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  Lester Lottoman smiled at Elizabeth-Anne. 'Here we are,' he said as the taxi rolled to a stop, double-parking beside a row of gleaming limousines whose chauffeurs were gathered in little groups on the sidewalk.

  Elizabeth-Anne peered out the window at the Hochstetter townhouse and felt any last vestiges of confidence seep out of her. This was no townhouse, at least not in the ordinary sense that described the row houses lining Gramercy Park or the streets of the Village. She held the lynx lapels of her coat close to her throat, newly grateful for Ludmila's generosity. This house was one of the last of a dying breed, a stately, miniature palace of the type which once lined Fifth Avenue.

  As Lottoman helped Elizabeth-Anne out of the car, she continued to stare at the building in awe. It was surrounded by a high wrought-iron fence and stood three proud stories tall. The first floor was raised, with carved double doors and coach lights. The high, mullioned windows were gracefully arched in the French style and were ablaze with light. Elizabeth-Anne could hear the muted strains of music drifting out to the street and wondered at her nerve, coming here to meet Lawrence Hochstetter. How could she ask such a man to help her invest her money, money which, she realized now, was to him surely no more than loose change.

  Lester Lottoman laughed nervously. 'Well, we can't just stand out here, or we'll freeze. Let's go in, shall we?'

  Shyly he hooked an arm through Elizabeth-Anne's and led her to the gate and up the wide, sweeping steps to the front door. The butler recognized him on sight. 'Good evening, Mr. Lottoman,' he said in a low, British-accented voice, his face carefully devoid of expression.

  'Evening, Bevin.'

  'The other guests are in the salon, sir. I believe Mr. Hochstetter is expecting you.' He bowed his head in Elizabeth-Anne's direction. 'May I help you with your coat, madam?'

  Elizabeth-Anne tightened her grip on the lynx lapels. She didn't want to let Ludmila's prized coat out of her sight but with a laugh reminded herself she could hardly wear it indoors. 'Thank you, yes,' she said, recovering her composure.

  Bevin took her coat as she gazed around the foyer, where everything was of the finest marble, from the busts perched in their niches to the sweeping staircase that curved up three stories to a huge glassed-in rotunda.

  'This way, Mrs. Hale,' Lottoman said, touching her hand and keeping his fingers poised upon it.

  He guided her down the length of the hall, where a liveried footman opened two towering doors. At the sight of the salon, Elizabeth-Anne sucked in her breath. The room was covered in murals, skillful portrayals of Rome before it fell into ruin, with distant temples and statuaries, urns and strutting peacocks, columns, cornices, delicate pink clouds and rosy sunsets. The murals covered every surface - the walls, ceiling, even the doors - and gave the room an open, palatial feeling. But it was not museum-like or sterile; the overstuffed chairs and couches of green and gold kept the room cozy. Behind an enormous concert grand piano sat a black pianist in a tuxedo playing Cole Porter and singing softly, and everywhere she looked there were formal floral arrangements. All this on a sea of beige wall-to-wall wool carpeting which matched her crepe gown.

  But even more startling were the guests. She counted to twenty and then stopped, realizing that it was pointless to continue. Never before had she seen so many beautifully turned out couples, elegantly tailored tuxedos and lavishly styled evening gowns. Or so many waiters circulating with silver trays of champagne - and at the height of Prohibition.

  This must be, she decided, a make-believe, Hollywood world. She almost pinched herself in order to prove it was all real, that she had not entered some fantastically concocted dream. She felt she had stepped over the threshold into another dimension, into the world behind one of the exclusive doors of the socially prominent, the politically powerful, the beautiful, the wealthy, and the accomplished.

  'Lester Lottoman, you rake!

  The woman swept toward them, wrapped in a form-fitting silver sheath that was missing only its mermaid tail. She wore a necklace with matching earrings of tourmalines and diamonds, and a predatory shark's smile.

  'H-hello, Marisol,' Lottoman stammered in such obvious anguish that Elizabeth-Anne glanced at him sharply out of the corner of her eyes. 'I-I didn't know you would be here.'

  'My, my, I bet you didn't.' The woman's eyes swept over Elizabeth-Anne. Then she turned back to Lottoman. 'This doesn't look at all like Henrietta, I'm afraid,' she said with a pout. 'No, not at all.'

