"I was wondering how long you'd last," Leo said, answering the door with a blinky smile. He was wearing a thick robe, slippers and a pair of oven mitts. "Violet, you are the very colour of your name."
"I've brought supplies," she said, holding forth the goodies.
"Wonderful. I'll put my good teeth in." Violet would have gulped but her saliva reserves had dwindled on the way up. Leo chuckled. "Just kidding. These are all mine."
"Is your oven working?"
Leo looked at his mitts. "The fire irons get hot," he laughed. "Come on in."
The warmth was nothing less than blissful. "What's that delicious smell?" Violet asked. "A candle?" Several candles on the large mantelpiece were lit even though there was still daylight trying to peek in behind the curtains.
"A fruitcake. My niece-in-law sent it to me. I was about to throw the other half on the fire. Care for some?"
"Not even today, thank you."
"Why don't you make yourself comfortable? Have a look around. I'll make you a tea and wait for the compliments."
Leo had an iron kettle over the heat in no time. Violet began to remove layers of extra clothing, investigating. It really was such a man's apartment. Green chairs and a dark leather sofa, heavy burgundy drapes with masculine rope ties. He had a display of model warplanes, shelves of expensively bound books, a cigar compartment in a well stocked liquor cabinet, but few family photos, Violet noted, on the walls or amongst the mantelpiece bric-a-brac.
"Have you been here long, Mr. Finch?"
"Please call me Leo. About four years. Thought it'd be better than a big house with empty rooms and all those stairs. Now I find if I want a breath of fresh air I have to haul my carcass up and down in those elevators. There are people in this building I have no desire to be neighbourly with especially sixteen floors at a time. You're lucky to be near the bottom."
"You have no idea. My sister and her husband own the condo. They're renting it to me for practically nothing."
"Are you sure? Some people will try to pull stuff on family they wouldn't dare with strangers."
"We're very close."
"That's nice. No husband for you yet?"
"Not yet. And you, you live alone?"
"Quite alone. Never married." The phone rang. Leo shuffled over to it and answered, "Yes?" His bushy brow furrowed. "Of course he did, Son of a Gun. Of course you can. Bye." He hung up, shaking his head. "The kid who delivers the paper. Do you get the paper?"
"I hate to buy bad news."
"Well the delivery boy's father left his mother for another woman, but he expects to be treated like King of the Castle whenever he feels like showing up."
"Poor kid. That's too bad."
"Too bad for his father. He parks his Cadillac straight under my balcony." Without further explanation Leo returned to the prior conversation. "Never married. Never had any kids of my own. I probably wouldn't have been there enough for them if I had. When I had the chance to settle down I didn't want to and when I caved no one could be bothered with me."
"I can't believe that."
"Don't worry. I'm not fishing. I'm not flirting either. You're a very pretty girl, Violet, but I always had an eye out for little women, shorter than I used to be, and red-headed if possible."
YOU ARE READING
Worth
Literatura FemininaWhen an eccentric old neighbour dies and names Violet March in his will, she is even more surprised than his estranged and spoiled family. To make matters stranger, she learns that all must attend a pretend murder-mystery weekend for any to claim a...