It was in the office that a tall, attractive man walked up to Catherine and said, "I'm Kirk Reynolds. Where have you been?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"I've been waiting for you."
That was how it began.
Kirk Reynolds was an American attorney, working for Constantin Demiris on international mergers. He was in his forties, serious-minded, intelligent, and attentive.
When she discussed Kirk Reynolds with Evelyn, Catherine said, "Do you know what I like about him most? He makes me feel like a woman. I haven't felt that way in a long time."
"I don't know," Evelyn demurred. "I'd be careful if I were you. Don't rush into anything."
"I won't," Catherine promised.
Kirk Reynolds took Catherine on a legal journey through London. They went to the Old Bailey, where criminals had been tried over the centuries, and they wandered through the main hall of the law courts, past grave-looking barristers in wigs and gowns. They visited the site of Newgate Prison, built in the eighteenth century. Just in front of where the prison had been, the road widened, then unexpectedly narrowed again.
"That's odd," Catherine said. "I wonder why they built the road like that?"
"To accommodate the crowds. This is where they used to hold public executions."
Catherine shuddered. It hit too close to home.
One evening, Kirk Reynolds took Catherine to East India Dock Road, along the piers.
"Not too long ago, this was a place where policemen walked in pairs," Reynolds said. "It was the hangout for criminals."
The area was dark and forbidding, and it still looked dangerous to Catherine.
They had dinner at the Prospect of Whitby, one of England's oldest pubs, seated on a balcony built over the Thames, watching the barges move down the river past the big ships that were on their way to sea.
Catherine loved the unusual names of London pubs. Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese and the Falstaff and the Goat in Boots. On another night they went to a colorful old public house in City Road called the Eagle.
"I'll bet you used to sing about this place when you were a child," Kirk said.
Catherine stared at him. "Sing about it? I've never even heard of this place."
"Yes, you have. The Eagle is where an old nursery rhyme comes from."
"What nursery rhyme?"
"Years ago, City Road used to be the heart of the tailoring trade, and toward the end of the week, the tailors would find themselves short of money, and they'd put their pressing iron - or weasel - into pawn until payday. So someone wrote a nursery rhyme about it:
"Up and down the city road
In and out the Eagle
That's the way the money goes
Pop goes the weasel."
Catherine laughed, "How in the world did you know that?"
"Lawyers are supposed to know everything. But there's one thing I don't know. Do you ski?"
"I'm afraid not. Why...?"
He was suddenly serious. "I'm going up to St. Moritz. They have wonderful ski instructors there. Will you come with me, Catherine?"
The question caught her completely off guard.
Kirk was waiting for an answer.
"I...I don't know, Kirk."
"Will you think about it?"
"Yes." Her body was trembling. She was remembering how exciting it had been to make love with Larry, and she wondered whether she could ever feel anything like that again. "I'll think about it."
Catherine decided to introduce Kirk to Wim.
They picked Wim up at his flat and took him to The Ivy for dinner. During the entire evening, Wim never once looked directly at Kirk Reynolds. He seemed completely withdrawn. Kirk looked askance at Catherine. She mouthed, Talk to him. Kirk nodded and turned to Wim.
"Do you like London, Wim?"
"It's all right."
"Do you have a favorite city?"
"No."
"Do you enjoy your job?"
"It's all right."
Kirk looked at Catherine, shook his head, and shrugged.
Catherine mouthed: Please.
Kirk sighed, and turned back to Wim. "I'm playing golf Sunday, Wim. Do you play?"
Wim said, "In golf the iron-headed clubs are a driving iron midiron mid mashie mashie iron mashie spade mashie mashie niblick niblick shorter niblick and putter. Wooden-headed clubs are the driver brassie spoon and baffy."
Kirk Reynolds blinked. "You must be pretty good."
"He's never played," Catherine explained. "Wim just...knows things. He can do anything with mathematics."
Kirk Reynolds had had enough. He had hoped to spend an evening alone with Catherine, and she had brought along this nuisance.
Kirk forced a smile. "Really?" He turned to Wim and asked innocently, "Do you happen to know the fifty-ninth power of two?"
Wim sat there in silence for thirty seconds studying the tablecloth, and, as Kirk was about to speak, Wim said, "576, 460, 752, 303, 423, 488."
"Jesus!" Kirk said. "Is that for real?"
"Yeah," Wim snarled. "That's for real."
Catherine turned to Wim. "Wim, can you extract the sixth root of..." She picked a number at random. "24,137,585?"
They both watched Wim as he sat there, his face expressionless. Twenty-five seconds later he said, "Seventeen; the remainder is sixteen."
"I can't believe this," Kirk exclaimed.
"Believe it," Catherine told him.
Kirk looked at Wim. "How did you do that?"
Wim shrugged.
Catherine said, "Wim can multiply two four-digit numbers in thirty seconds, and memorize fifty phone numbers in five minutes. Once he's learned them, he never forgets them."