Catherine loved the unusual names of London pubs. Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese and the Falstaff and the Goat in Boots. On another night they went to a colorful old public house in City Road called the Eagle.
“I’ll bet you used to sing about this place when you were a child,” Kirk said.
Catherine stared at him. “Sing about it? I’ve never even heard of this place.”
“Yes, you have. The Eagle is where an old nursery rhyme comes from.”
“What nursery rhyme?”
“Years ago, City Road used to be the heart of the tailoring trade, and toward the end of the week, the tailors would find themselves short of money, and they’d put their pressing iron—or weasel—into pawn until payday. So someone wrote a nursery rhyme about it:
“Up and down the city road
In and out the Eagle
That’s the way the money goes
Pop goes the weasel.”
Catherine laughed, “How in the world did you know that?”
“Lawyers are supposed to know everything. But there’s one thing I don’t know. Do you ski?”
“I’m afraid not. Why…?”
He was suddenly serious. “I’m going up to St. Moritz. They have wonderful ski instructors there. Will you come with me, Catherine?”
The question caught her completely off guard.
Kirk was waiting for an answer.
“I…I don’t know, Kirk.”
“Will you think about it?”
“Yes.” Her body was trembling. She was remembering how exciting it had been to make love with Larry, and she wondered whether she could ever feel anything like that again. “I’ll think about it.”
Catherine decided to introduce Kirk to Wim.
They picked Wim up at his flat and took him to The Ivy for dinner. During the entire evening, Wim never once looked directly at Kirk Reynolds. He seemed completely withdrawn. Kirk looked askance at Catherine. She mouthed, Talk to him. Kirk nodded and turned to Wim.
“Do you like London, Wim?”
“It’s all right.”
“Do you have a favorite city?”
“No.”
“Do you enjoy your job?”
“It’s all right.”
Kirk looked at Catherine, shook his head, and shrugged.
Catherine mouthed: Please.
Kirk sighed, and turned back to Wim. “I’m playing golf Sunday, Wim. Do you play?”
Wim said, “In golf the iron-headed clubs are a driving iron midiron mid mashie mashie iron mashie spade mashie mashie niblick niblick shorter niblick and putter. Wooden-headed clubs are the driver brassie spoon and baffy.”
Kirk Reynolds blinked. “You must be pretty good.”
“He’s never played,” Catherine explained. “Wim just…knows things. He can do anything with mathematics.”
Kirk Reynolds had had enough. He had hoped to spend an evening alone with Catherine, and she had brought along this nuisance.
Kirk forced a smile. “Really?” He turned to Wim and asked innocently, “Do you happen to know the fifty-ninth power of two?”
Wim sat there in silence for thirty seconds studying the tablecloth, and, as Kirk was about to speak, Wim said, “576, 460, 752, 303, 423, 488.”
“Jesus!” Kirk said. “Is that for real?”
“Yeah,” Wim snarled. “That’s for real.”
Catherine turned to Wim. “Wim, can you extract the sixth root of…” She picked a number at random. “24,137,585?”
They both watched Wim as he sat there, his face expressionless. Twenty-five seconds later he said, “Seventeen; the remainder is sixteen.”
“I can’t believe this,” Kirk exclaimed.
“Believe it,” Catherine told him.
Kirk looked at Wim. “How did you do that?”
Wim shrugged.
Catherine said, “Wim can multiply two four-digit numbers in thirty seconds, and memorize fifty phone numbers in five minutes. Once he’s learned them, he never forgets them.”
Kirk Reynolds was looking at Wim Vandeen in astonishment. “My office could certainly use someone like you,” he said.
“I’ve got a job,” Wim snapped.
When Kirk Reynolds dropped Catherine off at the end of the evening, he said, “You won’t forget about St. Moritz, will you?”
“No. I won’t forget.” Why can’t I just say yes?
Constantin Demiris phoned late that night. Catherine was tempted to tell him about Kirk Reynolds, but at the last moment she decided not to.
Chapter Ten
Athens
Father Konstantinou was perturbed. From the moment he had seen the newspaper report of Frederick Stavros’s hit-and-run death, he had been haunted by it. The priest had heard thousands of confessions since he had been ordained, but the dramatic confession of Frederick Stavros, followed by his death, had left an indelible impression.