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Last week, our hero Tom discovered that the wealthy client he thought he was going to meet had been switched with Leda Swanson, with whom he has a history.
I’ve taken out one sentence between that bit and this, because it’s only Tom agreeing with Leda that it is him.
It was either that or take out the maître d, and I kind of like what he does for the pacing.
“Have you replaced the previous Mrs. Featherton?” I asked. “Or is there some other reason you’re here and she isn’t?”
The maître d cleared his oiled throat and stalked discreetly away.
“Imogen is a friend,” Leda said, lowering her lashes. “I asked her to make the appointment for me; I didn’t think you would meet with me if I called.”
“Why wouldn’t I?” I asked, sliding into the seat opposite hers. “Your money is as good as anyone else’s.”
She blinked, as if indifference was a reaction that had never occurred to her.
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It’s possible that Leda thinks she’s the female lead in The Maltese Falcon. It’s also possible that she didn’t watch the whole movie . . .
Earful of Cider 