servants at the villa in Florence. Nicholas and I were going to pursue several introductions in Rome, business contacts of Father's. And we would very probably have run into people we knew there."
"Yes, yes," agreed O'Dunne.
She gestured toward Brodie, who was staring at her sullenly. "How do you expect to pass this
person
off as Nicholas? There's a resemblance, certainly. But anyone who knew Nicholas would know after speaking to this man for two minutes that he is
not Nicholas
."
Brodie flushed. Unclenching one fist, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the tobacco pouch Billy had given him.
"I told you before, Brodie. No smoking."
Expressionless, he rolled a cigarette, licked it shut, struck a match on the brick hearth, and lit it. He inhaled a deep chestful and blew the smoke out with a defiant puff. A small thing, but it meant a lot to him.
"You'll have to stop eventually," O'Dunne said in a mild tone, backing off. "You're only making it harder on yourself." He looked at Anna again. "It's true, compared to Nick he does have a few rough edges" he paused while she let out an unladylike snort, "but we've got more than three weeks before Rome and we'll spend that time sanding them off. I'll need your help with this, Anna."
"You don't need help," she snapped, "you need a miracle." Brodie scowled, smoking steadily. "Can you read, Mr. Brodie?"
He considered not answering. "Aye, I can read. And I can count up to ten if I use my fingers." He watched her lip curl unpleasantly. The air was thick with hostility. He moved to the old-fashioned casement window and flicked out his cigarette. Then he had an idea. He hawked up a big gob of spit and blew it out too, then turned back innocently. Mrs. Balfour went a mottled shade of pink and drew herself up, quivering with indignation.
"Aiden," she choked, "this will never work!"
"Now, now, let's—"
"Three weeks to make a gentleman out of
him
?" She pointed rudely. "Three years wouldn't be enough! It's impossible! He's a barbarian!"
Brodie reached inside his jacket to scratch his armpit. "Could be she's got a point, O'Dunne."
The lawyer drew an exasperated breath, annoyed with both of them. "That may be. But we're here to try, and that's what we're going to do. Anna, you agreed; it's too late to back out. It's not a question, at least for now, of turning Mr. Brodie into a gentleman. The immediate goal is to be ready by the thirtieth of May to convince someone named Greeley that this man is Nick." She started to speak, but he forestalled her with a raised hand. "I know you don't believe any such meeting is planned. I hope you're right, but we have to prepare for it all the same as if it were going to happen. It's the only way to prove or disprove Nick's complicity."
She could see his logic, but the plan still rankled. "Do you know anything at all about shipbuilding, Mr. Brodie?" she asked, her tone rich with sarcastic hopelessness.
"Not a bloody thing, Mrs. Balfour."
"Look here" O'Dunne began.
"I mean a
bleedin
' thing."
Anna colored again. The occasions on which anyone had sworn in her presence were so few as to be beyond recollection. She thought of a dinner party she'd attended not long ago at which one of the guests, in an effort to avoid the forbidden word, had observed that the meat appeared "quite ensanguined."
O'Dunne made an impatient gesture. "Then you have a considerable amount of studying ahead of you. You'll never begin to be the expert Nick was, but that's not necessary. All you need is a grasp of the fundamentals, at least for the time being."
"What exactly was my brother an expert at?"
"Everything," Anna said before O'Dunne could open his mouth. "And if you lived to be two hundred years old, you couldn't come close to him in any way, Mr. Brodie.
In any way
." Silence while they glared at each other. She was thinking of their first meeting. So was he.
O'Dunne coughed. "Nick was Thomas Jourdaine's right hand after T.J. died."
"T.J.?"
"Mrs. Balfour's
"Yes, yes," agreed O'Dunne.
She gestured toward Brodie, who was staring at her sullenly. "How do you expect to pass this
person
off as Nicholas? There's a resemblance, certainly. But anyone who knew Nicholas would know after speaking to this man for two minutes that he is
not Nicholas
."
Brodie flushed. Unclenching one fist, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the tobacco pouch Billy had given him.
"I told you before, Brodie. No smoking."
Expressionless, he rolled a cigarette, licked it shut, struck a match on the brick hearth, and lit it. He inhaled a deep chestful and blew the smoke out with a defiant puff. A small thing, but it meant a lot to him.
"You'll have to stop eventually," O'Dunne said in a mild tone, backing off. "You're only making it harder on yourself." He looked at Anna again. "It's true, compared to Nick he does have a few rough edges" he paused while she let out an unladylike snort, "but we've got more than three weeks before Rome and we'll spend that time sanding them off. I'll need your help with this, Anna."
"You don't need help," she snapped, "you need a miracle." Brodie scowled, smoking steadily. "Can you read, Mr. Brodie?"
He considered not answering. "Aye, I can read. And I can count up to ten if I use my fingers." He watched her lip curl unpleasantly. The air was thick with hostility. He moved to the old-fashioned casement window and flicked out his cigarette. Then he had an idea. He hawked up a big gob of spit and blew it out too, then turned back innocently. Mrs. Balfour went a mottled shade of pink and drew herself up, quivering with indignation.
"Aiden," she choked, "this will never work!"
"Now, now, let's—"
"Three weeks to make a gentleman out of
him
?" She pointed rudely. "Three years wouldn't be enough! It's impossible! He's a barbarian!"
Brodie reached inside his jacket to scratch his armpit. "Could be she's got a point, O'Dunne."
The lawyer drew an exasperated breath, annoyed with both of them. "That may be. But we're here to try, and that's what we're going to do. Anna, you agreed; it's too late to back out. It's not a question, at least for now, of turning Mr. Brodie into a gentleman. The immediate goal is to be ready by the thirtieth of May to convince someone named Greeley that this man is Nick." She started to speak, but he forestalled her with a raised hand. "I know you don't believe any such meeting is planned. I hope you're right, but we have to prepare for it all the same as if it were going to happen. It's the only way to prove or disprove Nick's complicity."
She could see his logic, but the plan still rankled. "Do you know anything at all about shipbuilding, Mr. Brodie?" she asked, her tone rich with sarcastic hopelessness.
"Not a bloody thing, Mrs. Balfour."
"Look here" O'Dunne began.
"I mean a
bleedin
' thing."
Anna colored again. The occasions on which anyone had sworn in her presence were so few as to be beyond recollection. She thought of a dinner party she'd attended not long ago at which one of the guests, in an effort to avoid the forbidden word, had observed that the meat appeared "quite ensanguined."
O'Dunne made an impatient gesture. "Then you have a considerable amount of studying ahead of you. You'll never begin to be the expert Nick was, but that's not necessary. All you need is a grasp of the fundamentals, at least for the time being."
"What exactly was my brother an expert at?"
"Everything," Anna said before O'Dunne could open his mouth. "And if you lived to be two hundred years old, you couldn't come close to him in any way, Mr. Brodie.
In any way
." Silence while they glared at each other. She was thinking of their first meeting. So was he.
O'Dunne coughed. "Nick was Thomas Jourdaine's right hand after T.J. died."
"T.J.?"
"Mrs. Balfour's
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