Free A Million for Eleanor: A Contemporary Story on Love and Money by Danil Rudoy Page A

were sitting at at, an older and a younger one, and they looked so alike it seemed most logical to assume they were sisters. The older one wore a dark green dress with a surprisingly deep yet perfectly discreet décolleté, while the younger one’s was light blue with no décolleté whatsoever. They were engaged in a conversation, but turned their heads and looked at Eleanor as soon as she neared the table. Her face showed the most amiable smile he had ever seen on it, but he knew she was tense on the inside and ready to improvise.
    “Thank you, my good man,” he said to the maitre d’.
    “Your waiter will be with you momentarily, sir,” the maitre d’ said solemnly. He waited for the man to go away and turned to his family.
    “My dearests! Please allow me, after so many years, to introduce to you Eleanor .”
    Her head shook slightly when she heard her name; then she took a quick breath and said:
    “Mrs. Charlester, Elisa. Good evening. I am delighted to meet you.”
    “Just Ella , my dear,” Mrs. Charlester said, standing up and shaking Eleanor’s hand.
    He looked around once again, hoping to spot an artist among the visitors, someone who wasn’t consuming his late dinner in the company of a dear mistress or a despised wife and could appreciate a handshake between his mother and Eleanor who seemed two goddesses competing for the right to embody Elegance in human flesh. The only two obvious similarities between them were the hair color and the physical appeal, so staggering it seemed to muffle the clatter of cutlery. But he had a clear sensation that they shared another important trait which allowed them to look at each other with such dignified confidence, as if acknowledging their equality. He marvelled at how suave their greeting was and caught himself thinking they looked like they knew they were supposed to meet in this very place, a long time ago, long before he conceived of the idea himself. And then he felt tremendous pity for the people sitting around, bankers, brokers, bosses and whoever else, monotonously devouring their delicacies and destined to miss a spectacular show that was about to begin.
    When their hands parted, Elisa got up.
    “Dear Eleanor,” she said, hugging her. “It’s so nice to see you!”
    “Same here. Richard told me so much about you.”
    “He did?” Elisa sat back down. “He must have praised me a lot, but let me tell you, I don’t deserve half of his praises!”
    “She’s always like that,” he sighed, shoving the valises under the table and inviting Eleanor to take a seat. “Despite all those things she beats me at. But at least she is as modest as our father.”
    “What are those things? Tell me, Elisa.”
    “Let’s start with music,” he said before his sister could open her mouth, taking the last free chair. “Why don’t you tell us about the contest you’re taking part in next week?”
    “It’s just a contest.” Elisa shrugged her shoulders as if unsure of what more to say.
    “Something like a Pulitzer prize for musicians,” he explained.
    “What instrument do you play?”
    “Piano, mostly.”
    “In addition to harp, violin and flute. I didn’t even learn the guitar, and she has the audacity to say she doesn’t deserve my praises!”
    “He is lying,” Elisa said to Eleanor. “He plays the guitar very well.”
    “Really? I never knew that.”
    “That is strange indeed,” said Mrs. Charlester. “There are several serenades he is particularly good at. Didn’t he ever perform those for you?”
    “Mother, you know that those are barcaroles ,” he said, studying the menu. “I recommend you start familiarizing yourself with your options,” he added, talking to Eleanor. “The variety is overwhelming.”
    “I hope you are not a vegetarian, are you?” Mrs. Charlester inquired. “The fowl courses in this place are scrumptious.”
    “I’m not.”
    “Can I make a suggestion, then?” Elisa ventured. “Try the Cranberry Turkey. It’s