She’d showered, towel-dried her curls, avoided makeup, put on a brown knee-length dress I hadn’t seen in years.

“I know,” she said.

“Know what?”

“Not exactly something Audrey would wear.”

Fooling with her hair.

I brewed coffee.

She said, “Decaf, right?”

I tried to occupy her with a guessing game.

What Kind of Car Will He Bring?

I’d looked up Dot-com on the Internet he’d helped develop. He was thirty-three, a Stanford grad and a bachelor, with a net worth of four hundred seventy-five million dollars.

Robin said, “I figured it was in that ballpark.”

“So what kind of wheels?”

“Who knows?”

“How about you, Blondie?”

Blanche looked up and smiled.

Robin said, “Could be anything — one extreme or the other.”

“Meaning?”

“Ferrari or hybrid.”

I thought: Bentley or VW bus.

The coffee machine beeped. I fixed two cups. She took a sip, muttering, “I’m such a wimp,” got up and parted the living room shutters.

“Nice day,” she said. “Might as well wait outside.”

“Want to take your coffee?”

“Pardon — oh, sure, thanks.”

And the answer is: blue Ford Econoline van.

A large man in black jeans and T-shirt got out. Logo of Dot-com’s company on the shirt.

He saw us on the terrace. Studied the house. Walked to the rear of the van.

“Muscle,” I said. “In case you don’t want to give up the goods.”

“Not funny,” said Robin. But she smiled.

Large Guy opened the van’s rear doors. A ramp descended electrically. He reached in and guided out a wheelchair.

The figure in the chair was slight, pale, crew-cut, baby-faced.

Wearing a black sweatshirt with the same logo and blue jeans. Nothing much filled the jeans. As the chair rolled down the ramp, his body flopped. Held in place by a leather strap around his middle.

One of his fingers pushed a button. The chair rolled forward. Stopped.

He looked at the house, just as his driver had.

Taking in the steep, stone steps that lead to the terrace. On the other side, an acutely sloping grass and rock pathway.

Robin and I were attracted to the lot because of the slope. Joked about needing a lift when we get old.

The man in the chair smiled.

Robin rushed down.

She introduced me.

The man in the chair said, “Nice to meet you, Alex. Dave Simmons.”

Not sure what do with my hand, I half extended it.

Dave Simmons winked.

Robin said, “Dave, I’m so sorry about the lack of access.”

“Tom can always carry me.”

Tom rumbled, “You bet.”

“Just kidding, Tom. All I need is to see this masterwork.”

“I’ll bring it down.” Robin ran up the stairs.