Ithaca (20 page)

He hears her chuckle.

When he phones her, Caryn suggests they meet at a Tim Hortons across the street from his hotel in an hour’s time. When they meet she orders a double-double for him so he can experience coffee the way Canadians like it. As they begin to sip the sweet, creamy brew, he hands her a folded sheet of hotel notepaper on which he has written down the figure that Gabrijela and he have agreed upon. The sheet of paper has no other writing on it. She opens it, stares at the number for what seems like a very long time. The tension is too much for him to bear; he takes a gulp of the coffee, scalds his tongue, winces, and almost misses the slight nod of her head. Her smile is unmistakable though.

“Seppi was right to trust you,” she says simply. “You knew him better than most. The book is yours.”

In preparation for his visit to the law firm that Gabrijela had recommended, Zach has put on a suit and he regrets it as soon as he steps out of the air-conditioned lobby of his hotel. They have decided to walk to the offices of Manning & Charles LLP, but within minutes of setting out he is sweating, the heat and the humidity of the day magnified by the pollution of the traffic-clogged streets. Fortunately they do not have far to go and are soon at the great steel and glass Bay Adelaide Centre in which the law firm is housed.

Their arrival is announced by a receptionist, and within minutes a tall pleasant-faced lawyer dressed in pinstripes takes them through a warren of cubicles to a boardroom that overlooks the lake. The room’s arctic chill quickly dispels the discomfort Zach felt while walking to the appointment. Douglas Manning, who turns out to be one of the founding partners of the firm, offers them refreshments, then takes a legal pad from his briefcase and asks how he can help them.

Zach quickly sketches out the circumstances that have led Litmus to seek the firm’s advice: the new manuscript, the provisions of the main will, and the addendum that gives Caryn ownership of the manuscript. Manning scribbles on his pad and does not interrupt him while he is talking. When Zach runs out of things to say, Manning turns his attention to Caryn and asks to see the letter. It is a brief scrawled note on an A4 sheet with a somewhat crabbed signature at the bottom.

After reading the note Manning asks, “Ms. Bianchi, is the signature on this document the late Mr. Seppi’s?”

“It is,” she says.

“Do you have any supporting evidence to prove that it is authentic? Samples of Mr. Seppi’s signature, for example?”

“I do,” Caryn says, and to Zach’s surprise and covert admiration, she pulls out a letter and a photocopy of a cheque that Seppi had signed. An organized woman, he thinks, but she would have to be in order to be effective as Seppi’s agent and literary executor. The lawyer takes the proffered items, examines them, and puts them to one side.

“These seem in order, Ms. Bianchi,” he says, “but, meaning no disrespect, I am no handwriting expert and they will need to be authenticated should we find it necessary to approach the courts. I don’t wish to alarm you, but the fact that Mr. Seppi’s addendum was not notarized by
his
lawyer or witnessed may pose a problem. Further, there might be a conflict of interest as you are his literary executor.”

He purses his lips, looks out of the window at the lake glittering in the late morning sunshine, its surface stubbled with sails, then turns back to them. “Who else could lay claim to ownership besides Mr. Seppi’s cousin?”

“Nobody I can think of.”

“Are you friendly with Mr. Seppi’s cousin?”

“No, not really, Giuseppe and I are civil to each other but I wouldn’t say we are friendly.”

“Is there much money at stake here?”

“Yes,” she says crisply, “potentially over ten million dollars.”

Manning gazes out of the window again.

Zach chimes in. “Do you think there might be a problem?”

“Again, I have no desire to be alarmist, but when there is
so much money at stake, the potential for other interested parties to make a claim always exists. If I might make a suggestion, perhaps Ms. Bianchi could get in touch with the cousin and see if she could come to some sort of arrangement with him. He might not make a claim if that were to be so.”

Caryn is beginning to remonstrate but Manning calms her down at once by saying that all he is doing is making a suggestion – if she doesn’t want to take his advice that is up to her. But he is quite clear in his view that without a settlement she might be in for a long, expensive court battle without a guaranteed verdict in her favour.

They discuss the meeting at the lawyer’s office over coffee at his hotel’s lobby-level restaurant. Caryn is upset by Manning’s opinion, the prospect of negotiating with Seppi’s cousin makes her tremendously uncomfortable, but as they continue to discuss the situation it becomes clear to both that it’s the wisest thing to do. He offers to go with her to the meeting. She pulls out her cellphone, calls a number, and after a conversation that is conducted more in Italian than in English sets up an appointment for the next day. After Caryn has gone he phones Gabrijela and brings her up to date on the day’s events; she wishes him luck at the meeting with the cousin and tells him to call her at any time should her help be needed with the negotiation.

Jet lag gets him up early the next morning. He is ready well before the appointed time and prowls around his room
restlessly. Three days ago he was in London fretting about the future. Now he is in the midst of lawyers, negotiations, and possibly the biggest deal of his life. Swing it, and he can already feel the applause, smell it, hear it.

When they reach their destination, a handsome detached two-storey residence that he recognizes from his previous visits to see Seppi, Caryn parks her little VW a few doors down, and then to his surprise buries her head in her hands and begins to weep noisily. He hesitates, puts his hand on her shoulder.

“It’s OK, the meeting will go well, I’m sure.”

He doesn’t know what else to say. A few minutes later, her sobs subside, she finds a tissue in her handbag, wipes her face, blows her nose, and turns to him, saying, “I am sorry. This is my first visit to the house after Massimo’s funeral.”