  'Well, no.' Lottoman's Adam's apple was working nervously. 'Henrietta's at h-her cousin's. M-Mrs. Hale here is interested in investing at Hochstetter-Stremmel, so I-I naturally thought the best way for her to meet - '

  'When the cat's away, the mice will play, eh?' Marisol's icy eyes sparkled mischievously. 'How delicious. And you of all people, Lester! To think we all thought you were a dreary little milquetoast. Well, trust me to keep a secret. My lips are zipped. If you're good, that is. You see, I've met this most marvelous young German in Newport, and Heinzy followed me all the way here, would you believe?' She lowered her voice confidentially, at the same time making certain Elizabeth-Anne would not miss a word. 'He's hung like a horse, I swear. Anyway, I'm terrified he'll find greener pastures, and since there's nothing like a little competition to spice up one's love life, you simply must meet him and help make him jealous.' She flashed a wide, open-mouthed smile, and took Lottoman by the arm, propelling him forward through a throng of guests. 'He won't be but a minute dear,' she sang sweetly over her shoulder to Elizabeth-Anne.

  Lottoman twisted around and gazed helplessly back at Elizabeth-Anne. She smiled and shrugged. For a moment she stood there awkwardly, watching the throng swallow him up. She felt curiously empty handed and lifted a flute of champagne off a waiter's tray, but it didn't dull the sensation.

  She could feel several guests flick her curious glances while others studied her with longer, openly appraising looks. She turned away, her face prickling with heat. She felt marooned, alone in this sparkling dream world where she knew no one, where she did not fit.

  Slowly she crossed the room and stood near the piano, sipping her champagne. Minute after minute crawled by, and Lottoman still did not return. Occasionally she caught glimpses of him across the room. He was craning his neck constantly, his eyes searching for her, but the woman named Marisol was not ready to relinquish him.

  'Damn,' Elizabeth-Anne whispered under her breath, tightening her lips in annoyance. She knew she shouldn't have come, but that hardly helped now. She was here to meet Lawrence Hochstetter, one of the country's foremost financial wizards who was, by varying accounts, either a brilliant business tactician or a pirate. The only person who could introduce her had been snatched away. Her doubts were mushrooming, but just as she was about to leave, a deep, familiar baritone voice beside her said, 'Excuse me, haven't we met somewhere before?'

  Startled, she turned to face the speaker and nearly spilled her champagne. It's him! she thought with a sinking feeling. Oh dear God. Him.

  Standing inches away was the attractive stranger she had met at the Savoy Plaza, Lola Bori's friend, the one who had caused so much trouble. The man, a little voice inside admonished her, who had averted just as much trouble as he might have inadvertently caused to begin with. The man she could not, try as she might, forget.

  But she ignored that little voice. She was unable to speak, unable to move. All she could do was stare stupidly at him. The unbidden thought occurred to her that he looked even more attractive now than he had when she first saw him. His blue-black hair was swept over his lean skull, the gray at his temples gleaming like polished sterling. He held himself casually, yet peculiarly erect, like a panther ready to pounce. His craggy features, while attractive, were decidedly predatory, and his sensual lips were cocked in a slight smile. He wore tiny diamond studs in his shirt which twinkled mockingly at her. She noticed that this time his black eyepatch was not cloth, but leather, which somehow only served to enhance his devil-may-care appearance.

  A
nd here she was, lost in a crowd of strangers, her escort gone, and the only person she'd ever seen before had met her while she had been a maid. She felt like a cheap imposter. She had no right to be here, and now she would be exposed.

  'Seems the last time I saw you, you were dressed somewhat differently,' he said, his one eye bold and deep blue. Or was it filled with contempt? 'Do you usually make a habit of crashing society parties?'

  She bristled, feeling for all the world like a porcupine raising its armor. 'If you'll be so good as to excuse me - ' She turned to leave but he caught her arm, his fingers feeling strangely warm through the thin material of her dress.

  'Not so fast.'

  She stared down at his hand. 'I think you had better let me go,' she whispered.

  He laughed, his even white teeth flashing. 'I let you go once, remember? I don't know if I should do that again. I'm not used to having to chase after a maid.'

  Her face flushed. How dare he hurl such an insult at her! Rallying her forces of self-control, she glanced around the room in hope of finding Lester Lottoman to rescue her from this forward stranger, but he was nowhere in sight. 'I have no intention of suffering insults from you,' she replied coldly.

