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guy’s face, but I did get an impression of him. On the tall side, an all-weather coat, like a Burberry. He did have a lot of black hair.”
    A tape will also show that young woman coming into church, Fr. Aiden thought. Not that I have any hope of learning who she is, but it would be interesting to get a sense of whether she was being followed. The burden of concern that he had been carrying all day deepened.
    “Of course, Alvirah, I’ll meet you in the church at nine A.M.” If someone followed the young woman and was afraid of what she might have told him, would that young woman’s own life be in danger now?
    It did not occur to the gentle friar to ask himself if his own life might be at risk because somebody feared the information that the troubled young woman had confided to him.

9

    P romptly at 7:30 P.M., Zan was at the desk of the Four Seasons Restaurant. She had only to scan the Grill Room to see that Ted was already there, as she had expected he would be. Seven years ago, when they began to date, he had told her that always being early for an appointment was good business. “If it’s a client situation, I’m sending a message that I value their time. If it’s someone looking for something from me, that person is already nervous and it puts them at a disadvantage. Even if they’re on time, they feel as if they’re late.”
    “What would someone want from you?” she had asked him.
    “Oh, the manager of a would-be actor or singer who wants me to handle his client. That kind of thing.”
    “Ms. Moreland, nice to see you again. Mr. Carpenter is waiting.” The maître d’ led her across the room to the table for two that Ted always booked.
    Ted was on his feet when she reached the table. He leaned over to kiss her cheek. “Zan.” His voice was husky. When they sat down, his shoulder brushed against hers. “How bad a day have you been having?” he asked.
    She had decided not to say a word about the charges on her credit cards. She knew that if Ted learned about them he would want to help, and she did not want to initiate anything that would keep them in contact, except of course if it involved Matthew. “Pretty bad,” she said quietly.
    Ted’s hand closed over hers. “I will not give up hope that someday the phone will ring and it will be good news.”
    “I make myself believe that, but then I think that by now Matthew has probably forgotten me. He was only three years and three months old when he disappeared. I’ve lost nearly two years of his life.” She stopped. “I mean we’ve lost nearly two years,” she added carefully.
    She saw the flash of anger in Ted’s eyes and was sure she knew what he was thinking. The babysitter. He would never forgive her for the careless babysitter she had hired because she had an appointment with a client. When would it come up? After he had had a couple of drinks?
    There was a bottle of her favorite red wine by the table. At Ted’s nod, the waiter began to pour it. When Ted picked up his glass, he said, “To our little boy.”
    “Don’t,” Zan whispered. “Ted, I can’t talk about him. I simply can’t. We both know what we are feeling today.”
    Ted took a long sip from his glass without answering. As Zan studied him, she thought for the second time that day that Matthew would grow up to look like him, with those wide-spaced brown eyes and even features. By any standards, Ted was a handsome man. Then she forced herself to realize that just as badly as she did not want to talk about Matthew, Ted needed to share some memories of him. But why here? she asked herself bitterly. I’d have cooked dinner for him at my apartment.
    No, I wouldn’t, she corrected herself. But we could have gone to some small, out-of-the-way place, where you don’t get the feeling that the other diners may be people-watching. How many of them in this room might have seen the articles in those magazines today?
    She knew she had to allow Ted to talk about Matthew. “This