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expensive restaurants. He didn’t mind. Even as she sat across the table going on about other men, he was appreciating her round breasts pressing against the invariably low-cut dress, always of some arcane color, mauve or bronze or sea. He wondered if Maja spoke of him to her other friends as she spoke of them to him, and if so, what she said. He appreciated that successful men were valued in part for their buying power, and he was glad he possessed that asset. Still, he did sometimes wish that women—particularly lovely, ambitious ones like Maja—would see beyond the dollar signs. He might lack the sophistication of a Terry or a Zoltan, but he was, after all, a Phi Beta Kappa from Yale who had once, unlike most of his classmates at the Business School, had other aspirations. With his mathematical talent and his artistic turnhe could have been an architect, or perhaps even a scientist—both professions that required being tuned in, as he definitely considered that he was, to the mysteries and beauties of the physical world. But he had no comparable trick to let her know it.
    When the food arrived Zoltan took a moment to sniff at the fragrant steam with his distinguished nose and admire the visual artistry of the plate.
    â€œ
Bon appétit
,” said Mack. They clicked glasses and sipped before tucking in.
    Mack couldn’t get over the coincidence that his dinner companion on the night of Maja’s funeral was the author of the very book—a novel called
Fire Watch
—she had pressed on him the last time he’d seen her. A gold sticker on the jacket announced that it had been short-listed for a literary prize, and there was a strong blurb for another book from Susan Sontag. Then maybe Maja did see something more in him than his balance sheet? He had planned to read the book on the plane, but what with the amazing pink-to-magenta sunset that accompanied them east and his laptop beckoning, he never got around to it. The truth was, like everyone else, he no longer had time for books. He’d intended to return it to Maja tonight, but since Zoltan had abruptly entered his life upon Maja’sexit, Mack decided to give it another try. If he still couldn’t get through it, he’d present it to his wife to impress her, as Maja had perhaps used it to impress him.
    Watching Zoltan greedily consume his fish as if he hadn’t eaten in days, Mack wondered what would be his price. Not that he knew exactly what Zoltan offered for sale, but he did know everyone had a price. How much? And for what? Whatever Zoltan had on offer, Mack wanted a piece.
    Zoltan savored each succulent bite of turbot. Whenever he ate fish in the seafood palaces of France or America, perversely he thought of the river fish he had caught as a boy to present to his mother, which had invariably been small and bony, with large, useless heads. He smacked his lips. “Excellent! First-rate. Rich people know how to live.” He put down his fork and stared at Mack, head atilt. “Exactly how rich are you, McKay?”
    â€œRich I’m not. But I have enough for everything on this menu.”
    Zoltan stuck out his lower lip, awaiting a better answer.
    â€œAll right, I’ll tell you. I have buildings or projects in four states and prospects in two more. Not bad for someone who founded my company lessthan eight years ago. I built myself a home on a mountaintop that won me some awards, and next spring I’m adding a tennis court. In that house I have a good and beautiful wife, two small children, one of each. Last month I got my pilot’s license, which permits me to fly my little Piper whenever I like. Of course, no one around here knows my name, Maja wanted me only as a dinner companion, and I’ve never written a book. Hell, I’ve never even written an article. But I don’t think I’ve done too badly, considering.”
    Zoltan raised one eyebrow, pursed his lips, fixed Mack with a deep and