The persistent headache she'd had all evening began to ebb, the sense of enclosure faded; once again she began to experience the release she had always found in water. "Do you think it started in the womb?" she'd once joked to Leila. "I mean this absolute sensation of being free when I'm immersed."

Leila's answer had shocked her: "Maybe Mama was happy when she was carrying you, Sparrow. I've always thought that your father was Senator Lange. He and Mama had a big thing going after my daddy-dear split the scene. When I was in the womb, I gather they called me 'the mistake.''

It was Leila who had suggested that Elizabeth use the stage name Lange. "It probably should be your real name, Sparrow," she had said. "Why not?"

As soon as Leila began making money, she had sent a check to Mama every month. One day the check was returned uncashed by Mama's last boyfriend. Mama had died of acute alcoholism.

Elizabeth touched the far wall, brought her knees to her chest and flipped her body over, changing from a backstroke to a breaststroke in one fluid movement. Was it possible that Leila's fear of personal relationships had begun at the moment of conception? Can a speck of protoplasm sense that the climate is hostile, and can that realization color a whole life? Wasn't it because of Leila that she'd never experienced that terrible sense of parental rejection? She remembered her mother's description of bringing her home from the hospital: "Leila took her out of my arms. She moved the crib into her room. She was only eleven, but she became that child's mother. I wanted to call her Laverne, but Leila put her foot down. She said, "Her name is Elizabeth!" One more reason to be grateful to Leila, Elizabeth thought.

The soft ripple that her body made as she moved through the water masked the faint sound of footsteps at the other end of the pool. She had reached the north end and was starting back. For some reason she began to swim furiously, as though sensing danger .

The shadowy figure edged its way along the wall. He coldly calculated the speed of her swift, graceful progress. Timing was essential. Grab her from behind as she passed, lie over her body, hold her face in the water until she stopped struggling. How long would it take? A minute? Two? But suppose she wasn't that easy to subdue? This had to appear to be an accidental drowning.

Then an idea came to him, and in the darkness his lips stretched in the semblance of a smile. Why hadn't he thought of the scuba equipmentearlier?

Wearing the oxygen tank would make it possible for him to hold her at the bottom of the pool until he was certain she was dead. The wet suit, the gloves, the mask, the goggles were a perfect disguise, if anyone happened to see him cutting across the grounds.

He watched as she began to swim toward the steps. The impulse to get rid of her now was almost overwhelming. Tomorrow night, he promised himself. Carefully he moved closer as she placed her foot on the bottom step of the ladder and straightened up. His narrowed eyes strained to watch as she slipped on her robe and began to walk along the path to her bungalow.

Tomorrow night he would be waiting here for her. The next morning someone would spot her body at the bottom of the pool, as the workman had spotted Leilas body in the courtyard.

And he would havenothing left to fear.

QUOTE FOR THE DAY:

Good morning, dear guests.

We hope you have slept blissfully. The weatherman promises us yet another beautiful Cypress Point Spa day.

A little reminder. Some of us are forgetting to fill out our luncheon menu. We don't want you to have to wait for service after all that vigorous exercise and delicious pampering of the morning. So do please take a tiny moment to circle your choices before you leave your room now.

In just a moment, we'll be greeting you on our morning walk. Hurry and join us.

And remember, another day at Cypress Point Spa means another set of dazzling hours dedicated to making you a more beautiful person, the kind of person people long to be with, to touch, to love.

Baron and Baroness Helmut von Schreiber

Elizabeth woke long before dawn on Monday morning. Even the swim had not performed its usual magic. For what seemed most of the night, she had been troubled with broken dreams, fragments that came and went intermittently. They were all in the dreams: Mama, Leila, Ted, Craig, Syd, Cheryl, Sammy, Min, Helmut-even Leila's two husbands, those transitory charlatans who had used her success to get themselves into the spotlight: the first an actor, the second a would-be producer and socialite…

At six o'clock she got out of bed, pulled up the shade, then huddled back under the light covers. It was chilly, but she loved to watch the sun come up. It seemed to her that the early morning had a dreamy quality of its own, the human quiet was so absolute. The only sounds came from the seabirds along the shore.

At six thirty there was a tap on the door. Vicky, the maid who brought in the wake-up glass of juice, had been with the Spa for years. She was a sturdy sixty-year-old woman who supplemented her husband's pension by what she sardonically called "carrying breakfast roses to fading blossoms." They greeted each other with the warmth of old friends.

"It feels strange to be on the guest end of the place," Elizabeth commented.

"You earned your right to be here. I saw you in Hilltop. You're a damn good actress."

"I still feel surer of myself teaching water aerobics."

"And Princess Di can always get a job teaching kindergarten. Come off it."

She deliberately waited until she was sure that the daily procession called The Cypress Hike was in progress. By the time she went out, the marchers, led by Min and the Baron, were already nearing the path that led to the coast. The hike took in the Spa property, the Crocker wooded preserve and Cypress Point, wound past the Pebble Beach golf course, circled the Lodge and backtracked to the Spa. In all, it was a brisk fifty-minute exercise, followed by breakfast.

Elizabeth waited until the hikers were out of sight before she began jogging in the opposite direction from them. It was still early, and traffic was light. She would have preferred to run along the coast, where she could have an unbroken view of the ocean, but that would have meant risking being noticed by the others.

If only Sammy were back, she thought as she began to quicken her pace. I could talk to her and be on a plane this afternoon. She wanted to get away from here. If Alvirah Meehan was to be believed, Cheryl had called Leila a "washed-up drunk" last night. And except for Ted, her murderer, everyone else had laughed.

Min, Helmut, Syd, Cheryl, Craig, Ted. The people who had been closest to Leila; the weeping mourners at her memorial service. Oh, Leila! Elizabeth thought. Incongruously, lines from a song she had learned as a child came back to her.

Though all the world betray thee,

One sword at least thy rights shallguard,

One faithful heart shall praise thee.

I'll sing your praises, Leila! Tears stung her eyes, and she dabbed at them impatiently. She began to jog faster, as if to outrun her thoughts. The early-morning mist was being burned away by the sun; the thick shrubbery that bordered the homes along the road was bathed in morning dew; the sea gulls arced overhead and swooped back to the shore. How accurate a witness was Alvirah Meehan? There was something oddly intense about the woman, something that went beyond her excitement at being here.