could just sense the spicy aroma of his after-shave, probably only available at upscale department stores.
His hands smoothed the intricate folds of the napkin on the table. For someone exuding wealth and sophistication his hands were those of a laborer, blunt, sturdy, oddly prosaic. But on one finger he wore a thick gold ring, set with a diamond suitably discreet but still twice as large as her chip of an engagement stone, and monogrammed “EFA”. “F?” she asked.
He looked up, startled. “What?”
“The ‘F’ on your ring. What’s your middle name?”
“Oh. Frederick. Nicely Germanic. Fits with the Eric and the Adler.”
“It’s nice to meet someone who isn’t of Scottish ancestry.”
“It takes all kinds.”
The wine came, was approved, and poured into her glass in a sparkling crimson stream. Eric waited, glass poised. She lifted hers and clinked it against his. “To Dun Iain,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied. “By all means.”
By the time the antipasto arrived they were well into polite cross-examination. Rebecca had three older brothers, Eric was an only child raised by his grandmother. Rebecca’s undergraduate and master’s degrees were from the University of Missouri, Eric had attended law school at the University of California at Los Angeles, his hometown. Like her, he’d worked his way through college, his grandmother’s Social Security checks barely covering their rent. Now she understood why he’d never had his teeth fixed— as a child too poor to afford braces, as an adult too vain to wear them.
Rebecca envied his state as an only child, and envied even more his current financial security. But then, unlike her, he’d chosen a profession that offered financial security. She toyed for a moment with daydreams of fiscal hedonism, clothes, cars, and wine lists.
Judging by the current events that appeared in the background of his biography, Eric was about thirty-five. Rebecca wondered if there was a divorce in his past, and whether his frank admiration for the feminine had contributed to it. She contented herself with the innocuous, “And what brought you from California to Ohio?”
“I was offered a position with the Birkenhead, Birkenhead and Dean, in Columbus, just about the time my grandmother died. There was no reason to stay in L.A., and I’d never been in this part of the country.”
“You were handed the Dun Iain account, I suppose, as the older members of the firm were getting too dignified to drive up here.”
“Spot on,” said Eric, “as your Scottish friend would say.”
“He’s not necessarily my friend. He came with the job.”
“Want to file a complaint with OSHA, the occupational hazard people?”
Rebecca laughed. The waiter whisked away empty dishes and deposited full ones. To Rebecca’s slightly glazed eyes each plate was haloed with oil and cheese. She wondered if Italian food could be considered a sacrament.
“Did you tell Michael about wanting to put a jazz ensemble on the piper’s gallery?” she asked. “I’ll bet he threw a rampant lion of Scotland gold and crimson fit.”
“Not exactly. He is pretty touchy, though. Can’t say as I blame him. He knows I’m supposed to be checking up on him.” Eric’s jaw tightened; in his body language, Rebecca told herself, that signaled suppression of stress. “I also made the mistake of telling him you were coming. And he didn’t like that at all. Sorry.”
“I hate to think what kind of reception I’d have gotten if he hadn’t been expecting me.”
Eric twirled a strand of linguini around his fork and contemplated it a moment. “Actually, though, there’s more than that… .”
“Yes?” Rebecca urged.
“Campbell’s fully aware that he’s a scholar and I’m not. I think he’s been— well, not to put too fine a point on it, overestimating the worth of some of those old things. And putting some things down as valuable that aren’t at all. I can’t help but wonder if he’s
His hands smoothed the intricate folds of the napkin on the table. For someone exuding wealth and sophistication his hands were those of a laborer, blunt, sturdy, oddly prosaic. But on one finger he wore a thick gold ring, set with a diamond suitably discreet but still twice as large as her chip of an engagement stone, and monogrammed “EFA”. “F?” she asked.
He looked up, startled. “What?”
“The ‘F’ on your ring. What’s your middle name?”
“Oh. Frederick. Nicely Germanic. Fits with the Eric and the Adler.”
“It’s nice to meet someone who isn’t of Scottish ancestry.”
“It takes all kinds.”
The wine came, was approved, and poured into her glass in a sparkling crimson stream. Eric waited, glass poised. She lifted hers and clinked it against his. “To Dun Iain,” he said.
“Yes,” she replied. “By all means.”
By the time the antipasto arrived they were well into polite cross-examination. Rebecca had three older brothers, Eric was an only child raised by his grandmother. Rebecca’s undergraduate and master’s degrees were from the University of Missouri, Eric had attended law school at the University of California at Los Angeles, his hometown. Like her, he’d worked his way through college, his grandmother’s Social Security checks barely covering their rent. Now she understood why he’d never had his teeth fixed— as a child too poor to afford braces, as an adult too vain to wear them.
Rebecca envied his state as an only child, and envied even more his current financial security. But then, unlike her, he’d chosen a profession that offered financial security. She toyed for a moment with daydreams of fiscal hedonism, clothes, cars, and wine lists.
Judging by the current events that appeared in the background of his biography, Eric was about thirty-five. Rebecca wondered if there was a divorce in his past, and whether his frank admiration for the feminine had contributed to it. She contented herself with the innocuous, “And what brought you from California to Ohio?”
“I was offered a position with the Birkenhead, Birkenhead and Dean, in Columbus, just about the time my grandmother died. There was no reason to stay in L.A., and I’d never been in this part of the country.”
“You were handed the Dun Iain account, I suppose, as the older members of the firm were getting too dignified to drive up here.”
“Spot on,” said Eric, “as your Scottish friend would say.”
“He’s not necessarily my friend. He came with the job.”
“Want to file a complaint with OSHA, the occupational hazard people?”
Rebecca laughed. The waiter whisked away empty dishes and deposited full ones. To Rebecca’s slightly glazed eyes each plate was haloed with oil and cheese. She wondered if Italian food could be considered a sacrament.
“Did you tell Michael about wanting to put a jazz ensemble on the piper’s gallery?” she asked. “I’ll bet he threw a rampant lion of Scotland gold and crimson fit.”
“Not exactly. He is pretty touchy, though. Can’t say as I blame him. He knows I’m supposed to be checking up on him.” Eric’s jaw tightened; in his body language, Rebecca told herself, that signaled suppression of stress. “I also made the mistake of telling him you were coming. And he didn’t like that at all. Sorry.”
“I hate to think what kind of reception I’d have gotten if he hadn’t been expecting me.”
Eric twirled a strand of linguini around his fork and contemplated it a moment. “Actually, though, there’s more than that… .”
“Yes?” Rebecca urged.
“Campbell’s fully aware that he’s a scholar and I’m not. I think he’s been— well, not to put too fine a point on it, overestimating the worth of some of those old things. And putting some things down as valuable that aren’t at all. I can’t help but wonder if he’s
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