"Born and raised in the Village, father a cabinetmaker, mother a painter; NYU undergrad and law school. NYPD for fourteen years, eleven of them as a detective."

"Why'd you quit?"

"A very bad boy put a twenty-two slug in my knee, and the force quit me, gave me their very best pension. That's the short version; I won't bore you with the long one, which involves a lot of department politics and a strange case I worked on. Anyway, once off the force, I crammed for the bar, and an old law school hooked me up with Woodman and Weld."

"How much money do you make?"

The bald question stopped him for a moment, then recovered. "I made about six hundred thousand last year," he said. "My best year so far."

"You're doing well, then."

"By New York law firm standards that's only middling, but I have a lot more freedom than I would as a partner in a firm. I'm lucky that I can pick and choose my cases. If I want to bugger off to St.Marks for a week's sailing, I can manage it."

She put an oily hand against his cheek. "But you got stood up, didn't you? Poor baby."

"That's me."

"Who is she?"

"Name's Arrington Carter; she's a freelance writer."

"And when the blizzard was over, what kept her in New York?"

"She's writing a New Yorker profile of Vance Calder."

"Ooooh, lucky girl."

"I guess. She's known him for a while; matter of fact, she was his date the first time I met her."

"And you won out over Vance Calder? You must be sensational in bed."

He laughed. "You think that was it? I always thought it was my boyish charm."

She gave him a bright smile. "That, too." She opened a sealed packet of smoked salmon and arranged the slices on two plates. "First course is almost ready," she said. "There's a bottle of white on the table; will you open it?"

Stone went to the table, found a corkscrew, and opened a bottle of Beringer Private Reserve '94, then tasted it. "Excellent," he said. "Was Paul a connoisseur of wines?"

"Paul was more of a wino; I'm the authority." She handed him a bottle of red. "For the main course; might as well open it and let it breathe."

"Dominus '87. Very nice."

"You know wines?"

"Enough to stay out of trouble." He opened both bottles. She set the two plates of smoked salmon on the table and untied her apron. Underneath it she was dressed in a very short skirt and a white cotton blouse, unbuttoned and tied under her breasts.

Stone remembered that the first time he had seen her she'd been wearing that sort of blouse, tied that way.

They finished their smoked salmon, then she whipped up a chicken dish over rice, with a lovely sauce. They were both warm with the wine and laughing easily. Allison cleared the table, then pressed a button and it folded away electrically.

"Very slick."

"Glad you like it." She caught him looking at her breasts. "Any yachtsman should be able to deal with a simple square knot," she said, knocking back the last of her wine.

Uh-oh, Stone said to himself. But he had had nearly a bottle of wine on top of the martini, and he was feeling hurt by Arrington, feeling incautious, and feeling extremely attracted to Allison Manning. She went to a switch panel and lowered the lights; when she came back the knot in her shirt had been untied. She bent to kiss Stone, and her breasts fell free. "Let's forget about the attorney-client relationship for the night," she said.

Stone had a decision to make, and it didn't take long. "It's forgotten," he said. She straddled his bare legs, and he found that there was nothing under the short skirt. He shucked off his shorts, and she pulled his polo shirt over his head. A tug at a zipper and a shrug of her shoulders, and they were both naked.

"I don't think I can wait," Stone said.

"I can't wait, either," she said, reaching down and slipping him into her. "We'll wait longer next time."

They were both very quick and very together; they finished, clutching each other and smothering their cries in each other's flesh. When they had both stopped trembling, she stood up, took his hand, and led him toward the aft cabin.

"Now we can start working on the next time," she said, "and we can practice waiting."

Stone woke not long after dawn as a shaft of new sunlight fell across his face; it had been a warm night, and they were both lying on top of the bed covers. She lay on her stomach with her head turned toward him, a strand of blond hair falling to a corner of her mouth and a tiny frown on her face, as if she were trying to figure out something about a dream. The frown lent her the innocence of a little girl.

Stone didn't know what had motivated her to make love to him-maybe the realization that she might have no more than a week to live and the desire to make the most of it; or maybe she was just horny. For himself, he had been disappointed, angry, jealous, drunk, and, oh yes, horny. She was a client, of course, but he was a long way from the Ethics Committee of the New York State Bar Association, and he had never been any good at saying no to women. He reached over and lifted the strand of hair from her face, and, to his surprise, she smiled.

"I was just going to do that," she said.

"Glad to be of service," he replied.

Without opening her eyes, she reached for him and ran her hand down his body until it rested on his crotch. "Speaking of service," she said, "are you in a mood to render a little?"

"I am now," he replied, reaching over and running a finger lightly down the cleft between her cheeks.

She gave a little shudder and pulled herself on top of him.

He took her buttocks in both hands, and moved them up until her pelt was in his face, then began using his tongue lightly, teasing her until she became more insistent. She came easily, as she had been doing for most of the night, then she slid down his sweaty body and returned the favor, insisting on hanging on until he was entirely spent. Then she flopped down beside him, and they panted together, laughing. Shortly they were asleep again.

They were awakened by a sharp rapping on the hull.

"Ahoy there, anyone aboard?" A female voice.

"Jesus," Stone said, "what time is it?"

"Half past nine," she replied, checking the bulkhead clock.She raised herself on an elbow. "Who is it?" she called out.

"The New York Times," the voice replied. "If you're Allison Manning, I'd like to talk with you."

"I really don't think the Times should find us like this," Stone whispered.

Allison grabbed a robe and left the cabin, while Stone lay low. He could hear her climbing the companionway ladder, then the two voices.

"I'm afraid I overslept," Allison was saying."Could I meet you over at the Shipwright's Arms in half an hour?"

"I'm Hilary Kramer," the woman said."I'd really like to see your yacht."

"Maybe later in the day," Allison said. "It's a mess right now."

"All right," the woman said, sounding disappointed. "I'll meet you over there in half an hour."

Allison came back to the after cabin. "The New York Times! That I wasn't expecting."

"I don't know how she could have gotten here so soon," Stone said. "I wasn't expecting anybody until tomorrow, late this afternoon at the earliest. I'm certainly glad she didn't arrive at dawn."

Allison burst out laughing. "That would have made quite a story, wouldn't it?"

"I hope I can sneak over to my boat without being seen."

"You'd better start sneaking."

"I'll be there when you talk to her. Just be yourself, tell your story just as you told it at the coroner's inquest."

"I don't know any other way to tell it," Allison replied.

Stone, showered and dressed, got to the Shipwright's Arms a little before Allison. He walked over to the table where the woman was drinking coffee. "Good morning," he said, "I'm Stone Barrington, Allison Manning's attorney." He stuck out his hand.