She wasn't waiting long. A man was playing a piano solo from Beethoven in the corner. As the sonata trickled to a finish, he stood, seemingly oblivious of the light applause, and moved to the bar. After another moment, and a brief word with the woman serving drinks, he approached Carmen's table, a brandy glass in one hand, and looked down at the woman with sharp, golden eyes.
"Miss Sandiego," he said, tone rich, giving her a nod as he slipped into the able's other seat. "I trust you had no difficulty finding your way."