Fire on the Moon. V. J. Banis

a drink for me. I noticed he used no ice. I knew that I wasn’t going to like it any more than he had liked the martini I made for him. I didn’t. It was warm and tasted like pure dry vermouth, as Carlotta had warned me it would. But I didn’t complain. I smiled and seated myself on one of the French chairs near the cozy fireplace.

      “Would you like a fire?” Philip asked, nodding to the cool, black interior of the fireplace.

      “Yes, that would be nice, I think. It’s gotten cool. Does it always cool down in the evening?”

      “Wait until summer. The nights are as warm as the days. You will find yourself longing for some of this coolness.” He started to arrange the logs. He fumbled with some kindling, then struck a match. The fire caught immediately. He knelt back, staring at it. “A fire makes a room, don’t you agree?”

      “Yes. There’s nothing more cheerful.”

      Just then Carlotta swept in. She couldn’t have had time to both bathe and dress. She was wearing a dinner dress of flowing orange. She almost dimmed the brilliance of the fire by her presence. She looked lovely. I wondered why she had hurried so, but perhaps she didn’t want to leave me too long in the company of a man I didn’t know.

      “How are the drinks coming?” she boomed.

      “I thought you’d be a while,” I said, setting my glass on the coffee table and going toward the bar. “I was afraid the ice would melt if I fixed your cocktails ahead of time.”

      Philip got up also. “Permit me,” he said as he went to the bar with me and picked up the bottle of vermouth.

      “Oh, no you don’t,” Carlotta said. “I want one of Jen’s martinis. I suddenly feel a little homesick.”

      I laughed and started to fix the drink.

      “And now,” Carlotta started, settling herself in a chair, addressing herself to Philip, “I have a bone to pick with you, young man.”

      “A bone?” It was obvious he didn’t quite understand the slang.

      “You left my niece waiting at the airport. Why?”

      Philip gave her a blank look, then he looked at me. “But I did not know,” he said.

      “You got my message,” Carlotta persisted.

      “Message? I got no message.”

      “I talked to Theresa myself. I told her I had to go to Paris and I gave her Jen’s flight number and time of arrival. I told her to make sure you picked her up.”

      “But I received no such message,” he insisted.

      “Then how did Neil—?” Carlotta suddenly cut off. She sat there staring at Philip. They were talking with their eyes. I didn’t understand their conversation.

      Neither spoke for several minutes. Whatever had to be said, suddenly didn’t need saying.