The modern condominium in Chelsea where the mayor had lived before he ascended to the office and where he intended to finish out his days in the Big Apple was a sophisticated mix of glass, views, and abstract art with a Celtic color palette of greens, blues, grays, and more grays. Layered textures ranged from sleek marble countertops to cozy wool throws. Some designer had the good sense to stop at the edge of maximal and saved Timothy Lynch from too much of a good thing. The open living room led out onto a patio high above the Hudson River. A table for two had been set outside under some heat lamps, taking advantage of the September sunset.

The living area and kitchen were three times the size of Simon’s entire pied-à-terre on the other side of Manhattan. This was the kind of New York crash pad that Alexa could get used to. But first, she had a job to do.

*  *  *

As predicted, there was salmon. But there was also wine and nonstop conversation, a combination the two of them seemed to relish. They talked about their home countries, their decisions to emigrate, what they missed and what they didn’t. They talked about leaving family behind and how that impacted their family relationships. Alexa divulged that her three brothers treated her like a fourteen-year-old when she returned home and still rolled their eyes about the fact that she’d had a baby “from a turkey baster,” a joke that was never funny. Timmo explained that the blonde in all the photos was his “beloved” sister Peggy, still in Galway, who announced her intention to visit New York City every time the press reported that he’d be out of town and then left a thank-you note with a new photo as a lark. “She uses me for guest quarters and good seats. She loves Broadway.”

They talked about starting their businesses, the good years and the bad, the nonstop pressure and the rewards. And they brushed up against the fact that both of them had never married and why that might be. Could it really be as simple as they didn’t have the time for a relationship when they were younger, and by the time their lives slowed down a bit, they were too stuck in their ways? Was that the whole truth?

For dessert, Timmo served Alexa a lemony pudding cup on a silver tray. It was light and tart. Alexa scraped the dish clean while her host laughed at her. “Do you want to chew the glass? I believe there’s an extra one in the fridge if you’d like it.”

“It’s the lemon. I love all things lemon. My heritage,” she explained, putting down the small Waterford bowl. “I’ll stop at one, but please let Beatrice know how happy she made me.”