Chapter Eight
Five days after Ashley returned from Quebec City, father was on the telephone.
“I just got back.” “Back?” It took Ashley a moment to remember. “Oh, Your patient in Argentina. How is he?”
“He’ll live.” “I’m glad.” “Can you come up to San Francisco for dinner tomorrow?”
She dreaded the thought of facing him, but she could think of no excuse. “All right.”
“I’ll see you at Restaurant Lulu. Eight o’clock.” Ashley was waiting at the restaurant when her father walked in.
Again, she saw the admiring glances of recognition on people’s faces.
Her father was a famous man. Would he risk everything he had just to—?
He was at the table. “It’s good to see you, sweetheart. Sorry about our Christmas dinner.”
She forced herself to say, “So am I.” She was staring at the menu, not seeing it, trying to get her thoughts together.
“What would you like?” “I-I’m not really hungry,” she said. “You have to eat something. You’re getting too thin.”
“I’ll have the chicken.” She watched her father as he ordered, and she wondered if she dared to bring up the subject.
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