“I THINK,” PAULA SAID, “that you should talk to her father. I think that’s the way to go.”
Bernhardt looked at her empty cup. “More coffee?”
“No, thanks.”
“Want half of my croissant?”
She smiled: her slow, knowing smile. “You’re ducking the question. Stalling.”
“I’m buttering my croissant. And I don’t believe in discussing business at breakfast.”
“I’ve been in San Francisco for six months, at least. I’m bored. All I’ve done is act in one Alan Bernhardt production.”
“You have no idea what boredom is. Not until you’ve done a stakeout or two.”
“Maybe so. But I want to try.”
He sighed, spread orange marmalade on the croissant, took a bite. “Let’s think about it. Let’s both think about it.”
“I have thought about it.”
“There’s an art fair in Sausalito. Want to go over there, hang around for a while, then drive out to Point Reyes, have a picnic on the beach?”
“I don’t see how you can think about picnicking while Diane Cutler is suffering.”
He sighed again, took another bite of the croissant. “It’s Saturday, after all. I figure, this week, I’ve put in maybe seventy hours being a private detective. I figure I’m entitled to hang around with the one person in the world that I—”
“You see? You see what I mean? You’re overworked. Overextended. You need someone.”
He groaned, finished the croissant, drained his coffee cup, returned the empty cup to its saucer. He sat silently for a moment, staring thoughtfully at Paula. When he’d first known her, it was the intensely feminine piquancy of her face that had first attracted him. Then he’d discovered the understated perfection of her body. When she entrusted her body to him, she also entrusted the vulnerabilities and self-doubts that were the bitter ashes of her divorce. Only later had he discovered how persistent she could be, how stubborn.
“When I first started working part-time for Dancer Associates,” he said, “I got ten dollars an hour.”
She listened equably, placidly. Paula didn’t gloat. Neither did she anticipate victory prematurely.
“I’ll start you at fifteen.”
“Fine.”
“I’ll bill your time to the client at forty dollars.”
“Naturally.” She rose, smiled, began collecting the breakfast dishes while Bernhardt packed a picnic hamper.