“I’m sorry, ma’am. But you have a visitor.” The waiter ceded the doorway to Aristide, who passed him a roll of bills for risking his job. Frye would likely complain to management when he was through with her. Maybe Jamila could find the man something with Cross-Costa if he was sacked here. Though if Frye didn’t take this threat seriously, he’d likely be out on his rear again soon after.

Setting all of that aside, Aristide draped himself against the doorway. “Emmeline.”

Frye’s hand came around the back of her chair like a grappling hook, digging into the upholstery and dragging the rest of her around.

“Makricosta.” Her eyes were narrow as chips of granite.

He smiled. “It’s so good to see you again. I trust you had a happy Solstice?”

“Leave us alone,” said Frye to the waiter. “And unless I pull that rope, don’t you dare barge in here again.”

There was a second armchair in Frye’s private room, at an angle to hers, both of them facing the fireplace. She had a pot of coffee on the table in between them, and a half-eaten apple gone brown. Aristide settled into the empty chair and set his brandy on her tray.

“Have a seat,” she said, alum-dry.

He wriggled a little in the soft belly of the chair, getting comfortable and playing it up. She cased him long and hard, but he certainly wasn’t going to make the first move, if that was what she was after. Instead he sipped his drink and watched the flames eat away at an all-night log: the kind as big around as a man’s waist, heavy and solid through. This fire would go until morning. He could sit here to match it.

At last Frye exhaled, exasperated. “I assume whatever it is, Frances couldn’t handle it?”

“I didn’t even ask,” said Aristide. “I don’t think it’s exactly in her line.”

She sipped the remnants of coffee in her cup and made a face. Cold, he imagined. But she didn’t ring for a new pot. “You know how many people want things from me now? And let me tell you: They aren’t liable to get them.”

“I think you’ll find it in your heart to make an exception for me,” he said. “Knowing as I do several of your dirty secrets.”

“Mm.” She placed the cold coffee cup back in its saucer, deliberate, pressing the pads of her fingers into its rim briefly before lifting her hand away. “I thought you might be pinned about the DePaul gambit. Custler told me you swore you’d keep it businesslike. I almost thought you might. I’m a little surprised. And disappointed.”