I said yes the way I do most things.
I made a list first.
"Mr. Aldous," I said. "I'll need a legal pad."
The old lawyer looked at me over his half-moon glasses. Eleven people sat motionless around a walnut table. A cream document lay in front of my chair with one signature already drying on it, and the room was so quiet I could hear the clock in the hall counting out my life.
"A legal pad," said Mr. Aldous.
"And a pen. Not that one." I nodded at the black fountain pen. "That's his. I want my own."
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Mr. Aldous, with a face of perfect gravity, opened his leather briefcase, took out a yellow legal pad, and slid it across the table. A blue ballpoint followed. It had a hotel's name on the side.
My hotel. Our hotel.
I took it as a sign. I'm not sure of wh
