his legs and carefully adjusted the crease in his trousers.
I fancy myself something of a minor league Beau Brummell, but Hector Johnson belonged in the Hall of Fame. He was wearing a trig suit of lightweight taupe wool, a shirt striped in pale lavender with French cuffs, and a widespread white collar closed with a knitted black silk cravat tied in a Windsor knot. A fashion plate!
I guessed him to be about sixty, but his age was difficult to estimate since it was obvious that he was no stranger to facials, manicures, and massages. What was most impressive was his air of assurance. This was a man, I decided, who never had a doubt in the world. It was rather daunting to a goof like me whose theme song could be "What's It All About, Archy?"
We chatted casually for a few minutes and, without my asking, he remarked that he was semi-retired and that he and his daughter were so impressed by Palm Beach they were determined to make it their permanent home.
"Y'see, Archy," he said, "we've lived all over the world. As a mining engineer I was forced to travel a great deal, and I think we're both ready to settle down."
I nodded understandingly, mentally adding mining engineer to his growing list of former occupations.
Our conversation was interrupted when Theo returned with our drinks. Hector had been exactly right; she did have a way with a gimlet: not too tart, not too heavy on the vodka, and with a delightful slice of fresh lime in each glass.
We toasted each other, sipped appreciatively and, again without my asking, he began to describe the type of dwelling he and his daughter would like to inhabit.
"On Ocean Boulevard," he said definitely, "or close to it. A view of the sea, if possible, or at least a short stroll to the beach. Three bedrooms at a minimum. Florida room, of course. A pool is not necessary, but I would like a nice piece of lawn, front and back. Wouldn't you say, Theo?"
"Room for a gazebo," she replied, almost dreamily. "A flower garden. Perhaps a small greenhouse. My private gym, of course. And an enormous kitchen."
Hector laughed. "Perfection is not for this world, sweet," he said, "but perhaps we can find a reasonable facsimile."
"I'm sure you can," I said. "Let me go through our listings, talk to colleagues, and bring you a very limited selection for your consideration."
"We're not ready to buy," he said. "I warned you about that."
"Of course," I said. "I understand completely. It sometimes takes a year, or even more, of viewing, evaluating, and finally making a decision. After all, you're choosing a home you'll probably live in for the rest of your lives, and you want it to be right. Believe me, I'm not going to pressure you. I have one client who's been debating a final choice for almost three years."
"You're a very patient man, Archy," Theo said.
"Yes," I agreed, "I am."
"Are you an attorney?" Heck asked suddenly.
"No, I am not," I said. "But my father is. His law firm represents some of the most reputable people in Palm Beach." (And a few disreputable, I was tempted to add.) "I do hope you'll ask friends and neighbors about McNally and Son. We're proud of our reputation."
They smiled at me encouragingly. They were seated close together on the couch, a rather hideous number covered with flowered cretonne. I could see little resemblance between father and daughter, and I wanted to ask about the missing Mrs. Johnson but naturally I didn't. Not quite comme il faut, y'know.
Our glasses were almost empty when I saw Hector peek at his watch. I would have expected it to be a gold Rolex, but from where I sat it appeared to be an old, clunky digital, which surprised me.
I finished my drink and rose. "I know you have another appointment, Heck," I said, "and I don't want to take up more of your time. Thank you for seeing me and for your kind hospitality. The gimlet was splendid!"
"Our pleasure, Archy," he said, standing. "When you have something special you think we should see, do give us a call."
"I'll