She bit back on a giggle.
“Yes, I do believe that would work for me. See you then,” she said gaily, and disconnected the call—without getting the address.
Damn.
* * *
Rather than phoning back and asking the pompous Gideon Nath for the information, Fiona had looked up the address, then casually phoned the receptionist the next day to confirm that was, indeed, the location of her meeting.
Fiona parked her VW bug, which looked like a sassy lemon, on the street about three blocks from Nath, Nath & Powell.
The day was warm, as was to be expected in Grand Rapids in early September, but a cool breeze from the Grand River lifted the leaves that were just turning gold and red.
The receptionist at the law firm, a youngish woman with bleached blond hair cut in a pixie style, looked up with a smile when Fiona walked in. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Fiona Murphy to see Gideon Nath.”
“Yes, one moment.” As she picked up the telephone, she asked, “Could I get you anything? Coffee? Tea? Soda?”
“No thanks…unless you have herbal tea?” Fiona took a seat on a large chair in a swirl of her long, flowing skirt. The office was, as she’d expected, sleek and modern, furnished so as to display the wealth—and by extension, the expertise—of its firm.
“Ms. Murphy is here for Mr. Nath,” the receptionist was explaining into the phone. When she hung up, she rose. “Herbal tea? Of course. Any sweetener?”
“No thank you.”
Another blond woman appeared, this one in her late forties. She had an abundance of hair coiled neatly at the back of her head and a very efficient way about her. “Ms. Murphy, if you’ll follow me.”
She gestured Fiona into a large corner office, and just as she’d expected, the attorney’s desk was large, oaken, and forbidding. Probably weighed two hundred pounds. Near the front edge was a wood and brass nameplate that saidH. Gideon Nath, III.
The man himself rose from behind the desk as she came into the room, then gestured to a chair placed in front of it. “Have a seat, please, Ms. Murphy.”
Fiona had to readjust herself, for her mental picture from their telephone call couldn’t have been further from reality. Instead of a fiftyish-year-old man with soft pink skin and wire-rimmed glasses, she was facing a man in his mid-thirties with thick, dark hair—and no glasses in sight. Not even a pair of reading glasses on the desk.
His eyes were piercing grey, cool and reserved, and his shoulders broad and well-proportioned inside his expensive suit. He would probably be attractive if he’d smile—or at least not frown—but at the moment, Fiona couldn’t picture it. The man held himself stiffly, as though controlling the barest urge to relax, and his mouth was set in a firm, business-like line.
As she settled in the chair, shoving her bulky leather bag to the side, she once again looked at the nameplate.H. Gideon Nath, III.
She immediately needed to know what the H stood for.
Henry? Herbert? Harry?
Yet again, the name Nath stuck in her head…it sounded so familiar. But Fiona knew she would definitely have remembered meeting H. Gideon Nath, theThird—if only because of that bothersome H.
On his desk, which seemed to be an extension of his controlled, organized self, there were neat stacks of paper lined up to one side of the huge space, and three fountain pens in three ornate holders off to one corner. A powerful-looking laptop sat on a credenza behind him, along with a stack of files, two flash drives, and a dual charger for cell phone and, she assumed, computer tablet. For someone like her, who left her mobile phone in the depths of her bag half the time, the slew of electronics seemed like major overkill.
The young blond brought Fiona her herbal tea—which smelled of fresh orange and lemon—then left her alone with the attorney.
“What does the H stand for?” she blurted out.
H. Gideon’s eyebrows drew together in a dark line. “The H?”
“On your nameplate. What’s the H?”
He looked at her coolly. “That’s not exactly germane to our meeting today, Ms. Murphy.”
Fiona stifled a grin. Struck a wrong chord, had she? Before she could decide how to proceed, he continued in that formal lawyerly voice. “And speaking of which—before we proceed, may I see some identification?”
“Of course.” Fiona gave him a bright smile that seemed to surprise him and flipped out her wallet to show her driver license. “Not the greatest picture, but it’s me.”
