"Why?" said Rachel. "I mean, he's so unattractive."

Margie cocked her head a little. "Is he?" she said. "I think he's quite well preserved for his age. And he's fabulously wealthy, which is all a woman like that cares about. She's going to get a little sparkly something before lunch is over. You just watch. She's counting the minutes. Every time his hand gets near his pocket she salivates."

"If he's so rich, why does he go on working? Couldn't he just retire?"

"He only has the family as clients now. And I think he does that out of loyalty to the old man. Garrison says he's very smart. Could have been the best of the best, Garrison says."

"So what happened?"

"The same thing that happened to you and me. He got dragged into the Geary family. And once you're in there's really no way out."

"You promised, Margie. No talking about Mitchell."

"I'm not going to talk about Mitchell. You asked me what happened to Cecil. I'm telling you."

The waiter was back at the table with the martinis. Margie was intrigued to know what a Cajun Martini-number thirteen on the list-was like. The waiter began to describe the recipe, but she stopped him after half a florid phrase.

"Just bring us two," she said.

"You'll have me drunk," Rachel said.

"I need you a little tipsy," Margie said, "for what I'm going to tell you about."

"Oh my Lord."

"What?"

"You were right," Rachel said, nodding across the room in the direction of Cecil's table. Just as Margie had pre- dieted the lawyer had taken out a slim box from his pocket, and was opening it to let the blonde see her reward.

"Didn't I say?" Margie murmured. "Sparkly."

"It used to happen all the time in Boston," Rachel said.

"Oh that's right, you worked in a jewelry store."

"These men would come in and they'd ask me to choose something for their wives. At least they'd say wives, but I got the picture after a few weeks. These were older men, you know-forties, fifties-and they'd always want something for a younger woman. That's why they'd ask me. It was like they were saying: if you were my mistress, what would you like? That's how I met Mitchell."

"Now who's talking about Mitchell? I thought he was verboten."

Rachel drained her martini. "I don't mind. In a way I'd sort of like to talk about him."

"You would?"

"Don't sound so surprised."

"What's to talk about?" Margie said, "He's your husband. If you love him, that's fine. If you don't, that's fine too. Just don't depend on him for anything. Get your own life. That way he hasn't got any power over you. Oh, look, that's a pretty sight." The waiter, who'd appeared with the next round of martinis, thought she meant him, and smiled dazzlingly. "I meant the drinks, honey," Margie said. The smile decayed somewhat. "But you're sweet. What's your name?"

"Stefano."

"Stefano. What do you recommend? Rachel's very hungry, and I'm on a diet."

"The chef's specialty is the sea bass. It's lightly sauteed in pure olive oil with a little cilantro-"

"I think that sounds fine for me. Rachel?"

"I'm in the mood for meat."

"Oh," Margie said, with a cocked eyebrow. "Stefano. The lady wants meat. Any suggestions?"

The waiter momentarily lost his cool. "Um… well we have…"

"Maybe just a steak?" Margie suggested to Rachel.

Stefano looked flustered. "We don't actually serve a straightforward steak. We don't have it on the menu."

"Good Lord," Margie said, thoroughly relishing the young man's discomfort. "This is New York and you don't serve a simple steak?"

"I don't really want steak," Rachel said.

"Well that's not the point," Margie said, perversely. "It's the principle of the thing. Well… do you have anything that can be served rare?"

"We have lamb cutlets which the chef offers with almonds and ginger."

"That's fine," Rachel told him. Grateful to have the problem resolved, Stefano beat a hasty retreat.

"You're mean," Rachel said to Margie once he'd gone.

"Oh, he enjoyed it. Men secretly love to be humiliated. As long as it isn't too public."

"Have you ever thought of writing all this down?"

"All what?"

"Your pithy observations."

"They don't stand up to close scrutiny, honey," she said. "Like me, really. I'm very impressive as long as you don't look too closely." She guffawed at this. "So now, drink up. Number thirteen's really rather good."

Rachel declined. "My head's already spinning," she said. "Will you stop teasing me and tell me what all this is about?"

"Well… it's very simple, really. You need to take a vacation, honey."

"I just came back from-"

"I don't mean a trip home, for God's sake. That's not a vacation, it's a sentence. You need to go somewhere you can be yourself, and you can't be yourself with family."

"Why do I think you've already got something planned?"

"Have you ever been to Hawaii?"

"I stopped over in Honolulu with Mitch, on our way to Australia."

"Horrible," Margie said.

"Australia or Honolulu?"

"Well, actually both. But I'm not talking about Honolulu. I'm talking about Kaua'i. The Garden Island."

"I've never heard of it."

"Oh honey, it's simply the most beautiful place on earth. It's paradise. I swear. Paradise." She sipped her martini. "And it so happens that I know a little house in a little bay on the North Shore which is fifty yards from the water, if that. It's so perfect. Oh you can't imagine. Truly, you can't imagine. I mean I could tell you about it and it'd sound idyllic, but… it's more than that."

"How so?"

Margie's voice had become sultry as- she talked about the house; now it was so quiet Rachel had to lean in to catch what she was saying. "I know this is going to sound silly, but it's a place where there's still just a chance that something… oh shit, I don't know… something magical might happen."

"It sounds wonderful," Rachel said. She'd never seen Margie this way before, and found it strangely moving. Margie the cynic, Margie the lush, talking like a little gkl who'd thought she'd seen wonderland. It almost made Rachel believe she had.

"Who does the house belong to?"

"Ah," she said, raising her index finger over the rim of her glass, and giving Rachel a narrow-eyed smile. "That's the thing. It belongs to us."

"Us."

"The Geary women."

"Really?"

"The men are forbidden to go anywhere near the place. It's an ancient Geary tradition."

"Who started it?"

"Cadmus's mother I believe. She was quite the feminist, in her time. Or it may have been a generation earlier, I don't know. The point is, the house isn't used very much any longer. There's a couple of local people who go every other month and mow the lawn and trim the palm trees, dust a little, but basically the place is left empty."

"Loretta doesn't go?"

"She went just after she and Cadmus first got married. So she said. But now she just stays right here with him, night and day. I think she's afraid he's going to start changing the will behind her back. Oh… speaking of legal matters…" She nodded across the restaurant. Cecil and the blonde were rising from the table. "He's going to have a busy afternoon. She looks like the acrobatic type."

"Maybe she'll just lay back and let him get it over with," Rachel said.

"I know how that feels," Margie replied.

"I hope he doesn't look in our direction," Rachel said as Cecil headed for the door.

"I rather hope he does," Margie said, and as luck would have it at that very instant Cecil glanced back across the restaurant and laid eyes on them. Rachel froze, still hoping Cecil wouldn't recognize them. But Margie, murmuring oh good under her breath, raised her arm, replete with empty martini glass, above her head.

"Now look what you've done," Rachel said. "He's coming over to talk to us."