MAGGIE DROVE OUT of the university parking lot at one minute past one. She swung left onto Prospect Street, braking only briefly at the first stop sign before accelerating away. She only ever took an hour for lunch, and if she failed to find a parking spot near the restaurant it would cut down their time together. And today she needed every minute of that hour.
Not that any of her staff in the Admissions Office would have complained if she had taken the afternoon off. After twenty-eight years working for the university - the last six as Dean of Admissions - if she had put in a backdated claim for overtime, Georgetown University would have had to launch a special appeal.
At least today the gods were on her side. A woman was pulling out of a spot a few yards from the restaurant where they had arranged to meet. Maggie put four quarters in the meter to cover an hour.
When she entered the Cafe Milano, Maggie gave the maitre d’ her name. ‘Yes, of course, Mrs Fitzgerald,’ he said, and guided her to a table by the window to join someone who had never been known to be late for anything.
Maggie kissed the woman who had been Connor’s secretary for the past nineteen years, and took the place opposite her. Joan probably loved Connor as much as she had any man, and for that love she had never been rewarded with more than the occasional peck on the cheek and a gift at Christmas, which Maggie inevitably ended up buying. Though Joan was not yet fifty, her sensible tweeds, flat shoes and cropped brown hair revealed that she had long ago given up trying to attract the opposite sex.
‘I’ve already decided,’ Joan said.
‘I know what I’m going to have too,’ said Maggie.
‘How’s Tara?’ asked Joan, closing her menu.
‘Hanging in there, to use her own words. I only hope she’ll finish her thesis. Although Connor would never say anything to her, he’ll be very disappointed if she doesn’t.’
‘He speaks warmly of Stuart,’ Joan said as a waiter appeared by her side.
‘Yes,’ said Maggie, a little sadly. ‘It looks as if I’m going to have to get used to the idea of my only child living thirteen thousand miles away.’ She looked up at the waiter. ‘Cannelloni and a side salad for me.’
‘And I’ll have the angel-hair pasta,’ said Joan.
‘Anything to drink, ladies?’ the waiter asked hopefully.
‘No, thank you,’ said Maggie firmly. ‘Just a glass of water.’ Joan nodded her agreement.
‘Yes, Connor and Stuart got on well,’ said Maggie once the waiter had left. ‘Stuart will be joining us for Christmas, so you’ll have a chance to meet him then.’
‘I look forward to that,’ said Joan.
Maggie sensed that she wanted to add something, but after so many years she had learned that there was no point in pressing her. If it was important, Joan would let her know when she was good and ready.
‘I’ve tried to call you several times in the past few days. I hoped you might be able to join me at the opera or come for dinner one evening, but I seem to keep missing you.’
‘Now that Connor’s left the company, they’ve closed the office on M Street and moved me back to headquarters,’ said Joan.
Maggie admired the way Joan had chosen her words so carefully. No hint of where she was working, no suggestion of for whom, not a clue about what her new responsibilities were now that she was no longer with Connor.
‘It’s no secret that he hopes you’ll eventually join him at Washington Provident,’ said Maggie.
‘I’d love to. But there’s no point in making any plans until we know what’s happening.’
‘What do you mean, “happening”?’ asked Maggie. ‘Connor’s already accepted Ben Thompson’s offer. He has to be back before Christmas, so he can start his new job at the beginning of January.’
A long silence followed before Maggie said quietly, ‘So he didn’t get the job with Washington Provident after all.’
The waiter arrived with their meals. ‘A little parmesan cheese, madam?’ he asked as he placed them on the table.
‘Thank you,’ said Joan, staring intently at her pasta.
‘So that’s why Ben Thompson cold-shouldered me at the opera last Thursday. He didn’t even offer to buy me a drink.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Joan, as the waiter left them. ‘I just assumed you knew.’
&n
bsp; ‘Don’t worry. Connor would have let me know the moment he’d got another interview, and then told me it was a far better job than the one he’d been offered at Washington Provident.’