Deirdre's home is an apartment built above the Marina offices, accessible via outside stair. She opens the door for Cerrit, mask down and smiling. She's ruffled his feathers...expected, but still disappointing. Still, one must keep one's smile on.

"Welcome! Do come in, right this way."

Inside doesn't exactly scream 'calculating business magnate'. Most available surfaces have paperwork of some kind on them in the distinctive pattern of a pile person, and the entire apartment is sweltering from multiple fireplaces. There are signs of wealth everywhere - fine furniture, porcelain lamps, in-home electricity - but it lacks the old money feel of the Leeds Manor, the aging grace and dignity.

It doesn't lack dinner, though. Deirdre's small table has, among other dishes, a whole roast chicken, a selection of sushi, gizzards, caviar, and rolls. Towards what must be Deirdre's place are vegetables, as well as a cigar box and a bowl of coals.

Drinks tonight include wine, tea, and disappointment. Deirdre hasn't drank plain water in living memory.