“Kate, please,” Kate said.

“I’ve played two Kates,” Lillie said firmly, “and you’re not a bit like either of them. If I can’t call you Kathryn, I shall call you Beryl.”

Lillie turned to gesture to two men, who were smoking and talking alongside what appeared to be a large tiled fish pond, sunk into the drawing-room floor. “Before you go, gentlemen, you must be introduced to my houseguest-the famous lady author. She’ll be writing an article about me for The Strand. Lady Charles Sheridan-also known as Beryl.”

As Lillie made introductions, Kate studied the two men. The elder was Captain Dick Doyle, whom Lillie presented as her racing manager, an enormous man in frock coat and waistcoat with a pale gray tie. He was round-cheeked and jovial, but there was a shrewd glint in his piggish eye. Kate felt herself being assessed and swiftly dismissed as being of no possible interest or utility. Lady authors were not, apparently, among the entities he managed.

The other man, slim and youthful in appearance, was natty in a checked tweed suit and red tie with a huge diamond tie tack. His name, Lillie said, was Todhunter Sloan.

“Tod is the brilliant American jockey who introduced short stirrups to England two years ago,” Lillie said, smiling at him playfully. “They all laughed at his style when he first began to ride in this country. A monkey up a stick, they called you, didn’t they, Toddie? But then he showed them how to win races, and they stopped laughing. And now they all try to copy you, don’t they, dear?”

Sloan grinned and tapped his cigarette into a delicate porcelain bowl that did not look in the least like an ashtray. “Damn right, Lil, m’love,” he drawled, in a broad Midwestern accent. “They all want to be just like me, don’cha know.” He snorted disdainfully. “Brit jockeys don’t have the sense the good Lord gave a goose. No idea how to run a race. Hang around at the start like it was a damned Sunday-school picnic and they was waitin’ fer somebody to pour the lemonade.” He threw back his head and guffawed, showing horsy looking yellow teeth.

“There’s nobody like you, Tod, old chap,” the fat man replied in an affably ingratiating tone. “You’re one of a kind.”

“You betch’er boots I am,” the jockey said boastfully. “Can’t nobody come near to Tod Sloan.”

“Except perhaps for the Reiff brothers,” Lillie remarked in an offhand tone, “who seem to be two of a kind.” The corners of her lips curled upward in a slight smile. “Johnny and Lester are doing quite well, wouldn’t you say, Toddie? Riding quite aggressively, scooping up the purses. I’m beginning to fear that these new American jockeys shall give us all a run for our money.”

Tod Sloan’s boyish cheeks grew red and his grin faded. “You don’t need to be afraid of anythin’, Lil. That last time out on Reliable, that was a fluke.” He thought for a moment, scowling; then his voice rose and his tone became belligerent. “Say, you ain’t tryin’ to tell me you don’t want me to ride for you no more, are you? ’Cause if that’s what you want, I c’n oblige you, for certain. I got plenty o’ offers. Why, Lord Beresford tells me that the Prince hisself wants me up. Think o’ that, Lil! The Prince hisself!”

Lillie gave a pretty little pout and put her hand on the jockey’s sleeve. “Of course I want you to keep on riding for me, you silly boy. It’s just that…” She glanced significantly at the captain.

The fat man stepped forward, moving as daintily as a girl. He placed his arm across the jockey’s slender shoulders. “I’m sure our lovely Lillie didn’t speak to offend, old chap. Just to remind you that we have competitors, and that she’s counting on you to bring home a winner, no matter what you might have to do to get it.” He raised both eyebrows and opened his eyes wide. “But that’s the business we’re in, isn’t it? We all need a challenge now and then, don’t we?”

The jockey’s “I s’pose” was sulky, but he brightened at Lillie’s smile. She leaned over and kissed his cheek.

“I know you’ll ride as hard as ever you can for me at Haydock Park on Saturday, dear Tod, and not let those other American jockeys push you around. I’m so sorry I won’t be able to see the race, but I’ll look forward to hearing that you and Reliable have taken a first.” She turned to Doyle. “I leave it to you, Captain, to suggest a winning strategy for the race. And of course, to see that my wagers are placed at the best odds, and that Tod has a handsome present for his work.”

While all this was going on, Kate had wandered over to gaze into the fish pond and discovered it stocked with large goldfish, some in quite striking colors. Standing off to one side, unobserved, she caught the captain’s surreptitious wink at Lillie. While she did not understand all that had been said, she felt quite sure that Lillie and the captain had been putting on a performance for the benefit of the jockey, who was so engrossed in himself that he failed to notice how he was being goaded into some sort of action by two people who were far more shrewd than he. In Kate’s opinion, Todhunter Sloan might be a brilliant jockey, but he was not a very bright man. And Lillie Langtry was extraordinarily skilled at all sorts of performances.

The men took their leave, the door to the dining room opened, and the ladies went in to luncheon, an elaborate affair that included a julienne soup, salmon cutlets, jellied chicken, a garnished tongue, green peas, almond pudding, and a fruit ice, each served in its turn by Williams the butler and a handsomely liveried footman.

“Now, my dear Beryl,” Lillie said confidingly, “while we eat, we shall have a great talk. You can ask me anything you want. There is no need to take notes just now, you can do that later. You are free to use everything I say in your magazine article-although I should like to read it before it is printed.” She tossed her head carelessly. “The press is such a useful tool, but one must exert some small control over it, don’t you agree?”

Afterward, Kate wondered that Lillie could have managed to eat a single bite, and there was certainly no opportunity for her to ask any questions. The actress talked incessantly, punctuating her conversation with practiced gestures and expressive glances from her smoky eyes, which seemed sometimes blue, sometimes gray. She described at great length the amazing success of her most recent theatrical tour of the United States; the fifty thousand pounds she had realized from the sale of her yacht, White Lady, a gift from an admirer named Baird who had died, tragically, before they could enjoy it together; the exploits of her favorite horse, Merman, which she loved above all other things on this earth; her new little house on the Isle of Jersey, which she called Merman Cottage and where Hugo de Bathe often visited her. As she talked, her tone became more confiding and her gestures and expression more intimate, as if she were telling everything about her life. Kate noticed, however, that she failed to mention two other sensational events which the London newspapers had reported extensively: her California divorce, obtained just two years before; and the mysterious death of her former husband, Mr. Edward Langtry.

At the mention of Hugo de Bathe, Lillie paused for a sip of wine and Kate seized the opportunity to speak. “I enjoyed meeting Lord de Bathe,” she said, pretending to more warmth than she felt. “He’s a charming man. He seems to care for you very much.”

“Oh, yes, doesn’t he?” Lillie agreed, smiling languidly over the rim of her glass. “Suggie is a dear, dear boy. I expect we shall be married before the end of summer.” She laughed dryly. “It won’t at all please his father, of course. The old man has threatened to cut Suggie off without a shilling if he marries me.” She added, with a cavalier shrug, “But money matters little to true lovers, don’t you agree? Love is certainly the most important thing in our lives. As my dear friend Oscar Wilde says, ‘They do not sin at all, who sin for love.’ ”