“Have you heard from Valerie Minton ?” asked Nina. She finished her drink and nibbled at an olive. “You haven’t mentioned her for a while.”
Uncle Lou sighed. “Oh dear, very sad. I guess I forgot to tell you. She died in March. A heart thing—a blessing, really. She had that early-onset Alzheimer’s.” He downed the rest of his martini and set the empty glass beside hers. “Here’s a piece of good advice: don’t get old.”
“Oh, Uncle Lou.” Nina hugged him. “You’re not old.”
But that of course was a lie. She could feel how thin he’d gotten, and frail. And the flat was all too clearly becoming a burden in terms of upkeep.
She grasped his hand and stared at him. His long hair was white, thinner than it had been. His face was lined, but a lifetime of keeping late hours had saved him from skin-damaging ultraviolet rays and preserved a certain youthful suppleness. With his high cheekbones, stark blade of a nose and cleft chin, he might have been an aging actor, with eyes a disconcerting shade of amber, so pale they appeared almost colorless in strong light. The theatrical effect was heightened by his wardrobe, which this afternoon consisted of an embroidered India-print shirt over wide-wale corduroy trousers that had once been canary yellow but had faded to the near-white of lemon pith, and the heavy silver ring he always wore on his right pointer finger.
The ring wobbled now as that finger shook, scolding her. “I am older than old, Nina. Older than God, who has never forgiven me for it.”
Nina laughed, and he turned to gaze wistfully out into the courtyard. How old was Uncle Lou? In his eighties, at least. Many of his old friends were dead; others had moved to live with their children, or into retirement communities. Nina’s own flat was too small for another person; she could move in with him, she supposed, but she knew Uncle Lou wouldn’t hear of it. A few years earlier, he had sold the By Night trademark and backlist to a web entrepreneur for an impressive sum. Perhaps he could be encouraged to look into one of those posh facilities where elderly people of means lived?
She wouldn’t bring it up this afternoon, but made a mental note to do some research herself into what was available near Hampstead.
Uncle Lou squeezed her hand. “Do you feel up to a walk on the Heath?”
Nina nodded. “Great idea.”
They strolled along a path that meandered over a gentle rise crowned by an ancient oak. There were always families with young children here, and lots of dogs off leash.
“Uh-oh,” said Nina, as a silken-furred red setter came bounding toward them. She moved protectively to his side. “Incoming…”
Dogs behaved in a peculiar fashion around Uncle Lou. Those that had previously encountered him acted as the setter did now: as it drew near, it dropped to its belly and inched toward him, whining softly, tail wagging madly.
Strange dogs, however, barked or snarled, ears pressed tight against their skulls and tails held low, and often fled before Uncle Lou could hold out his hand and make reassuring cht cht sounds that Nina could barely hear.
“Hello there.” Uncle Lou stopped and gazed down at the setter, smiling. His knees bent slightly and he winced as he reached to touch the dog’s forehead. “Conor, isn’t it? Good dog.”
At the old man’s touch the setter scrambled to its feet and danced around him, ears flapping.
“Sorry, sorry!” A man rushed up and grasped the dog’s collar, clipping a leash onto it. “Don’t want him to knock you over!”
Uncle Lou shook his head. “Oh, he wouldn’t do that. Would you, Conor?”
He stooped to take the dog’s head between his hands and gazed into its eyes. The setter grew absolutely still, as though it sensed a game bird nearby; then dropped to its belly, head cocked as it stared up at Uncle Lou.
“Well, he likes you, doesn’t he?” The man patted the setter’s head, smiling. “Come on then, Conor. Let’s go.”
Nina waved as the man strode off, the setter straining at the leash. Uncle Lou stood beside her, watching until the two figures disappeared into the trees. He turned to his niece, nodding as though all this had occurred according to some plan.
“I’d like you to accompany me to an event.” He gestured at the path, indicating they should begin to head back home. “If you’re not too busy.”
“Of course,” said Nina. “Where is it?”
“At the zoo.”
“The zoo?” Nina looked over in surprise. Uncle Lou had always been far more likely to invite his niece to attend a clandestine midnight gathering of political dissidents or artists, than to suggest a visit to the zoo.
“Yes. The Whipsnade Zoo, not Regents Park, so we’ll have to drive up to Dunstable. A fundraiser for a new building, a home for endangered fruit bats I think, or maybe it’s kiwis? Something nocturnal, anyway. There’ll be press around, the local gentry, maybe a few minor celebrities. You know the sort of thing. Someone in the PR department obviously thought it would be amusing if I was in attendance. You can be my date.”
He slipped his arm into hers, and Nina laughed. “Sure. Sounds like fun. When is it? Do I need to dress up?”
“Next Wednesday. I believe the invitation says to wear black. Not very imaginative. But you always look lovely, dear.”
They’d reached the Pallis Mews flat. Uncle Lou paused to pluck a clematis blossom from the ivy-covered wall, and turned to poke its stem through a buttonhole in Nina’s jacket. “There. Purple is your color, isn’t it? Thank you for dropping by.”
He kissed her cheek and Nina embraced him, hugging him tightly. “I’ll see you next week.”
Uncle Lou nodded, long white hair stirring in the evening breeze, and walked unsteadily back inside.
The following week Nina showed up at the appointed quarter-hour, 4:45. A bit earlier than customary for Uncle Lou, but they wanted to allow plenty of time for rush hour traffic on the M1. Out front, the tarp had been removed from the Aston Martin, which gleamed like quicksilver in the twilight.
“Hello, darling, don’t you look marvelous!” exclaimed Uncle Lou as she stepped into the flat. “I haven’t seen that dress before, have I? Lovely.”
He kissed her cheek, and she noticed his own cheeks were flushed and his tawny eyes bright.
“You look lovely, too,” she said, laughing. “Is there some ulterior motive for this event? Am I the beard for an assignation?”
For an instant Uncle Lou appeared alarmed, but then he shook his head.
“No.” He made a show of straightening his velvet jacket, a somewhat frayed black paisley with silver embroidery. “It’s been a while since I was out and about, that’s all. And I need to be worthy of you, of course.”
She waited as he moved about the flat, collecting keys, the large black envelope containing the invitation, a plastic carrier bag from Sainsburys, an umbrella.
“I think it’s supposed to be nice,” said Nina, eyeing the umbrella.
“You’re probably right.” Uncle Lou set the umbrella back atop a hall table and paused, catching his breath. After a moment he slid a hand into his pocket, withdrew it to hold out a set of car keys.
“Here.” He put the keys into Nina’s palm and closed her fingers around them. “I’d like you to drive.”
“What?” Nina’s eyes widened. “The—your car?”
Uncle Lou nodded. “Yes. I don’t trust myself anymore. It used to be I saw better at night than daytime, but now…” He grimaced. “Last time I took it out I drove onto the curb near Tesco. You can drive a standard, right?”
“Yes—of course. But—”
“I’m giving it to you.” He turned and picked up a large manila envelope on the side table. “Everything’s in here, I’ve done all the paperwork already. Title and deed. It’s yours. There are some other papers in there as well. You might look at them when you have some spare time.”