'I've always thought it was.'
'Mary Margaret shares your view,' Haller said. He stood and took a bottle of Bushmill Black Label Irish Whiskey from an antique highboy, poured two shots, and came around the desk and handed me one. 'They don't export it, you know,' he said. 'Got to buy it in Ireland.'
We drank.
'Mary Margaret's a fine woman,' he said. 'Good mother, good wife.' He grinned. 'Dutiful lover. But I got a girlfriend in Cambridge that the nuns never got to.' He drank some more whiskey and shook his head. 'Twenty-six years old, knows things that surprise even me, and I've been researching the field for some years.'
'You love your wife?' I said.
'Sure.' Haller came around the desk and poured more whiskey into my glass. 'Best of all, but I love the girlfriend, too, and I know a woman in Washington I love, and I have loved five or six other women in the last five or six years.'
I drank some of Haller's whiskey. It made Murphy's taste like Listerine.
'Worth the trip to Ireland,' I said.
'Yeah, it's wonderful, isn't it. You love this woman you've met?'
'Yes.'
'Surprise you?'
'Yes.'
'You'll learn,' Haller said. 'You still love Susan?'
'Yes.'
Haller smiled happily. He nodded. 'See? See? Already you're learning.' He filled his glass and pushed the bottle toward me across the desk. His phone rang. He picked it up and listened and said; 'Tell him I'll get back to him, and Alma, hold all my calls, will you, honey?' He hung up.
'Maybe I loved a woman in Los Angeles,' I said. 'At least a little.'
'Sure you did, why not give her a buzz? Never can tell when you'll get to L.A.'
'She's dead,' I said.
'The broad you were body-guarding?'
'Yes.'
'Took the firm six months to get that straightened out with the L.A. prosecutor's office too,' Haller said. 'I didn't realize she mattered to you that way.'
I looked at my whiskey, the light from the window made the amber look golden when I held it up. I drank some.
'I'm not sure I did either,' I said.
CHAPTER 26
'I have a friend,' Susan said on the phone, 'a guy friend.'
I felt vertigo way inside. I said, 'Yes.'
'I've known him for a while,' Susan said. 'Before I left.'
'In Washington?' The vertigo spiraled down. Bottomless.
'Yes. He's from here. And he got me this job.'
'He must be a fine man,' I said, 'or you wouldn't be with him.'
'I don't live with him,' Susan said. Her voice was steady but I could hear strain in it. 'And I don't wish to live with him or marry him. I have told him that I love you and that I will always love you.'
'Is he content with that?'
'No, but he accepts it. He knows that he'll lose me if he presses.' The firmness in her voice was chilling.
'Me too,' I said.
Silence ran along the 3000 miles of line and microwave relay. Then Susan said, 'You have got to get over Los Angeles. That's not a condition, or anything. It is truth. For your own sake. You have to be able to fail, to be wrong. For God's sake, you are human.'
'Yes,' I said. 'I'm trying. I met a woman, and she helps.'
'Good,' Susan said.
'What's his name?' I said.
'You don't know him, no need to name him. He is not part of you and me.'
I said, 'That cuts it pretty fine.'
Susan was silent.
'You don't mind Linda?' I said.
