A Love Story

Costanza didn’t see Leopold’s eyes until he had turned around to face her. By then he had been followed into the apartment by a refined-looking older woman with rich dark skin and hair through which, here and there, white strands twisted and turned: Lorna; “our godsend,” Henry had called her.

Lorna, their godsend, was holding Leopold’s cane. Once he had entered on his own, he was apparently willing to take it back. He pivoted toward the living room and looked Costanza over with icy dark eyes. “I am Leopold, and you are Costanza. I will be just a moment.”

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