"Thank you."

"Stop saying thank you, Mitch. It makes me suspicious."

She poured herself a brandy when he'd gone. Then she sat by the fire and thought over what he'd said to her. She didn't believe for a moment the little performance he'd put on for her at the end: all that forced brightness was grotesque. But nor did she believe that he was a lost cause; that she couldn't, with some manipulation, win him to her side. She was going to lose Rachel, if she hadn't already. The woman was too obsessed with Galilee Barba-rossa to be a reliable ally. If or when she found him, then they'd efficiently form a faction of their own. And if she failed to find him, or was rejected, she would be so crippled she'd be more of a burden than a help.

She needed somebody to work with her, and maybe-despite her doubts about his intelligence-Mitchell was the likeliest candidate. In truth, she didn't have much choice. Cecil had always been loyal, of course, but he'd change his allegiance if it was fiscally advantageous to him; and Garrison could make it so. The other members of the family-Richard and the rest-were too remote from the heartt of things to be able to step into the breach at short notice. And she had no doubt that time was of the essence here. Her only advantage at present was her knowledge of Cadmus's private methodologies: how he'd computed and predicted, right up until a month before his death, the flow of his fortunes; where he'd planned to invest, and where he'd planned to sell; secrets and predictions he had kept from everyone, even Garrison, but which toward the end he'd shared with her. To that advantage she could perhaps now add Mitchell: if, and only if, she could deliver to him the woman with whom he was still so very plainly obsessed.

She felt only the tiniest twinge of guilt at this. Though she'd warmed to Rachel somewhat of late (there was certainly no denying her courage), the woman was no sophisticate, nor ever would be. She'd done well, for someone from such unpromising roots, but she'd never be the kind of presence Margie might have been under other circumstances: it simply wasn't in her blood. And when all the fine sentiments about democracy had been voiced, that's what it always came down to: the blood in the veins.

So she would sacrifice Rachel in a bid to gain Mitchell: it was a chance worth taking. And she knew exactly where to begin with her investigations. She called Jocelyn in, and told her to go and fetch her address book. Jocelyn returned five minutes later, apologizing that it had taken her so long. Though she was putting on a brave, loyal face, she was in a deeply distressed state; her hands had a constant tremor, and she looked as though she might burst into tears at the slightest provocation.

"Will there be anything more?" she asked Loretta as she handed over the book.

"Only Mitchell…" Loretta said.

"I've already found him a shirt," Jocelyn said, "and I was just going to look for some trousers. Then I thought I might go for a little walk, if you don't need me."

"No, no. Of course. Take your time."

Once she'd gone Loretta flipped through the book and found the number she needed. Then she called it.

Niolopua was there to answer.

Rachel woke with the dawn, the birds making fine music all around the house. It was surprisingly chilly once she was out from under the covers. She wrapped herself up in the faded quilt and walked, bleary-eyed, into the kitchen to put on the kettle for tea. Then she went out onto the veranda to watch the unveiling of the day. Prospects looked good. The rain clouds had moved off to the northeast, and the sky was clear, at least for the present. There were signs of a storm on the horizon, however, clouds that looked still darker than those that had brought yesterday's rain, and quite a mass of them too. She went back in, brewed her tea, sweetened it deca-dently, and returned to the veranda, where she sat for twenty minutes or so while the scene before her came to life. Several birds flew down onto the lawn, and pecked around for worms coaxed up by the dew; a piebald dog wandered up from the beach, and had advanced as far as the veranda steps before she realized he was blind, or nearly so. She called to him softly, and he came to her hand, staying to be muzzled for a little time then taking himself about his dog's business, sniffing his way.

When she had finished her tea she went back inside again, showered and got dressed. She would drive into Hanalei this morning, she'd decided, and buy herself some fresh food from the little market there; along with some cigarettes.

It was an easy and picturesque journey, which took her at one point across a narrow bridge which spanned a valley of Edenic perfection: a river meandering through lush green shrubbery, from the bouquets of which elegant palms rose and erupted.

Hanalei was quiet. She took her time making her purchases, and by the time she arrived back at Anahola, laden with bags of supplies, she found she had a visitor. Niolopua was sitting on the step, drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette. He got up and relieved her of her cargo, then followed her inside.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked him once the bags had been set down in the kitchen.

"I saw the lights on last night."

"Why didn't you come and say hello?"

"I wanted to get back and tell Mrs. Geary."

"I don't understand."

"Your mother-in-law."

"Loretta?"

"Yes. The old one, right? Loretta. She called me to find out whether you were here or not."

"When was this?"

"Last night."

"So, you came round to look for me?"

"YCS. And I saw the lights. So I Called her back and I told her you'd got here safely." It was clear from the expression on Niolopua's face that he was aware there was something odd in all of this.

"What did she say to you?" Rachel asked him.

"Not much. She told me not to bother you. In fact, she said not even to tell you I'd seen you here."

"So why are you telling me?"

He looked profoundly uncomfortable. "I don't know. I guess I wanted you to hear what the other Mrs. Geary had said."

"I'm not Mrs. Geary anymore, Niolopua. Please, just call me Rachel."

He made a nervous smile. "Right," he said. "Rachel."

"Thank you for being so honest."

"She didn't know you'd come, did she?"

"No, she didn't."

"Shit. I'm sorry. I should have talked to you first. I didn't think."

"You weren't to know," Rachel said. "You did what you thought was best." He looked thorpughly irritated with himself, despite her words. "Do you want to stay and have something to eat?"

"I'd like to, but should go do some work on my house before the storm." He glanced out of the window toward the beach. "I've only got a few hours before that comes in." He pointed to the dark blisters of cloud along the horizon. "It blew up out of nowhere." He kept staring out at the clouds as he talked. "And it's coming this way."

"Well it's nice to know you're on my side, Niolopua. I don't have a lot of friends right now."

He tore his gaze from the clouds and looked at her. "I'm sorry I screwed up. If I'd known you wanted to be here on your own-"

"I'm not here to get a tan," Rachel said. "I'm here because…" now it was she who glanced seaward "… because I have reason to think he may be coming back."

"Who told you that?"

"It's a long story, and I'm not sure I know how to tell it right now. I need to get some things sorted out in my head first."

"What about Loretta?"

"What about her?"

"Does she know why you're here?"

"It wouldn't be hard for her to guess."

"You know if you want to you could move up into the hills with me for a few days. Then if she sends someone looking for you-"

"I don't want to leave this house," Rachel said. "This is where Galilee expects to find me. And this is where I'm going to be waiting."