"I'd love to meet her." She looked at me. "Matthew Walton with a daughter. My God." She laughed. "Sorry, Matt, but you really don't seem the father type."
"Amy's mother said approximately the same thing as she was packing her bags. But I'm now undergoing intensive on-the-job father training. Fact is, I'd planned to knock off around Christmas and take her down to our place in the islands, though now I'm not sure there'll be time."
"Sounds very fatherly. You should go."
"I'm still hoping to." I looked her over again. "Well, the hell with it, why mince words. Tell me, Tam, how's your love life these days?"
She burst out laughing again. "You haven't changed a bit. Not at all."
"Spare the commentary, okay? Just stick to the question."
"Excuse me, counselor. The honest answer is it's nonexistent, which you surely must know, since I'm here every night till midnight just as you are." She examined me pointedly. "Matthew, could this conceivably be construed as a proposition? To a horny, bone-tired woman in her moment of mental fatigue?"
"It might be a tentative gesture in that direction. I'm a slow mover."
"You always were." She finished buttoning her coat. "What time's dinner?"
"I'll pick up Amy and buzz you. Give us an hour."