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"No, he didn't," Mrs. Farquharson said bluntly. Her gaze went to Charlie and back. "You're a smart girl," she said. She looked as if she were about to add something, but hesitated.
"What?" said Daisy.
"Nothing." She turned away.
Daisy stood up. "I know what she was thinking," she murmured to Eva.
"What?"
"You're a smart girl--almost good enough for my son, if you came from a better family."
Eva was skeptical. "You can't know that."
"I sure can. And I'll marry him if only to prove his mother wrong."
"Oh, Daisy, why do you care so much what these people think?"
"Let's watch the tennis."
Daisy sat on the sand beside Charlie. He might not have been handsome, but he would worship his wife and do anything for her. The mother-in-law would be a problem, but Daisy thought she could handle her.
Tall Joanne Rouzrokh was serving, in a white skirt that flattered her long legs. Her partner, Woody Dewar, who was even taller, handed her a tennis ball. Something in the way he looked at Joanne made Daisy think he was attracted to her, maybe even in love with her. But he was fifteen and she eighteen, so there was no future in that.
She turned to Charlie. "Maybe I should see Passion after all," she said.
He did not take the hint. "Maybe you should," he said indifferently. The moment had passed.
Daisy turned to Eva. "I wonder where I could buy a Jack Russell terrier."
ii
Lev Peshkov was the best father a guy could have--or, at least, he would have been, if he had been around more. He was rich and generous, he was smarter than anybody, he was even well dressed. He had probably been handsome when younger, and even now women threw themselves at him. Greg Peshkov adored him, and his only complaint was that he did not see enough of him.
"I should have sold this fucking foundry when I had the chance," Lev said as they walked around the silent, deserted factory. "It was losing money even before the goddamn strike. I should stick to cinemas and bars." He wagged a didactic finger. "People always buy booze, in good times and bad. And they go to the movies even when they can't afford to. Never forget that."
Greg was pretty sure his father did not often make mistakes in business. "So why did you keep it?" he said.
"Sentiment," Lev replied. "When I was your age I worked in a place like this, the Putilov Machine Works in St. Petersburg." He looked around at the furnaces, molds, hoists, lathes, and workbenches. "Actually, it was a lot worse."
The Buffalo Metal Works made fans of all sizes, including huge propellers for ships. Greg was fascinated by the mathematics of the curved blades. He was top of his class in math. "Were you an engineer?" he asked.
Lev grinned. "I tell people that, if I need to impress them," he said. "But the truth is I looked after the horses. I was a stable boy. I was never good with machines. That was my brother Grigori's talent. You take after him. All the same, never buy a foundry."
"I won't."
Greg was to spend the summer shadowing his father, learning the business. Lev had just got back from Los Angeles, and Greg's lessons had begun today. But he did not want to know about the foundry. He was good at math but he was interested in power. He wished his father would take him on one of his frequent trips to Washington to lobby for the movie industry. That was where the real decisions were made.
He was looking forward to lunch. He and his father were to meet Senator Gus Dewar. Greg wanted to ask a favor of Senator Dewar. However, he had not yet cleared this with his father. He was nervous about asking, and instead he said: "Do you ever hear of your brother in Leningrad?"
Lev shook his head. "Not since the war. I wouldn't be surprised if he's dead. A lot of old Bolsheviks have disappeared."
"Speaking of family, I saw my half sister on Saturday. She was at the beach picnic."
"Did you have a good time?"
"She's mad at you, did you know that?"
"What have I done now?"
