He drove the ten miles along the dark highway to Darnay, listening to a golden-oldies rock station from Los Angeles. He had no idea what songs were played, nor did he care. The music was company, that was all.
Entering Darnay, Gavin stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of California cabernet sauvignon. He found Holly Lang's address with no trouble. It was a yellow clapboard bungalow with white shutters, set well back from the quiet street. The lawn was neatly mowed. A row of flowers before the house looked like somebody cared about them. As promised, Holly had left the porch light on.
She met him at the door, wearing a colorful silk blouse with a soft, dark skirt that followed the smooth curve of her hips. Gavin realized it was the first time he had seen her out of the more severe lady-doctor outfits she wore while working. He decided she looked pretty damn good, and told her so.
"Thank you," she said. "I like your jacket."
He held up the bottle of wine for her inspection. "Is this okay?"
"Perfect. If you want to pull the cork we'll let it breathe for a while before dinner."
They entered through a small living room that she had furnished in shades of brown, gold, and rust. In a dining alcove a table was covered with a white linen spread and set for two, complete with candles and long-stemmed wineglasses.
He followed her into a sparkling kitchen and managed the corkscrew while Holly bustled about, straightening things that did not need straightening.
"I don't exactly know what that 'letting it breathe' business is all about," she said, "but it seems to be part of the ritual."
"Like rolling the cork between your fingers and sniffing at it," he added.
"And what's the difference between the aroma and the bouquet?"
"I didn't know there was one."
At the same time they stopped and looked at each other.
"We're babbling, aren't we?" she said.
"Uh-huh."
"We're both adults; we've been in the company of the opposite sex before. There's no excuse for mindless social chatter, is there?"
"None at all."
"Whew. With that out of the way, would you like a drink before I throw on the steaks?"
"I'd love one."
"I have vodka, Scotch, bourbon, and gin. I can make a pretty good martini."
"Scotch will be fine."
"Do you like anything in it?"
"Ice."
She made his drink and a vodka and tonic for herself. They carried them into the living room and sat on the sofa with the drinks before them on a hatch-cover coffee table. Some easy cocktail jazz was playing on the stereo unit. Gavin could not tell if it was a record or the radio.
"Do you ever hear from your wife?" she asked suddenly.
For a moment he was startled into silence, then laughed. "Ex-wife," he amended. "You sure know how to break the ice."
"If we're going to start dating, we ought to know about each other, don't you think?"
"Are we going to start dating?"
"I think we have, don't you?"
"Apparently." He sipped at the Scotch. It was good, heavy stuff, not one of the lightweights with pretty labels and no flavor. "No, I never hear from Elise. Ours was not one of those friendly divorces you hear about. Now and then I hear about her from mutual friends. They mean well, but I'd just as soon they wouldn't bother."
"You sound bitter."
He considered for a moment. "If I do, that's something I've got to fix. Bitter people are no fun to have around, and I certainly don't want to be one. They pollute the atmosphere like sour meat. I don't hate Elise. I am not down on humanity or women, or even the institution of marriage. I got gouged in the divorce, but I guess that was mostly to soothe my wife's pride. Elise never lost anything in her life, and if I was going to get away, she was going to be sure I didn't take much with me."
"I saw her several times when you both lived in Darnay. She's a beautiful woman."
"There's no denying that," he said. "She's also intelligent and witty. And ambitious. Who invited her tonight, anyway?"
Holly colored, then smiled at him. "I have been asking a lot of questions, haven't I? It's only fair that you have a turn. Is there anything you want to know about me?"
"Plenty, but I'll let it come out in the normal course of events."
"I've never been married," she volunteered. "That's not the stigma for a woman in her late twenties that it used to be. Still, there were three whole years that it was always on my mind."
"Not anymore?"
"Not the way it was. I had this relationship, you see. He was a doctor. Psychoanalyst, actually. Beautifully handsome, clever, and always in command. He was the only man I saw for those three years."
"But no marriage?"
"There was a small hitch. Bob already had a wife. He was going to leave her, though, just as soon as the time was right. Sure he was. I wasn't really so naive that I believed that, but I wanted it to be true so bad that I hung around three years."
"All over now?"
"Yup. It just about killed me the first time I refused to see him. The second time was easier, and the third. After that he didn't try anymore. I understand he now has a lady lawyer from San Francisco waiting for him to leave the missus."
"Bob's loss is the world's gain."
"Thanks. I wasn't fishing, but a compliment is always welcome."
Gavin pulled in a deep breath and let it out. "I hope the therapy session is over now so we can get on with acting silly."
"Right. Do you want another drink, or should I start throwing dinner together?"
Gavin rattled the ice cubes in his glass. "I'm still working on this one. I hope you're not going to ask for help. Pulling corks and opening cans is the extent of my kitchen talent."
"Mister Macho," she said. "I'll bet you're good at moving furniture."
"Want to feel my biceps?"
"Maybe later. You can come out with me and watch if you want to."
"Sure. I might even learn something."
Gavin found a spot to stand where he was out of the way and watched with honest admiration as Holly moved efficiently about the kitchen. She tossed together a salad of fresh greens, checked the broccoli she had steaming, and switched the oven on to BROIL. She sprinkled some kind of seasoning on a pair of thick New York steaks.
"How do you like yours?" she asked.
"Rare."
"Good. Me, too."
Miraculously, she got everything on the table at the same time. Gavin poured the wine and they sat down.
The salad was crisp and not overdressed, the steak was beautifully rare, and even the broccoli, not Gavin's favorite vegetable, was tender and tasty in a light cheese sauce. Conversation ranged over likes and dislikes in food, favorite television shows, the weather, local events, and came to rest finally on the boy who lay in room 108 at La Reina County Hospital.
"He's a strange one," Holly said. "I don't think he even knows everything about himself."
"Are you talking about the Drago business?"
"Partly that." She studied Gavin's face in the candlelight. "You don't believe the stories they tell about Drago, do you?"
"Werewolves? You've got to be kidding."
"You might be a little more open-minded."
"Okay, I'll try. Let's see, when the moon is full they sprout hair and fangs and go around biting people." He pretended to concentrate. "It's no use. I keep seeing Little Red Riding Hood."
Holly sighed. "The all-American skeptic. Where do you think the story of Little Red Riding Hood came from?"
"The Brothers Grimm?"
"It is based on old legends. Lots of fairy tales are. Ever hear of Peter Stumpp? Clauda Jamprost? Jacques Bocquet?"
"No, no, and no."
"They were documented werewolves of the sixteenth century."
"Documented, eh? By who, Walt Disney?" Holly's eyes flashed a danger signal. "If you don't mind, this isn't something I feel like kidding about."