“Oh, she had a house there, had she?” he said.
“Yes, a charming house,” said Lucia, “and full, of course, of dear old memories to Pepino. It will be very trying for him, for he used to go there when he was a boy to see Auntie.”
“And has she left it him?” asked Georgie, trying to make his voice sound unconcerned.
“Yes, and it’s a freehold,” said Lucia. “That makes it easier to dispose of if Pepino settles to sell it. And beautiful Queen Anne furniture.”
“My dear, how delicious!” said Georgie. “Probably worth a fortune.”
Lucia was certainly rallying from the terrible blow, but she did not allow herself to rally too far, and shook her head sadly.
“Pepino would hate to have to part with Auntie’s things,” she said. “So many memories. He can recollect her sitting at the walnut bureau (one of those tall ones, you know, which let down in front, and the handles of the drawers all original), doing her accounts in the morning. And a picture of her with her pearls over the fireplace by Sargent; quite an early one. Some fine Chinese Chippendale chairs in the dining-room. We must try to keep some of the things.”
Georgie longed to ask a hundred questions, but it would not be wise, for Lucia was so evidently enjoying letting these sumptuous details leak out mingled with memories. He was beginning to feel sure that Daisy’s cynical suggestion was correct, and that the stricken desolation of Pepino and Lucia cloaked a very substantial inheritance. Bits of exultation kept peeping out, and Lucia kept poking them back.
“But where will you put all those lovely things, if you sell the house?” he asked. “Your house here is so perfect already.”
“Nothing is settled yet,” said Lucia. “Neither he nor I can think of anything but dear Auntie. Such a keen intelligent mind she had when Pepino first remembered her. Very good-looking still in the Sargent picture. And it was all so sudden, when Pepino saw her last she was so full of vigour.”