Loren and Pitt followed him past the entryway, through a living room, and down a hallway, all of which were filled to the ceiling with shelved books. The entire house was similarly cluttered, resembling a stately library more than a personal residence. Within its walls was the largest single collection of historic maritime books and journals in the world. An insatiable collector of nautical archives, Perlmutter himself stood as a preeminent expert on maritime history.

Perlmutter led them to a small but ornate dining room, where only a few piles of books were discreetly stacked against one wall. They took their seats at a thick mahogany table that featured legs carved in the shape of lion paws. The table had come from the captain’s cabin of an ancient sailing ship, one of many nautical antiques tucked among the legion of books.

Perlmutter opened a bottle of Pouilly-Fumé, then poured each of them a glass of the dry white wine.

“I’m afraid I already finished off that bottle of airag that you sent me from Mongolia,” he said to Pitt. “Marvelous stuff.”

“I had plenty while I was there. The locals consume it like water,” he replied, recalling the slightly bitter taste of the alcoholic drink made from mare’s milk.

Perlmutter tasted the wine, then set down his glass and clapped his hands.

“Marie,” he called loudly. “You may serve the soup.”

An apron-clad woman appeared from the kitchen carrying a tray of bowls. The physical opposite of Perlmutter, she was lithe and petite, with short dark hair and coffee-colored eyes. She silently placed a bowl of soup in front of each diner with a smile, then disappeared into the kitchen. Pitt took a taste and nodded.

“Vichyssoise. Very flavorful.”

Perlmutter leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. “Marie is an assistant chef at Citronelle here in Georgetown. She is a graduate of one of the top culinary schools in Paris. Better than that, her father was a chef at Maxim’s,” he added, kissing his fingertips in delight. “She agreed to come cook for me three times a week. Life is good,” he declared in a deep bellow, the folds of fat around his chin rolling as he laughed.

The trio dined on sautéed sweetbreads with risotto and leeks, followed by a chocolate mousse. Pitt pushed his empty dessert plate away with a sigh of satisfaction. Loren threw in the towel before finishing hers.

“Outstanding, Julien, from start to finish. If you ever grow tired of maritime history, I do believe you’d have a fantastic future as a restaurateur,” Loren said.

“Perhaps, but I believe there would be too much work involved,” Perlmutter said with a laugh. “Besides, as you surely have learned from your husband, one’s love for the sea never wanes.”

“True. I don’t know what you two would do with yourselves if man had never sailed the seas.”