Page 73 of Ricardo

“Ready?” he asks.

I draw a breath, lift my chin, and pick up my bag.

“Yes.”

Chapter Eight

Ricardo

The Halstead Club looks exactly like what it is: expensive.

It is beautiful. The grounds are immaculate, the long drive lined with old trees that have been ruthlessly trimmed without appearing touched at all. The clubhouse sits at the end of the drive in pale stone and dark slate.

No sign announces the name.

The club does not need one.

You only need to know it's here if you've been invited.

An attendant opens Julia's door and offers a hand. She accepts the assistance with a polite nod, one foot stepping onto the stone drive with enough composure that no one would know she spent part of this ride making my ability to think much more difficult than it should have been.

I step out as well.

The attendant’s posture changes when he sees me.

Subtle, but there.

Recognition. Deference. A quick calculation of guest, member, access, consequence.

“Mr. Conti,” he says.

“Henry.”

His attention sharpens at the use of his name. Men like Henry pride themselves on being remembered. In places like this, remembering staff is either genuine courtesy or a useful weapon. I prefer when it is both.

“Welcome back, sir.”

“I am here to see Alistair Valecourt.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Valecourt is on the terrace. Shall I let him know?”

“No. We will find him.”

“Of course.”

Henry’s gaze moves briefly to Julia. Not rudely. Assessing, perhaps, but careful.

“My guest,” I say.

“Of course, Mr. Conti.”

Julia says nothing as we pass inside, but I feel her glance at me.

The entry hall smells of waxed wood, leather, cut flowers, and old money. The ceilings are high, the floors polished stone, the walls hung with oil portraits of men who all look as if they disapprove of joy on principle.

Somewhere deeper in the clubhouse, silverware strikes china. Someone laughs softly. Beyond a row of tall windows, the course stretches out in late-afternoon green.

Julia walks beside me without slowing, her bag held neatly against her side. Her black dress is simple enough for the office and elegant enough for this room. Her hair is smooth over one shoulder, her makeup fresh, her expression composed.