Chapter Twelve
Coming in from the evening, Erin laid her sweater in the hallway, drawn into the library by the sound of a tenor saxophone playing on the old Victrola, and by the sound of voices. Entering the room, she found Fritz drinking ale with a young man of twenty-or-so who had such a remarkable impact on her loins at first glance, she was certain she’d blush. The young man’s arrogance was not muted. Exuding such charisma was obviously a function of breeding that reeked landed wealth, aimless purpose and a cavalier attitude toward women. She found it astonishing.
“You haven’t met Derrick McLasky, have you now, Erin?” her husband turned to her smiling pleasantly as he spoke.
“I’m afraid not.” She went straight-away to greet the man with a handshake. To her surprise, young McLasky,
