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concierge’s counter, chatting away. “Ready?” she said.
    He nodded.
    “Let’s go find ourselves a cab.”

I t was cold outside, but snow was no longer falling as they stepped into the waiting cab. The address on the doorman’s handwritten note was a ten-minute cab ride away, in Brompton Square. From the Langham, that would have been within easy walking distance, but not in this weather.
    “That’ll be Harrods,” the cabbie said helpfully, pointing at the easily recognizable facade, brightly lit with Christmas decorations. “In case you Yanks would fancy a bit of shopping.”
    Ali glanced in Leland’s direction, wondering if he would be offended by being referred to as a Yank. He appeared to be too busy taking in the sights to pay any attention. When the cab stopped in front of the building, Leland stepped outside and waited as Ali finished paying; then he handed her out onto the sidewalk, looking up at the Edwardian building before them as he did so. “It’s a bit grander than I would have expected,” he observed.
    “Well then,” Ali said, smiling and taking his arm, “let’s see about making a good impression.”
    Nothing in Jeffrey’s manner during their ride from the airport had indicated that his and Charlie’s place would be in any way exceptional. Ali revised that idea the moment they stepped into the polished woodlobby. They rode up to the sixth-floor penthouse in an elevator that was smooth and utterly silent. A beaming Jeffrey was waiting outside the elevator when the doors slid open. “Welcome, welcome,” he said. “Do come inside.”
    He ushered them into a room that could have been taken straight from the pages of House Beautiful . A gas log fireplace, complete with a massive marble mantel and hearth, burned cheerily in front of a seating area made up of two immense chintz couches large enough to hold four people each. Shaded lamps on end tables and occasional tables bathed the room in a golden light that barely illuminated the subtle floral pattern that overlaid the striped wallpaper. In front of the wall of windows stood a beautifully decorated Christmas tree whose freshly cut scent filled the room. At the end of the room was a formal dining area where a linen-covered table was laid for four. A low red and white chrysanthemum centerpiece punctuated with lit taper candles set the scene for an intimate dinner. From behind a swinging door came the complex aroma of some kind of sophisticated cooking.
    “Charlie’s out in the kitchen,” Jeffrey explained, leading them to the couches and directing them to take a seat. “He’s in heaven. You’d think with three restaurants to run that he’d be sick to death of cooking at the end of the day. He’s not. This is the kind of entertaining he loves to do, but I’ll let you in on a secret. He borrowed one of the sous chefs and a server from the catering company to come over and help out for the day. That way he could dodge some of the prep work, all the serving, and a lot of the cleanup. Now, what can I get you to drink?” Jeffrey went to a small and almost invisible wet bar that was tucked into an alcove by the dining room.
    “Scotch,” Leland said at once.
    “Single-malt or blended?”
    “Definitely single-malt. Neat.”
    “And you?” Jeffrey asked, turning to Ali.
    “I’ll have mine blended,” she said, “and if you’ll excuse the impropriety, I prefer lots of rocks.”
    He smiled at her. “Very well,” he said. “I have some Famous Grouse 18 that should be just the ticket. I understand it’s Prince Philip’s favorite, you know, and I’ll join Uncle Leland here in a dram of Glenmorangie.” Once the drinks were poured into cut crystal Waterford glasses, he brought them back to the sofas and settled down opposite his guests, raising his glass in a toast. “Welcome.”
    “Glad to be here,” Ali said.
    Jeffrey beamed at his great-uncle. “And I’m so proud to be the instrument that has brought you back to us.”
    “How