Chapter 10: Sunday Dinner

Torben's lake house sat on a bluff, with a long lawn that ran down to black water.

Every window was lit.

Bram parked beside a row of Bentleys and killed the engine.

"Remember," he said. "Whatever he says."

"I know."

"No, listen. Whatever he says tonight, you smile."

I looked at him in the dashboard light.

His hand on the wheel was white across the knuckles.

"What is he going to say?"

"Nothing I haven't heard."

He got out and came around to open my door, and he did not meet my eyes.

Inside, a long dining table held twelve places and silver candlesticks.

Agnes sat halfway down the left side in a plum-colored dress.

Three board members and their wives were already seated, drinks in hand, laughing too loudly.

At the far end, in a charcoal suit that did not fit his shoulders, sat Pavel.

He lifted one finger in greeting.

"Our old family friend, Mr. Novotny," Torben said, coming out of the kitchen with a carving knife.

"Pavel has done a great deal of work for this house."

"I'm sure he has," I said.

"Sit, sit."

Bram pulled out my chair and took the one next to it.

Across from us, Pavel smiled at me with his whole face.

I smiled back, and kept my hands on my lap.

The meal went on for forty minutes.

Roast lamb, then salad, then a cheese I couldn't pronounce.

The pink-faced board member from Monday would not look at me.

His wife asked whether I had been to Paris, and I said only once, for work, and left it there.

Under the table, Bram's knee pressed against mine, a quiet, steady pressure.

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