But, of course, the first thing the cousin would have done is move into his fancy new home. When they ring the bell, there is no evidence of her recent breakdown. Cousin Giuseppe opens the door; he is a large man, a pendulous belly overhangs his jeans.

“Ciao, Caryn,” he says.

He turns to Zach. “And you are Massimo’s publisher. Welcome.”

He leads them to the family room that overlooks a backyard messy with junk – a rusting lawn mower, pieces of pipe, a half-assembled bird feeder. Ugly black squirrels dart around the lawn, chittering and squeaking. The disorder outside is of a piece with the untidy rooms of the house. This was not how things were on a previous visit when the room Seppi, Caryn, and he had met in was neat and orderly. Caryn sits on
the edge of a handsome wing chair and tells Giuseppe why they are here in the mixture of Italian and English that she used when she spoke to him on the phone. Giuseppe scratches his belly under the T-shirt, yawns, and busies himself in the adjoining kitchen, making the coffee that he offered them. Once that’s done he launches into an animated monologue, delivered entirely in Italian.

When he has said his piece Caryn says sharply, “That is unfair, Giuseppe, you know Massimo would never have stood for it.” She has spoken in English for Zach’s benefit.

Giuseppe shrugs, massively indifferent, and says in English, “He was my family, you were a business associate. If you don’t think my terms are fair, let our lawyers talk.”

She remains composed, though her colour has risen, “Very well, then, let Mr. Thomas and I discuss it, and we will get back to you.”

“I’m in no hurry, Caryn.”

“But we are. Mr. Thomas needs to carry word back to London about our decision.”

“I’m being generous, Caryn,” Giuseppe says with a smile and a wink at Zach when he thinks Caryn isn’t looking. Zach doesn’t let any emotion show, wonders what this gross ape has proposed. They leave without drinking their coffee. When they are back in the car, Caryn shrieks in frustration and then says, “It’s unbelievable, that greedy bastard wanted ninety per cent of the advance and all future revenues.”

“That’s ridiculous! What did you offer him?”

“Half.”

“Which is really generous, I’d have started with a quarter myself.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We’ll go back to Manning. Perhaps the lawyers can talk and work out a more reasonable division of the money.”

“I hope Manning is tough,” she says grimly. “Giuseppe’s lawyer is a nightmare – you know, one of those sleazy, ambulance-chasing creatures out of central casting.”

The negotiations drag on for two days, and Zach begins to understand that a prolonged legal negotiation is much like attending upon a critically ill patient. A lot of their time is spent worrying and waiting, getting their hopes up as bits of half-baked information leak back to them, only to have them dashed again a few hours later. The oppressive heat of the past few days has subsided, so instead of being cooped up in the hotel, they go on long walks through the city. Although the tension he is gripped by doesn’t allow him to properly appreciate its many virtues – leafy ravines, well-tended neighbourhoods, a profusion of parks and flower beds, the bustle of Yonge Street and Chinatown, all of this flowing down to the dark eye of the lake – he can see why Toronto attracts so many immigrants, and features high in quality of life rankings.

The attractions of the city aside, the time spent with Caryn makes him warm to her. What a price a life spent in the service of literature can sometimes exact, he thinks, all those years of dedication to Seppi only to end up at the mercy of a
greedy philistine! They are eating lunch in a cavernous dim sum restaurant in the heart of Chinatown. After instructing him in the art of eating chicken feet, laughing with delight as he gingerly begins to suck the skin and flesh off the greasy claw, she finally begins to open up about herself.

He discovers that she is a native of Montreal, and formed part of the great anglophone exodus from what was then Canada’s cultural epicentre during the political disturbances of the 1970s. She had found that her master’s degree in linguistics from McGill was useless for anything but a career in teaching or research, neither of which had interested her, so she had taken off to Europe where she eked out a precarious existence teaching English, waitressing, taking secretarial jobs, while making the translations that would come to dominate her life. Then the connection with Seppi came about, and she had returned to Canada and to Toronto, a city she barely knew, having lived in it only briefly before her European sojourn. She had no real friends except Seppi but returning to Montreal had not been an option. She hated how provincial it had become (although its bakeries and patisseries put Toronto’s to shame), her parents had split up, and she had no lasting connections with her extended family or friends. She had stayed on in Toronto and toughed it out (she makes the merest mention of an unhappy romantic entanglement) until at long last the angels had alighted and her life had entered its happiest phase. With Seppi’s death, Caryn’s existence had grown unsettled again, but he hopes
Storm of Angels
will calm things down for her, assuming cousin Giuseppe doesn’t play spoilsport. The next morning Giuseppe finally comes around,
accepting a 75:25 split in his favour. Zach books his ticket home the same evening, thrilled with the way things have gone. Caryn, who has found a way to a grudging acceptance of the deal, drives him to the airport, and they have a drink at the bar to celebrate. The onrush of positive energy that accompanies the successful culmination of a deal is one of the highs that publishers and writers share unreservedly. Together they toast Seppi, themselves, and the future of their book. When it’s time to go he gives Caryn a hug (any distance that existed between them has disappeared), and makes his way to the boarding gate still wrapped in a soaring sense of well-being. Onwards and upwards, he thinks, onwards and upwards, and the thought stays with him as the plane floats free of the blaze of light that is Toronto and points for home.