admit that she was just a little bit flattered. Still, she made sure he knew that she was very much in love with her husband and that all they could ever hope to be now was friends. Nathan said he understood, and that, for their lunch, he had something special in mind. She didn’t exactly know what to make of his enthusiasm, but they’d parted by the elevators on a friendly note, Sophie heading up to her apartment in the north wing, Nathan returning to his suite in the south.
Relieved to finally be away from him, Sophie sailed into her front foyer, hoping to debrief with Bram. For years he’d pushed his pet theory about old flames: Old boyfriends — and girlfriends — never die. They always pop up again sooner or later, sometimes with expectations, sometimes just out of curiosity. Sophie thought he’d be happy to hear another story that proved his theory. Unfortunately, he wasn’t back yet. His golf game couldn’t have lasted this long, but since she knew he had to prepare for next week’s shows, she figured he was off doing research.
Normally, if either of them had to be somewhere other than home in the evening, they would call or leave a note. This morning, however, before she’d left for her meeting at the paper, they’d made plans to drive to the Mall of America for an eight o’clock movie, so she knew he’d be back by seven at the latest. Since she had some time to spare, she grabbed her purse and returned to the lobby. Next stop, the Belmont
Sophie found Harry in the bar. He was seated at die counter, head in his hands, staring morosely into a glass of Scotch. She knew it was Scotch because the bottle was right next to him.
Slipping onto a stool, she could see that he was completely lost in thought.
“Harry?” she said softly, touching his arm.
When he looked over at her, it took him a moment to focus. “Sophie,” he said finally. “What are you doing here?” His voice was gravelly even on good days, but tonight it was mixed with alcohol and aimless despair. His eyes were bloodshot, and the black bow tie he always knotted perfectly was untied and hanging down limply over his tux jacket.
“I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.”
He picked up his glass, gesturing to the empty room. ‘Talk away. I’ve got nothing but time. My usual audience seems to have failed me.”
She knew he wasn’t in the best shape, but she’d come to warn him that he was in potentially serious trouble. She had to make him listen.
“You look pretty as a picture tonight, Sophie Tahtinen. Your father would be so proud.”
He’d used her maiden name. Not a good sign.
“Harry, listen. I didn’t tell you this last night because I thought it would upset you, but you’re going to find out sooner or later.” She paused, screwing up her courage. “I’m taking over George Gildemeister’s job at the
Times Register.
I’m the new restaurant critic.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You?” was all he could squeak out. “You know I’ve done guest reviews for the paper for years.”
“But to
become
George Gildemeister.”
“No, no, Harry. I’m not becoming him, I’m just taking his job.”
He gave the traditional Finnish sigh of resignation. “Hoi, hoi.” After shaking his head a few more times, he said, “This is a sad, sad day, Sophie. It’s such a loathsome profession you’ve chosen. Your father — maybe I should tell him. Break the news to him gently.” He was about to pour himself more Scotch when Sophie grabbed the bottle out of his hand.
“Hey.”
“I’ll give it back to you in a minute. Right now you’ve got to concentrate. Can you do that?”
He glowered but grunted affirmatively.
“Good, because this is important. When I was at the paper this morning, Gildemeister received a letter from you.”
His glower turned to a grin. “I know. I hand-delivered it. Made sure they took it right up to his
Relieved to finally be away from him, Sophie sailed into her front foyer, hoping to debrief with Bram. For years he’d pushed his pet theory about old flames: Old boyfriends — and girlfriends — never die. They always pop up again sooner or later, sometimes with expectations, sometimes just out of curiosity. Sophie thought he’d be happy to hear another story that proved his theory. Unfortunately, he wasn’t back yet. His golf game couldn’t have lasted this long, but since she knew he had to prepare for next week’s shows, she figured he was off doing research.
Normally, if either of them had to be somewhere other than home in the evening, they would call or leave a note. This morning, however, before she’d left for her meeting at the paper, they’d made plans to drive to the Mall of America for an eight o’clock movie, so she knew he’d be back by seven at the latest. Since she had some time to spare, she grabbed her purse and returned to the lobby. Next stop, the Belmont
Sophie found Harry in the bar. He was seated at die counter, head in his hands, staring morosely into a glass of Scotch. She knew it was Scotch because the bottle was right next to him.
Slipping onto a stool, she could see that he was completely lost in thought.
“Harry?” she said softly, touching his arm.
When he looked over at her, it took him a moment to focus. “Sophie,” he said finally. “What are you doing here?” His voice was gravelly even on good days, but tonight it was mixed with alcohol and aimless despair. His eyes were bloodshot, and the black bow tie he always knotted perfectly was untied and hanging down limply over his tux jacket.
“I was hoping we could talk for a few minutes.”
He picked up his glass, gesturing to the empty room. ‘Talk away. I’ve got nothing but time. My usual audience seems to have failed me.”
She knew he wasn’t in the best shape, but she’d come to warn him that he was in potentially serious trouble. She had to make him listen.
“You look pretty as a picture tonight, Sophie Tahtinen. Your father would be so proud.”
He’d used her maiden name. Not a good sign.
“Harry, listen. I didn’t tell you this last night because I thought it would upset you, but you’re going to find out sooner or later.” She paused, screwing up her courage. “I’m taking over George Gildemeister’s job at the
Times Register.
I’m the new restaurant critic.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You?” was all he could squeak out. “You know I’ve done guest reviews for the paper for years.”
“But to
become
George Gildemeister.”
“No, no, Harry. I’m not becoming him, I’m just taking his job.”
He gave the traditional Finnish sigh of resignation. “Hoi, hoi.” After shaking his head a few more times, he said, “This is a sad, sad day, Sophie. It’s such a loathsome profession you’ve chosen. Your father — maybe I should tell him. Break the news to him gently.” He was about to pour himself more Scotch when Sophie grabbed the bottle out of his hand.
“Hey.”
“I’ll give it back to you in a minute. Right now you’ve got to concentrate. Can you do that?”
He glowered but grunted affirmatively.
“Good, because this is important. When I was at the paper this morning, Gildemeister received a letter from you.”
His glower turned to a grin. “I know. I hand-delivered it. Made sure they took it right up to his
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