“Yes.”
It was a jolt. I’m going to lose her, Keller thought. And then?: Who am I kidding? I could never have her.
“Lara…you hardly know him!”
I’ve known him all my life.
“I don’t want you to make a mistake.”
“I’m not. I…” Her private telephone rang. The one she had had installed for Paul Martin. Lara picked it up. “Hello, Paul.”
“Hi, Lara. What time would you like to make dinner tonight? Eight?”
She felt a sudden sense of guilt. “Paul…I’m afraid I can’t make it tonight. Something came up. I was just going to call you.”
“Oh? Is everything all right?”
“Yes. Some people just flew in from Rome”—that part at least was true-—”and I have to meet with them.”
“My bad luck. Another night, then.”
“Of course.”
“I hear the license came through for the Reno hotel.”
“Yes.”
“We’re going to have fun with that place.”
“I’m looking forward to it. I’m sorry about tonight. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
The line went dead.
Lara replaced the receiver slowly.
Keller was watching her. She could see the disapproval on his face.
“Is something bothering you?”
“Yeah. It’s all this modern equipment.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you have too many phones in your office. He’s bad news, Lara.”
Lara stiffened. “Mr. Bad News has saved our hides a few times, Howard. Anything else?”
Keller shook his head. “No.”
“Right. Let’s get back to work.”
Philip was waiting for her when she arrived at La Cote Basque. People turned to stare at Lara as she walked into the restaurant. Philip stood up to greet her, and Lara’s heart skipped a beat.
“I hope I’m not late,” she said.
“Not at all.” He was looking at her admiringly. His eyes were warm. “You look lovely.”
She had changed clothes half a dozen times. Should I wear something simple or elegant or sexy? Finally, she had decided on a simple Dior. “Thank you.”
When they were seated, Philip said, “I feel like an idiot.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I never connected the name. You’re that Cameron.”
She laughed. “Guilty.”
“My God! You’re a hotel chain, you’re apartment buildings, office buildings. When I travel, I see your name all over the country.”
“Good.” Lara smiled. “It will remind you of me.”
He was studying her. “I don’t think I need any reminding. Do you get tired of people telling you that you’re very beautiful?”
She started to say, “I’m glad you think I’m beautiful.” What came out was: “Are you married?” She wanted to bite her tongue.
He smiled. “No. It would be impossible for me to get married.”
“Why?” For an instant she held her breath. Surely he’s not…
“Because I’m on tour most of the year. One night I’m in Budapest, the next night in London or Paris or Tokyo.”
There was a sweeping sense of relief. “Ah. Philip, tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Philip laughed. “That would take at least five minutes.”
“No, I’m serious. I really want to know about you.”
He took a deep breath. “Well, my parents were Viennese. My father was a musical conductor, and my mother was a piano teacher. They left Vienna to escape Hitler and settled in Boston. I was born there.”
“Did you always know you wanted to be a pianist?”
“Yes.”
He was six years old. He was practicing the piano, and his father came storming into the room. “No, no, no! Don’t you know a major chord from a minor?” His hairy finger slashed at the sheet music. “That’s a minor chord. Minor. Do you understand?”
“Father, please, can I go? My friends are waiting for me outside.”
“No. You will sit here until you get it right.”
He was eight years old. He had practiced for four hours that morning and had had a terrible fight with his parents. “I hate the piano,” he cried. “I never want to touch it again.”
His mother said, “Fine. Now, let me hear the andante once more.”
He was ten years old. The apartment was filled with guests, most of them old friends of his parents from Vienna. All of them were musicians.
“Philip is going to play something for us now,” his mother announced.