Chapter. 1
Pendergast was seated at a corner table in the back of the restaurant. From his vantage point, he could see the clientele that frequented the decadent hotel. They were a motley crew of honeyed money and vulgar excess.
He'd wanted to dine at the table next to him which had a lovely view of the panorama of Roaring Forks, but every time he'd arrived a young woman of incomparable beauty had already been occupying the space. She'd been there the past two mornings, seated before he came down for breakfast and again each evening. She ate little and spent her time staring out the window, as if lost in thought. Whenever the waiters came to speak to her and she'd turned to them, he could see a deep sadness in her navy blue eyes. She never engaged the staff in any sort of excessive conversation and once they left, she'd return her gaze to the window. Occasionally, she'd pick up one of three books she'd have next to her, nibble on whatever meal she'd ordered, and immerse herself with a disciplined dedication that he respected. She read quickly. Just last night he'd watched her finish a book of French poetry before turning back to the view.
Tonight was no different. The young woman was already seated when he arrived. As in the previous days, she was alone. A glass of sparkling water was in front of her and an untouched bread basket. Her clothing was simple this evening, but immaculate. Cashmere top, cream pants, leather boots. She wore light makeup and her dark brown hair was tied back in loose waves down her back.
Tonight's books were a mix of pretentious classics-Wuthering Heights, Catcher in the Rye and Finnegan's Wake. The young woman had been immersed in Wuthering Heights and she'd been reading steadily for the past twenty minutes while he sipped his tea and decided what he wanted to order for dinner. A waiter strolled over and the young woman glanced up. "I'm ready to order." Her voice was cultured, with a northern accent that he couldn't quite place. "I'd like to try the Beef Wellington this evening. Could you recommend a wine pairing to go with it?"
The waiter was young, possibly a college student on break, and he stammered, spouting various types of vintages that she could try. It was obvious he had no idea what he was talking about.
The woman apparently understood that, too. She raised her eyebrows in exasperation and then shook her head. "That's okay. I'll just stick with water." She handed her menu back to him and returned to her novel.
Pendergast raised his voice slightly and called out to the departing waiter. "I'd like to order the Beef Wellington, as well. Though could you bring me a glass of the 2000 Vietti Barolo Rocche?"
The young woman peeked up from her book to glance at him. The corners of her mouth lifted in a slight grin.
Pendergast turned to her. "It's a powerful red from Italy. Silky with a hint of raspberries and firm tannins. An excellent pairing for Wellington in my opinion." He handed the waiter his menu.
As the attendant turned to leave, the woman piped up. "Waiter? I'd like a glass of that, too."
Pendergast smiled. "You best bring us the bottle."
The waiter wrote the order down and left.
The woman glanced at Pendergast and raised her brows. "A whole bottle? I should tell you up front that I have no palette for wine, though I'm trying to learn." She glanced around the dining room and then turned back to Pendergast. "I don't suppose you'd like to dine with me? It will be easier than tossing the bottle back and forth between our tables."
With a nod, Pendergast stood and slipped into the empty chair next to her.