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"She kept her husband there, too," Ursula said drily. "Dying was the only way he could get free." She drank some coffee and started to eat her grapefruit with a fork.
"Charlie came to me last night and asked me to ask you a favor."
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
Woody took a breath. "He wants you to invite Mrs. Peshkov to join the Buffalo Ladies' Society."
Ursula dropped her fork, and there was a chime of silver on fine porcelain. As if covering her discomposure, she said: "Pour me some more coffee, please, Woody."
He did her bidding, saying nothing for the moment. He could not recall ever seeing her discombobulated.
She sipped the coffee and said: "Why in the name of heaven would Charles Farquharson, or anyone else for that matter, want Olga Peshkov in the society?"
"He wants to marry Daisy."
"Does he?"
"And he's afraid his mother will object."
"He's got that part right."
"But he thinks he might be able to talk her around . . ."
"If I let Olga into the society."
"Then people might forget that her father was a gangster."
"A gangster?"
"Well, a bootlegger at least."
"Oh, that," Ursula said dismissively. "That's not it."
"Really?" It was Woody's turn to be surprised. "What is it, then?"
Ursula looked thoughtful. She was silent for such a long time that Woody wondered if she had forgotten he was there. Then she said: "Your father was in love with Olga Peshkov."
"Jesus!"
"Don't be vulgar."
"Sorry, Grandmama, you surprised me."
"They were engaged to be married."
"Engaged?" he said, astonished. He thought for a minute, then said: "I suppose I'm the only person in Buffalo who doesn't know about this."
She smiled at him. "There is a special mixture of wisdom and innocence that comes only to adolescents. I remember it so clearly in your father, and I see it in you. Yes, everyone in Buffalo knows, though your generation undoubtedly regard it as boring ancient history."
"Well, what happened?" Woody said. "I mean, who broke it off?"
"She did, when she got pregnant."
Woody's mouth fell open. "By Papa?"
"No, by her chauffeur--Lev Peshkov."
"He was the chauffeur?" This was one shock after another. Woody was silent, trying to take it in. "My goodness, Papa must have felt such a fool."
