London Broil by Linnet Moss

table. She ordered ashe , a
     vegetable-noodle soup, and a plate of shireen palow , a
     sweet orange-flavored rice with pistachios. As she ate, she
     pondered the day's events as well as those of the weekend. Now
     that she and James had had sex, would they sleep together every
     weekend? She would enjoy that. But perhaps they would go to her
     flat instead of his, if the restaurant they chose was closer to
     Kings Cross. She must put in some time cleaning. She also
     resolved to buy herself some new clothes before Friday: a couple
     of pretty dresses, a pair of shoes, and the most critical need
     of all, good lingerie. Even if James preferred her naked, she
     still wanted to look good taking it off. She was considering a
     haircut when George stopped by her table to say hello.

 
    "You need
     something salty to go on that shireen palow . Maybe I'll
     fry you a nice slice of eggplant."

 
    "That's okay,
     George, I'll have it finished faster than that." She hesitated,
     and then asked, "Do you still see James Whelan around here?"

 
    "Oh yes, on
     Thursdays. He usually gets takeout, but last time he brought
     Maggie with him, just like the old days. It's a good thing you
     didn't take up with him. I have a friend who's about your age, a
     solicitor. Good-looking bloke, and nice. Maybe you'd like to
     meet him sometime? I could invite him and seat you at the same
     table."

 
    "Thanks, George,
     but I've started seeing someone."

 
    "Good. Bring him
     here, sometime! I'd like to meet him."

 
    She smiled weakly
     at George as he turned back toward the kitchen. So James was
     still seeing Magda. There were any number of reasons he could
     have for doing so, she told herself. Legitimate ones that didn't
     involve their sleeping together. But she felt far from certain.

 
    14.A Very
     Satisfactory Transaction

 
    The next day, she
     stopped in at Sotheby's and learned that George Patterson, Esq.,
     deceased in late 1979, had indeed been a relation of the Martha
     Blount who inherited sixty of Alexander Pope's books and most of
     his estate. But without a catalog of Pope's library, and without
     an ownership inscription in the Horace, she was left in doubt.
     She obtained a copy of the Patterson sale catalog, reasoning
     that if the Pine had belonged to Pope, then other books in the
     sale probably had as well. The next three days were spent
     isolating the volumes in the catalog that could have been owned
     by Pope, based on publishing dates and other information in the
     descriptions. Notices of auction records from old book-trade
     periodicals were her next avenue of inquiry. She discovered that
     two large lots containing her likely quarry were purchased by an
     antiquarian bookseller, J. Roworth, whose store was still in
     operation. It was a longshot that anyone there remembered the
     Patterson sale, but good researchers left no loose threads. And
     besides, thought Laura, it's time I treated myself to a book or
     two.

 
    J. Roworth was in
     Islington, east of Kings Cross near Barnard Park. Entering the
     high-ceilinged shop, she breathed in the familiar scent of old
     paper and leather bindings, and feasted her eyes on the laden,
     towering shelves, some fitted with sliding glass doors and some
     not. There was a jumble of separate, smaller cabinets holding
     various bibliophilic treasures, and several cardboard boxes of
     books, strategically placed in spots that seemed calculated to
     induce stubbed toes or herniated discs. Any wall space not
     filled with books held an old print in a dusty gilt frame, and a
     heavy, dark library table dominated the center of the long,
     narrow room. To the side, at a cluttered desk with a squat
     green-shaded reading lamp, sat a man with a mostly bald head,
     thick glasses, and a slightly unkempt grey beard. He studiously
     ignored her.

 
    This was standard
     behavior for booksellers, so she wasn't dismayed in the least.
     She browsed about, spending extra time in