pretzel nugget. He might be an expert in international arbitrage or arms dealing or the history of Catholicism, but it’s more likely he isn’t. But anyway, she did drink wine, so the Internet nailed that one.

Sarkassian arrived and threw a haunch of dead lamb on the table, and the lion feeding began. The haunch came in the form of a pile of documents, but still.

“Thank you all for coming,” he said, in time-honored style. “I’d like to take a minute now to introduce everyone to Nina Hill.” He indicated her, and she looked around and smiled the smallest, tightest smile in the history of smiles, which, when you consider geopolitical world history, is saying quite a lot. I am not happy, said the smile, but I am willing to be polite for as long as you all are. What it also said, if you knew Nina well, was, I am starting to have a panic attack, so please can we move this along before I throw up on the table? But no one there knew her well, so her secret was safe.

The lawyer went around the table. “Let’s start with your siblings. This is Becky Oliver; she was William Reynolds’s first child.” The woman was maybe in her late fifties. She looked a lot like her son, Peter, and her smile was like his, too. She held up her hand in a peace sign, which Nina took to be a gesture of, well, peace. “The woman on her right is your sister Katherine, and on her left is their mother, Alice.”

Alice’s eyes were fixed on Nina, but she might have been stuffed for all the animation she showed. She had one of those hairstyles that looked like it could be removed in one piece, possibly in order to replace it with an identical one in a different color. She favored statement jewelry, but what her statement was, it was difficult to say, unless it was simply, I am a hollow shell of a person, which is fine with me, because my shell is shinier than yours. That statement came across loud and clear. Nina remembered Peter’s warning about Alice and tried not to look directly at her.

Katherine was different. She wore zero makeup and clearly gave less than zero fucks about her appearance. Her hair was messy, her clothes were untidy, but her eyes were as sharp and penetrating as a robin getting ready to ambush a worm. Nina was painfully aware she was the worm in this situation.

The lawyer swallowed and moved on. “To their right is Archie, who I think you’ve already met, and his wife, Becca. He is the son of Rosie, William’s second wife, sadly deceased.”

“Hello again,” said Archie. “Sorry about this.”

“Shut up, Archie,” said a younger woman who was sitting exactly across from Nina. “Don’t be such a quisling.” She switch-bladed a glance at him, then looked back at Nina, unblinking. She was in her midthirties, maybe, wearing a violet pants suit with one of those blouses that have a bow for a tie. Possibly she thought she was attending a meeting in 1986, or interviewing for a job as a minor character on L.A. Law.

Wow, thought Nina, quisling, eh? Bringing out the fifty-cent insults already. Respect. Although if the woman didn’t blink soon, her shiny little eyes were going to drop out of their sockets and roll across the table like marbles.

The lawyer sped up his introductions. “Your youngest sibling, Millie, isn’t here, but sitting next to Becca is Eliza, who is Millie’s mother and William’s widow.”

Eliza smiled tightly at her, but whether the tightness was for her or a general default setting, Nina had no idea.

Alice suddenly leaned forward and pointed at Eliza. “She killed him, you know, so I suggest you watch yourself. Come between her and the gold she’s been digging, and you might not live to regret it.”

Eliza snorted. “You’re mistaken, Alice. And possibly senile.”

“I’m not,” replied Alice. “I’m simply too old to make nice if I don’t want to. You killed William so you could take his money.”

Sarkassian interrupted. “Please, Alice, that’s slander and completely baseless.”

Alice looked at Eliza. “Murdering whore.”

“Emasculating harpy,” replied Eliza, calmly.

“Ladies, ladies,” muttered the lawyer, clearly used to this level of familial invective. He frowned at them, cleared his throat, and continued. “OK, now we come to nieces and nephews. Peter you already know, and sitting next to him is his sister, Jennifer.” Jennifer looked like Peter and waved a friendly hand. “Jennifer has children who are your great-nieces and great-nephew, but they’re younger and not legally required to be here.”