Peter arrived at the Brasserie ten minutes early, was given a booth with a view of the front door, and sat down and waited nervously. Hattie was ten minutes late, and Peter had already had a glass of iced tea and needed to go to the bathroom.

He went to meet her as she descended the stairs from the door and escorted her to their booth.

“I really liked your film,” she said, as she slid into her side of the table, “and I already have some ideas about what the score could sound like.”

“Wonderful!” he said.

“Do you have a piano at your house?”

“Yes, but I’m not sure it’s in tune. That’s all right, though, I have an electronic keyboard.”

“Do you play?”

“Sort of. I amuse myself with it sometimes.”

They were brought menus and studied them carefully.

“What would you like?” he asked.

“I’ll have the eggs Benedict,” she replied.

“Good idea. So will I.”

They ordered, and Peter sat back in his seat and looked at her. “It’s the first time I’ve seen you when you weren’t in profile,” he said.

“And what is your opinion?” she asked, archly.

“Very high,” he said. “I have a high opinion.”

“That was just the right thing to say,” she said, blushing a little.

They seemed stuck for words for a moment, so Peter said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the men’s room.”

And he did.

Chapter 40

40

Kelli Keane sat at the bar at the Brasserie and toyed with her lunch. She had spotted Peter Barrington the moment he entered the restaurant, and he had made it obvious that he was waiting for someone. Kelli was delighted with the coincidence that she and Peter had chosen the same restaurant. She had been working too hard at this, she thought, and she deserved a break.

When the girl arrived Kelli saw how Peter hurried to meet her. This was obviously a first date, and he had probably met the girl at school. She was a pretty thing and fashionably dressed for a high school girl. This was the first time Kelli had had an opportunity to stare unblinkingly at Peter and take his measure. He seemed exceptionally mature for an eighteen-year-old, and she knew a lot about the subspecies, having started to date eighteen-year-olds when she was thirteen, and having lost her virginity to the second one, at thirteen and a half. She had had an abortion at sixteen, as the result of carelessness with yet another eighteen-year-old, and she had turned her attention then to twenty-one-year-olds, who seemed to have a greater appreciation of the pitfalls of the menstrual cycle.

Peter did not have the native slovenliness of the current crop of eighteen-year-olds, nor did he seem to need the appearance of stubble or a patchy beard to build his confidence. She was willing to bet that his room was very neatly kept.