  'Is that so?' he asked, relinquishing his hold on her.

  'It is.' She turned and stared at him, and their eyes met. For a long moment, neither could look away, and Elizabeth-Anne felt a wave of something she thought must be revulsion sweep through her at the same time her knees turned weak.

  Why does he have this effect on me? she wondered angrily. Why does he look even more handsome than the last time I saw him? And why can't I stand him?

  She tore her eyes away from his and craned her neck again, desperately searching the room for Lester Lottoman, who now seemed to have vanished completely.

  'Looking for someone?' the stranger asked. 'Your escort, I presume?'

  'You presume correctly,' she snapped in reply. She dared not look at him again. Her feelings concerning him were altogether too strong, too strange and overwhelming. How could a stranger fill her so completely with hate and . . . yearning? She drew in her breath and tightened her lips in irritation. She musn't think of him at all. Yes, she would simply pretend he wasn't there. Then perhaps he would ignore her and go away.

  'Perhaps your escort deserted you?'

  But that was too much to ignore! 'He did not. I'm certain of it.'

  'Then may I get you some champagne while you wait?'

  She glanced down at her empty hand. In her confused state, she hadn't even realized that she had set her glass down on the piano and a passing waiter had already scooped it away.

  'I. . . ' she began hesitantly, then changed her mind and sniffed. 'No, thank you.'

  'I can't argue with that,' he said, 'especially not during Prohibition. It's a crime, how liquor flows here, isn't it? However, you still haven't told me what you are doing here, and maybe that' s a crime, too.'

  She thrust her chin out indignantly. 'I needn't tell you anything. But if you must know, I've come to see someone.'

  'Oh? And who might that be?'

  She glanced sideways at him and gave a triumphant little smile. 'Mr. Lawrence Hochstetter.'

  He raised his eyebrows. 'I see. You seem to move in exalted circles. Do you know Mr. Hochstetter personally?'

  She could feel her temper rising to the bait. 'Would I be here if I didn't?'

  He glanced around. 'Well, it doesn't look like you really know many people here.'

  'Looks,' she retorted tartly, 'can be deceiving.'

  'I see.' He suppressed his maddening smile. 'Then perhaps you'll do me the honor of introducing me to some of your friends. I'd be delighted, for instance, if I could make the acquaintance of that lady over there.'

  Elizabeth-Anne's guard went up. 'W-which one?'

  He pointed. 'The one in the white and green.'

  Elizabeth-Anne looked over at the woman, noting she seemed the most elegant of all the guests. She stood tall, her angular cheekbones and regal nose hinting at champion bloodlines. Her moon-licked black hair was swept back into a chignon, and she wore an exquisite, three-tiered bracelet of diamonds on her right wrist. A necklace of two strands of huge, black pearls hung from her swan-like throat and her white chiffon gown was diaphanous, embroidered with delicate, pale green leaves.

  'You do know her, don't you? I mean, you just got through telling me - '

  'Oh!' Elizabeth-Anne clenched her fists at her sides. She was at once angry and afraid. She had talked herself into an impossible situation with this insufferable stranger, and although she was never prone to lying and had little practice at the art, she now found it the only possible course to take. 'Of course I know her,' she snapped irritably.

  He nodded. 'She looks familiar to me, too. I know I've met her before, but I can't seem to recall her name.'

  Elizabeth-Anne took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. 'It's Gloria,' she said quickly.

  Before she knew what was happening, he was propelling her toward the woman.

  'What are you doing?' she hissed helplessly.

  'You and I are going to chat with Gloria.' They reached the group where the woman was holding court. 'Gloria - ' he began with a rakish smile.

  The woman turned to him in amazement. 'Lawrence Hochstetter, you mean to tell me that after all these years you still can't remember my name?'

  He grinned sheepishly at Elizabeth-Anne, who wanted nothing more than to have the floor open up and swallow her whole.

  'I'm sorry, Robyn,' he told the woman. 'It's just a little joke played in very bad taste. Blame it on too much champagne. This young woman here . . . ' He glanced at Elizabeth-Anne. 'Why, she looks pale. Perhaps she's ill. Be a dear, Robyn, and show her to the powder room, will you?'

