“He’d like a Koskenkorva,” I say.
The waiter leaves a wine list on the table. John asks where the restroom is and excuses himself. He weaves a bit as he walks away. When he comes back, he weaves no longer. His eyes are sharp and darting. He’s had a little pick-me-up in the men’s room. I wonder if Kate notices.
The waiter arrives with the champagne and pours. Mary places a hand over her glass.
“I didn’t know until today that you’re a teetotaler,” Kate says.
“My husband and I are religious people. Alcohol doesn’t fit in with our beliefs. And after you saw what it did to our father, I’m surprised you touch it either. Especially in your condition.”
Kate reddens. “Mary, I don’t intend to drink the whole glass. I just thought a toast to celebrate us being together, for the first time in more than five years, would be nice.”
Mary checks the wine list. “The bottle cost a hundred and five euros. Can you afford it?”
“I think my family is worth it on this special occasion. And besides, as general manager, I’m expected to eat and drink here occasionally, so that I know our guests are enjoying their dining experiences. The hotel will pay for it.”
Mary concedes defeat, allows Kate to pour a glass for her. Kate raises her champagne flute and we follow suit. “To our family,” Kate says.
We clink glasses and drink to the family. John gulps. Kate sips. Mary allows the champagne to brush her lips, but no more. The waiter brings menus and John’s kossu. I glance at Filippov. He and Linda hold hands and exchange intimate looks.
“John, how do you like being a teacher?” Kate asks.
His pick-me-up has animated him. He gestures with his hands while he talks. “I love academia,” he says. “I specialize in Renaissance history. Teaching about the sins of the Borgias is a bit of a guilty pleasure, like watching pornography.”
“You said you were on a one-year renewable doctoral fellowship. I was afraid that it might not be continued because of the world financial crisis and funding cutbacks.”
He grins. “No. I may be just a Ph. D. candidate, but I’m such a popular teacher that the students would go on strike if the university let me go.”
The waiter takes our appetizer orders. Mary takes crayfish soup. Kate carpaccio a la Paris Ritz. I order a Stolichnaya and a halfdozen raw oysters.
Mary raises her eyebrows. “More vodka?”
I’m getting tired of this. “It complements raw oysters.”
Kate is getting tired of it, too, and comes to my defense. “Finnish standards concerning drinking are somewhat different than in the States, but Kari doesn’t drink excessively. He’s a good husband.”
“I’m sure he is,” Mary says.
She doesn’t look sure.
John orders osetra caviar, menu price two hundred and eighty euros. Kate stiffens but says nothing. True, she’s free to entertain here, but good relations with her employers dictate a modicum of restraint.
Mary notices Kate’s reaction. “John, don’t you think you’re being a touch extravagant?”
He shrugs, giggles, looks at Kate. “It’s all on the house, right, Sis?”
Kate forces a smile. “Yes, John. Enjoy yourself.”
He orders vodka, too. “Also traditional with caviar. Isn’t that right, Kari?”
He’s correct. “Yep.”
I check out Filippov. Bettie Page Linda nuzzles his neck. He sees me see him, gets up and comes toward our table. Just what I fucking need. He introduces himself. I don’t want to, but in the interest of politeness in front of Kate’s family, I make introductions all around.
“Inspector Vaara heads the investigation of my wife’s murder,” Filippov says in English, “and he has all of my confidence. May I assume Rein Saar is in custody and that his prosecution is imminent?”
“He’s in custody,” I say. “Make no assumptions about his guilt or innocence.”