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During the eight minutes it took to set up dinner, Milo had conducted enough research to learn that no database recognized the existence of Caspian Delage.
He entered the kitchen, announcing and grumbling. But discontent melted at the sight of rib eyes, pasta salad, Romaine tossed with olive oil, salt, and pepper.
Before his butt had hit the chair, Robin had forked the largest steak onto his plate.
He settled heavily. “This thing is massive. No room left for veggies. I love you madly.”
She brought him a second plate. “Just in case chlorophyll beckons.”
—
Blanche knows where to go for handouts and stuck by my ankles as I sneaked her bits of meat. She accepted the offerings with a soft mouth, licked my fingertips after swallowing, swooned and pressed her head against my shin.
Robin said, “I know what’s going on down there.”
I said, “Whatever it takes to get some love. Want me to stop?”
“No, she’s had two nice walks and was a patient little girl while I worked, so she deserves some upgrading. Just keep it reasonable, darling.”
She turned to Milo. “Caspian Delage sounded phony to me the moment I heard it. Like something plucked from a movie. Or random words.”
He said, “The Caspian’s a sea, don’t know about Delage.”
“A French car manufactured a while back,” she said. “Up to the fifties I think.”
Milo wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Didn’t know you were a motorhead.”
“I’m not,” she said. “One of my clients drove one. This was years ago, Brian Bonnaro.”
Milo looked at me. I shrugged.
Robin said, “Hair-band star for about five minutes. He went into real estate, bought himself all kinds of toys, including a bunch of vintage cars. I remember the Delage because I’d never heard of it. He offered to give me a ride.”
“Ah,” said Milo.
“Nothing to ah about, Big Guy, I declined. He was staggering at the time. All the time. That plus the way he’d tortured his guitar told me his motor coordination was shot. But it was a pretty thing, a blue convertible. So maybe your hairdresser also had an interest in fine motoring.”
Milo said, “If we’re talking mega-bucks, maybe a theoretical interest.”
I said, “Or he just liked the sound of Delage.”
Robin said, “French does have that elegant connotation. Well, maybe you can find a name change application for him.”
Milo said, “Already tried. No one bothers anymore, you don’t have to. And this guy, even if he had to, probably wouldn’t. He’s been working without a license for years.”
“The shadow economy,” she said.
“Alex puts it down to too many rules.”
“That and people get lazy. There’s another steak once you finish that one.”
“Thanks, but even I have discretion.”
He’d gotten three massive bites down when his phone beeped a text. “ ’Scuse.” He got up and walked back to my office.
When he was out of earshot, Robin said, “In the middle of a meal? Must be important.”
—
