Page 37 of Nantucket Reflections
Julia introduced herself in person and watched as Charlie and Elena shook hands. Elena had strong, sleek black hair and catlike eyes that made you marvel at the intelligence of the next generation.
“Please, sit down!” she said, guiding them into the living room, where three mugs of tea sat waiting for them, plus a basket of hard English cookies.
“You have a wonderful place,” Julia said, settling onto the sofa next to Charlie.
“Thank you for saying that.”
Julia yearned to ask how a young woman like Elena afforded this. Maybe her father, Federico, had money? Maybe Elena was being bankrolled? Then again, the way Marius and Sophia had spoken had made Julia think that Elena’s parents hadn’t been afforded any of the “legs up” that Elena, maybe, would have with Julia’s publishing house and Gregor’s insights.
For a little while, they chatted simply about London, about Elena’s time at the Royal College of Art, about Positano, about the weather. She seemed like a clearheaded and bright young woman with a wonderful future ahead of her. Julia could just barely imagine her, perhaps in a hooded sweatshirt, making that CAT copycat in Paris. Paris was just down the road, in some respects. Maybe she’d gone there on a Friday and come back Saturday morning. Had she needed help?
Just when Julia was about to ask Elena another silly question about art school, Elena raised her palm and said, firmly, “Before we go any further, I want you to know that after our phone call, I looked you up. Julia Copperfield. Julia Copperfield of the now infamous American publishing house.”
Julia’s heart dropped into her stomach. It was obvious what was happening now. Elena was calling out her lie. Perhaps she’d smelled the lie immediately on the phone and had been too curious to hang up.
Julia crossed her ankles and waited to come up with a response that would win Elena’s favor. But how did anyone win the favor of an eighteen-year-old girl?
“Yes,” Julia said finally, because she could only agree. “That’s my publishing house.”
“Can I ask you a question?” Elena asked, raising her chin.
“Okay.” Julia had never been more anxious in her life.
“Why did you believe her?”
Julia understood.Why did you believe Lucia’s lies?
“I’ve thought about that a lot since the night of the book launch,” Julia said, her voice faint. “I read that manuscript probably twenty times. I confirmed countless facts about Lucia’s life and paired them up with the well-known creation dates of CAT’s murals. To me, in many ways, I was doing everything I felt necessary to make sureA Journey into the Nightwould be a wonderful success. But you know what?”
Elena blinked and waited.
“The real truth is that I wanted to believe that Lucia Colombo was CAT because I wanted to believe the incredible CAT had wanted to reveal her identity through my publishing house,” Julia said, her voice wavering. “It was arrogant and insane of me, and I know that now.” She swallowed. “But the problem is, because of Lucia Colombo, and because of my recklessness, my publishing house might not recover from this.”
Elena bowed her head. “I read about that too.”
“You know we’ve been trying to look for Lucia?” Julia asked.
Elena nodded again.
“You know that some guys took her away? Some Bulgarians?” she pressed it. “Apparently, they met Lucia in Positano.”
“I remember those guys,” Elena said thoughtfully. “A few of them worked odd jobs. Plumbing. Electrician. I think one or two worked at the hospital. They were harmless, until they realized what they could do, how much power they could take when they wanted to.”
It was an interesting choice of words. Julia sat back and cupped her elbows. Charlie was quiet beside her, letting her take the lead. He seemed captivated, too.
“Why do you think Lucia and those guys wanted to impersonate CAT?” Julia asked.
Elena sipped her tea. “As you know, there’s a lot of money in the CAT brand,” she said. “It didn’t start that way.”
“And Lucia knew that?”
“She knew a lot,” Elena said with a shrug.
“How?” Julia rasped.
Elena looked reticent, her eyes out the window. What had begun as a sunny afternoon had now shifted to clouds and raindrops. It felt gloomy and appropriately London-esque.
Elena’s voice was shaky. “How did you know to contact me?” she asked.
