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money.
    “Hallo, Penny,” he said brightly as the butler arranged the plates unobtrusively, then went out and shut the door behind him. I gestured for Jeremy to take the nice plushy chair opposite me at the table, for he could not resist glancing down at my food, and I recognized a look of hunger and fatigue on his face, beneath that smooth facade.
    “You’re Penny Nichols, all right,” he said, taking time to look at me directly as he sat down, “all grown up, but I’d know you anywhere.” This made me feel like my hair was in pigtails, which it never was, so I quickly assumed a grand, sophisticated manner.
    “Have some coffee and please , help me finish this marvelous breakfast,” I said. “They gave me two eggs and a whole basket of breads. If you behave you can have one of each.”
    And after a little dance of no-thanks-oh-all-right he tucked into the food with the gusto of a boy.
    “Thanks. I was in Brussels last night,” he said. “Just got in this morning.Wanted to finish up some business so I could clear the way for ours.”
    While we were eating, I stole a few glances at him. God, he was really so mercilessly good-looking. He was a grown-up now, all right, quite serious and manly, so different from the gangly kid he’d been the last time I was this close to him. His dark, wavy brown hair was expensively cut to look offhandedly hip. His pale skin was smooth as the cream in my pitcher, and his high forehead was without a trace of a furrow, indicating that distinctly untroubled calm possessed only by boys raised with money and the certainty that they will never starve. There were a few wry crinkles around his mouth and eyes. Those blue eyes, framed by dark lashes, were cool and distant as the sea when he glanced at you, but if you caught his attention with something smart or amusing, a flame of deep comprehension, humor, and intelligence warmed his gaze, making it astonishingly kind and friendly, even gentle.
    This must go over well with his law clients, I thought. Just the kind of man you’d turn to when you needed an advocate in a sticky-wicket situation. For despite his warmth, you had the sense of a panther lurking behind the gaze, a creature who could strike swiftly and lethally if the situation called for it. His midnight blue suit was beautifully tailored, cut narrowly enough to be urban-stylish, not fat-cat middle-aged. He wore a white shirt with thin blue stripes; a wine-colored silk tie, not too wide; good shoes that weren’t too shiny-new or old-farty; and expensive socks—aha, here is where a man illustrates any dash of rebellion, in socks patterned with a wild red thread running through otherwise sober dark blues and blacks.
    “Mum thinks it’s unforgivable that I wasn’t at the airport to greet you,” he said, pouring coffee for me before he poured his own. “She wants you for tea this afternoon, if you can bear it.”
    Damn, I thought to myself. First, I was supposed to ask after Aunt Sheila before he mentioned her. And second, I felt momentary panic at being submitted to Aunt Sheila’s scrutiny, which undoubtedly would make me feel as if I needed a haircut, badly. But I caught him watching me with a knowing smile, so I said as casually as I could,“Of course. And how is Aunt Sheila?”
    “Mother is impossible, as always,” he replied enigmatically, stirring cream into his coffee.
    “I remember your parents having elegant cocktails before supper that summer, with Herb Alpert playing on the stereo.” I kept my face straight, but he winced.
    “Yeah, that was Dad’s music. Mom was Beatles and Stones, like your folks.”
    “Was she a mod or a rocker?” I asked, lapsing into our old teasing mode.
    “A dilettante,” he said, a shade more darkly than I expected.
    “I think she once told me she kissed Paul McCartney,” I offered. Jeremy glanced up at me sharply, then looked slightly embarrassed about his mother.
    “She will keep telling people that,” he murmured, and took a