Nothing can disguise her loveliness.
“Jack,” Leo says to his foreman, “give me a minute.”
Leo, at thirty-three, has the bearing of an older man. He’s used to being obeyed.
“Sure, boss.”
Leo starts to walk over to her. He’s glad he’s freshly shaved and smells of cologne. That his suit’s been pressed.
The girl stops Nancy Fotheringale, the Wax Lady. She’s a permanent fixture in Paradise, with her own tent. Stiff and English, she drinks her tea with her little finger stuck out, now making her living by being an exhibit because she lost her post as a governess when her condition became apparent. The girl bows her head toward the older woman where most people lean away because Nancy’s face drips with pendulous tumours. She looks like she’s melting. The girl speaks and Leo’s surprised when Nancy laughs, a rare and beautiful sound.
Nancy points toward him as he approaches.
“Hello, I’m Leo Saunders.”
“Leo,” the girl repeats.
“Short for Leonides Saunderis.” He surprises himself. He never begins a conversation with an admission of his immigrant roots.
“Leonides,” her voices softens, as if more impressed with honesty than reinvention. “It’s a regal name.”
It’s as if she’s seen his heart, his fears, his insecurities and, in telling him that Leonides sounds regal, has given him back his real name.
“You’re Christos’s brother, aren’t you?”
He grins. It’s not often that he’s referred to as Christos’s brother.
“And who are you?”
“I’m Rebecca. His wife.”
Apartments line one end of Paradise. The premium on land prices has made Leo build upward, space insufficient for bungalows for all the performers and key staff. Each block has three stories and they occupy a natural bank, so they have a view of the site.
From here Leo can see the crowd spill through the turnstiles. The marauding public wear their weekend clothes, pockets of pennies to spend on shooting games and cotton candy. Leo watches their progress toward the side tents where the brave ones look through screens at regulars like Nancy Fotheringale and touring artists such as William Lloyd the Wolf Man and his cubs. The big top rises above it all, its stripes visible from the city.
Leo’s apartment doubles as an office. There’s a filing cabinet and a map of Paradise, its plots numbered and listed below. There are duty rosters, invoices, and ledgers.
Leo sits with silver picture frame in hand. Lilia and Giorgio Saunderis are dressed for their wedding. Both brandish a pair of pistols.
“I thought you’d gone to university to get a degree, not a wife.” Leo puts the frame down.
“I love her.” Christos is unabashed by love. He perches on the edge of his brother’s desk.
“Did she tell you to leave college?”
“She begged me to stay on.”
Leo sighs. “Then she’s got more sense than you.”
“Why’s everyone so angry? It’s my life. Jacob’s furious.”
“He thinks you’re wasting your talent here. That you could be a physics professor, if you wanted. He spent all those years tutoring you. He never asked me for a penny in return.”
“And I’m grateful, but it’s not what I want.”
“I promised Ma that you’d have an education and a better life than she could give me.”
“She meant well but she shouldn’t have set us on such different paths. What about what I want?”
Don’t push too hard, Leo thinks, or you’ll push him away. “Okay, what do you want?”
“To come home.”
They’re both on their feet. As Leo hauls Christos into an embrace he’s struck that his brother’s not a stripling anymore. Leo’s invigorated by the strength in his brother’s arms.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too. Let me work for you. I’ll prove myself. You’ll like Rebecca, I promise.”
Leo pats his brother’s back. “I already do.”
Henry speeds up and slows down the motions of Rollo’s face, until he finds the part of the interview that he wants. Rollo has the physiognomy of a pugilist, not a clown.
Rollo was going through a good phase at the time. The man swings between dry and soaked. Just when Henry thinks Rollo’s got his life in order, things go wrong for him. It’s always someone else’s fault. His boss or his last wife.
“Rollo, did you get on with the happy couple?”
“Sure. I was like a brother to Christos. I brought them a puppy as a welcome gift. Rebecca named it after a dog she had as a kid. She said every dog she’d had since was named after it. She was a quirky girl.”
“Tell me about Rebecca.”
“Everyone thought she was great. She was private though. What did you find out about her?”
“Not much. I’ve found a cousin but she won’t see me. Did Leo and Rebecca get on?”
“Well enough at first. I never saw them fight but things cooled after a while.”
“Why?”
“She was attractive. Leo was a red-blooded man.”
“He tried it on with her?”
“I can’t say for sure. Power turns men’s heads. They think rules don’t apply to them. Whatever happened, Leo started to see them as rivals, with Rebecca pulling the strings. Then there were questions about money going missing.”
“Why did they continue working together?”
“Leo was a subtle, patient man, even when he was angry. He couldn’t turn Chris out. He’d promised Lil. And he saw Rebecca’s worth straight off.”
“Her act.”
“Yes.”
“I saw her. She was special.” Henry can hear the ache in his own voice.
“Yes,” the clown smiles, “but you never got close enough to feel the heat. She was sublime.”
Leo knocks on the door of the neighboring flat that belongs to Christos and Rebecca.
“I’m early. Sorry.”
“Nonsense.” Rebecca’s barefoot and gracious.
“I want to apologize for the poor welcome.” He puts down a basket and hovers by the door.
“Come in.”
She hands him a tall, cool drink, beads of moisture already forming on the glass. His mouth’s suddenly dry. He takes a sip.
“Christos was supposed to get here first to break the news but his train was delayed.”
“Why didn’t you travel together?”
“I was visiting my cousin in Lauders. I understand, you know. You’ve looked after Christos all your life. He kept all the letters you sent him while he was in college. He read them when he was lonely.”
Christos, alone. Leo’s most sensitive nerve reverberates.
“I love him too.” She touches his arm. “I’ll never hurt him.”
He looks at her naked feet, her nails the pale shade of shells. “Talk’s cheap.”
“You’ll see. I’ll prove it to you.”
Christos comes out of the bedroom. It’s too late in the day for his hair to be so disarrayed. Leo looks away and is glad when he remembers his gift.
“I’ve got you something.”
Leo fetches the basket from by the door. Rebecca opens the wicker flap and picks out the quivering body and cradles it against her chest.
“Chris said you wanted one. He’s just a mutt but he’s cute. Mainly spaniel from the look of him.”
She holds the puppy up. It’s all eyes and paws.
“He’s gorgeous. Can we call him Sam? I used to have a dog called Sam when I was little.”
“Sam it is.” Christos scratches Sam’s neck. “We’ve something else to tell you. Rebecca’s got an act of her own.”
“Doing what?” Leo’s surprised she’s one of their tribe.