  'You are awful,' Elizabeth-Anne whispered to him. 'You set me up deliberately - '

  But he ignored her, whispering in Robyn's ear, 'And whatever you do, don't let her out of your sight. I don't want her to leave, not under any circumstances. Oh, and tell Bevin to change the seating arrangements. I want her to sit on my right during dinner.'

  Robyn narrowed her eyes.

  'Well, make that the left. You, dear Robyn, will sit on my right.'

  With a satisfied nod, Robyn hurried after Elizabeth- Anne, who was weaving her way through the salon like a somnambulist with slow, trembling dignity.

  After speaking with Bevin, Robyn rushed to the powder room where she found Elizabeth-Anne. She pushed her gently down onto one of the chintz-upholstered settees. 'Just relax for a few minutes. If you need anything, let me know. I'll be right here.'

  Elizabeth-Anne nodded, but sat numbly, waiting for her blood pressure to lower. She had never felt so humiliated, so insulted, so angry in her entire life.

  Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back and took a series of deep, slow breaths. She had to calm herself and try to think. It was a fine fix she had gotten herself into, but there was no problem she couldn't solve, either, if she thought it out rationally. Or was there?

  'Are you feeling any better?' Robyn asked.

  Elizabeth-Anne glanced at her and nodded.

  'Good. Some of your color is returning.' Robyn smiled, produced a shagreen Cartier compact, snapped it open, and leaned into the gilt-framed mirror. She began dusting her cheeks with powder. 'I wouldn't worry about Larry too much,' she advised offhandedly.

  'Why do you say that?' Elizabeth-Anne's voice still quivered slightly.

  'Because he has the worst mean streak of anyone I know.' Robyn eyed herself critically and then powdered herself some more. 'He loves to play practical jokes on people. I take it you were the victim this time.'

  Elizabeth-Anne smiled wryly. 'I left myself open for it.'

  'Hmph. That's beside the point, if you ask me. But I will say one thing for him.'

  'What's that?'

  'He treats everyone equally, man, woman, or child. He doesn't make any exceptions for the supposedly 'weaker' sex.' Her voice grew wistful. 'Still
, sometimes it would be nice if he treated a lady like a lady.' Her powdering finished, Robyn snapped her compact shut. Then she turned around to face Elizabeth-Anne and leaned her hips back against the top of the vanity, smiling faintly. 'I still don't know how you did it. Of course, you're very attractive, but, pardon my saying it, beauty is cheap. This city is filled with thousands of women more attractive than either one of us.'

  Elizabeth-Anne looked perplexed. 'I don't think I understand what you mean.'

  'Come now. You're the first woman in a long, long time that Larry's been smitten with.'

  Elizabeth-Anne felt the hot blood rush to her cheeks. She dropped her eyes to study her lap. 'I'm sure you're mistaken,' she murmured softly.

  'Me? Mistaken?' Robyn laughed good-naturedly. 'Not on your life. Listen to me,' she said, approaching the settee, the chiffon train of her gown billowing behind her.

  She sat down beside Elizabeth-Anne and took her hand. 'There was a time I wanted Larry very badly. But he married someone else.'

  'Is he still married?'

  Robyn shook her head. 'No. But he chose her over me, and then he and his wife had a rather ugly divorce which was played up in all the papers. Meanwhile, I married my husband, so when Larry was free again, I wasn't. Now we're simply friends, like brother and sister. But we like each other much more now than we ever did before.'

  'But . . . why didn't he marry you?' Despite herself, Elizabeth-Anne was fascinated. 'Why did he marry that other woman?'

  'Because she offered him what I couldn't. I suppose you have the same quality that he thought she had. Only he was wrong about her. He overestimated her by a long shot. You see, Larry loves nothing more than a mystery. He's always intrigued when he discovers someone who he thinks has a lot more than meets the eye. That way he's got something to unravel. But his wife tricked him. She put on a good front in the beginning, but he found out soon enough how shallow she was.'

  'And that's why he divorced her? Just because she was no longer a mystery to him?' Elizabeth-Anne was shocked.

  'Well, that was part of their problem. The main reason, though, was a film she'd made. He thought it was too lewd, so he tried to buy up every reel in existence. It made her terribly angry. She accused him of sabotaging her career and God only knows what else. As a result, it was she who wanted the divorce.'