“Do you remember that crazy Old Norse toast Albert Tremont gave? I’ll never forget that.” Charlie leaned back. “I’ll bet it was the first and last time that Old Norse was spoken in the Breakers lobby.”

“Poor Albert.” Samantha took another sip.

“Darling, I promise you Albert will get snatched up in a week. And maybe even by someone who doesn’t chatter quite as much as Judy.”

“Charlie, you really have become hard.” Samantha was surprised by the cold glibness of his remark. It was a social-gossip style she didn’t admire. “I hope I didn’t do that to you.”

Charlie took another sip. “Please give me a little credit here. I may be shallow, but I happen to know my clientele. Trust me, Albert will not be lacking for company. If Paul Rodman goes to jail, maybe even Adrienne will bag him.”

Charlie finished his drink and lifted his hand for another round. Samantha began to feel the alcohol easing her anxiety. Sitting here next to Charlie at Swifty’s, she believed she should never have moved outside her own circle. But then maybe that’s what brings people back together. After all, when she went off with Barry, Charlie was seeing Frankie Weissman. Both were sort of taking a junior year abroad. Her mother had once told her, “Travel and experience. That’s how the upper classes refresh their order.”

“I never liked Paul Rodman.” Charlie was halfway through his second martini. “Much too voracious. He’s like that predator bird that lives on his building. He should go to jail.”

“And me?” she asked him quietly.

Charlie put down his drink and looked at her.

“You? I love you,” he said.

“But…” she barely spoke, “Charlie, I pushed her.”

“No you didn’t.” Charlie held her hand. “You never saw her that day.”

“Charlie, she was a friend of mine.”

“Did you see her hit that tree?”

“No.” Her voice began to crack.

“Samantha, it was an accident.”

“She could have knocked me over.” She began to cry.

“Samantha, shhhh. Enough. You never saw her that day.”

“I’ll write Albert a note.” She nodded her head, gathering herself together.

“Definitely write Albert a note. And we should go see Albert. I thoroughly enjoy his company.”

Charlie understood now he would never lose her again. If he wanted to say Paul Rodman was voracious, it was fine. If he wanted to smoke cigars at the end of dinner to prove what a close personal friend he was of the maître d’, it was fine. If he wanted to cast dispersions on all of his patients who would chase Albert Tremont, that was fine, too.