Frankie was beginning to feel the effects of the martini blending with the fizz of the kir royale. She began reciting what she remembered from the children’s classic. “In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines lived twelve little girls in two straight lines…”

Charlie touched her hand. “I’m impressed.”

“My dad used to read it to me. I have no idea why a Jewish girl growing up in Queens should have identified with Madeline in her convent. But I did.”

“My father read me Ivanhoe in Omaha. I can assure you, there weren’t a lot of Black Knights roaming around Nebraska.” Charlie lifted his hand. “Will you have another drink?”

“I really shouldn’t. I have to—”

Charlie cut her off. “Oh, come on. Pretend we’re old friends who are meeting for a drink at Claridge’s or the Connaught. We’re not even in New York.”

“What about Samantha?”

“I told you we’re in London tonight. Samantha’s planning benefits in New York.”

The waiter came to the table. “We’ll have another round. And many more chips.”

The twenty-five-year-old English girl began straddling the sixty-year-old man in the corner. As they fell onto the banquette, Charlie put his arm around Frankie and whispered to her. “I have his wife’s butt in my refrigerator.”

Frankie began to spit out her potato chip.

“I have evolved into a repulsive person since you knew me.” Charlie shrugged. “I have no scruples at all.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” she tried to reassure him.

“What have you heard?”

“You’ve got a great reputation.”

“And what am I doing with it?”

“I think we just do the best we can.”

“You’re a very nice woman, Francesca Weissman. You were when you were nineteen, and you still are now. And that’s a much bigger accomplishment than being in Manhattan magazine.”

“Thank you.” Frankie felt a chill on her neck as the second round of drinks arrived.

They sat in silence until the pianist began a medley of Beatles songs: “Yesterday,” “Michelle,” and “Here, There and Everywhere.” Frankie thought she saw Charlie beginning to cry during the last one, but decided not to say anything. Finally he broke the silence.

“How is your father, Frankie? Samantha told me he hasn’t been very well.”

“I just saw him tonight,” she answered. “He was watching the president enumerate the axis of evil. My father said this will be a stupid war.”

“Was your father in World War II?”

“Yes. A pilot in the South Pacific.”

“My father was on the beach in Normandy.”

“Really?”

“Was your father born here?” Charlie asked her.