“This is lovely,” Stone said, sliding her chair under her and taking his own. He tasted the wine and poured two glasses.

“Dig in,” she said. “Don’t let it get cold.”

Stone tasted the risotto, which contained fresh shrimp and asparagus. “Superb. Where’d you learn to cook?”

“At my father’s knee,” she said. “My mother preferred his cooking to hers, so she never entered the kitchen if she could help it. Later, I did a course at Cordon Bleu, in London, and I worked for a while for Prudence Leith, who has a London restaurant and catering service there. I learned a lot from Prue.”

“How’d you come to work for Thad Shames?”

“Last summer I was cooking for a movie producer and his wife in the Hamptons, and Thad came to dinner. The producer was a real shit. He enjoyed ordering me around and complaining about my attitude.”

“Did you have an attitude?”

“Probably. Anyway, he was particularly bad that night, complaining about the food, when everyone else was complimenting it. Finally, I’d had enough. I put dessert on the table and told him I was quitting, and he could do the dishes, then I walked out. I went to my room and packed my suitcase and started walking toward the village, up the dark road. Then Thad pulled up in a car and offered me a lift. He asked where I was going, and I said I didn’t know. He offered me a job cooking for him, drove me back to his place, installed me in the guest house, and I’ve worked for him ever since. The job has grown to include lots of other duties, and I’ve enjoyed it.”

“What would you be doing if you weren’t working for Thad?” Stone asked.

“Probably working in a restaurant and hating it. I don’t like a big kitchen, and you have no social life at all. This job is perfect for me. You aren’t married, are you?”

“No.”

“Ever married?”

“No. Well, once for about fifteen minutes. It was sort of annulled.”

“And where is the ex-wife today?”

“Under full-time psychiatric care. I have that effect on women.”

She laughed. “I won’t pry. I just wanted to know if you were free before…”

“Before what?”

“Before I seduced you.”

“If I weren’t free, would it matter?”

“It certainly would,” she said. “I’ve learned not to get involved with married men.”

“I won’t ask how. Where are you from?”

“I was born in a small town in Georgia, called Delano, but I grew up mostly in Kent, Connecticut.”

“I have a little house in Washington, Connecticut.”

“Nice town.”

“Your folks still there?”

“Both dead. Daddy was a small-town lawyer and banker; my mother wrote short stories and poetry, sometimes for The New Yorker.”

“One of them was Jewish, you said?”

“Mother. She was a New York girl through and through. They met in the city at a party, and she married him and moved to Connecticut with him. She always missed living in New York. How about you?”

“Born and bred in the city. My father was a cabinet and furniture maker, my mother, a painter.”

“Were they good at it?”

“They were. Dad has work in some of the city’s better houses and apartments; Mother has two pictures in the permanent collection of the Metropolitan Museum. Mother and Dad are both gone, now.”

“So we’re both orphans?”

“We are, I guess.”

They finished the risotto, and Callie served them a salad, then dessert-old-fashioned chocolate cake.

They took their coffee onto the afterdeck and settled into the banquette that ran around the stern railing.

“So, did you have a productive day?”

“I did.”

“How did your lunch with the dead lady go?”

“Very well. I believe I solved her problem.”

Callie set down her coffee cup. “Now,” she said, “how do I go about seducing you? Do I just stick my tongue in your ear, or what?”

“It’s easier than that.” Stone took her face in his hands and kissed her for quite a long time. Their temperatures rose quickly.

“There may be crew about,” she breathed between kisses. “We’d better go to your cabin.”

“Oh, yes,” Stone said.

She took his hand and led him forward. In less than a minute they were standing at the end of his bed, undressing each other. In Callie’s case, it was quick; she was wearing only the two pieces. She sat on the bed and watched him peel off his clothes.

He knelt before her and began kissing the inside of her thighs, as she ran her fingers through his hair. He pushed her back on the bed and explored her delta, kissing the soft, blond fur at the edges. She gave a little shudder as he took her into his mouth. It took only a minute for her to come, and when she was finished, she pulled him onto her by his ears and felt for him, guiding him in.

“I love the first time,” she said, as they made love. “It’s always so…”

“So new,” Stone panted.

“And exciting.”

“Sometimes it gets better as it goes along,” he said, thrusting.

She thrust back. “We’ll see,” she said, and they both came together.

When Stone awoke his cabin was filled with sunshine, and it was past eleven o’clock. He never slept that late, and he was surprised. Callie was gone, and her side of the bed had been made. He shaved and showered, got into some slacks and a polo shirt and, since the palms outside were moving with the breeze, tied a light cashmere sweater around his shoulders.

He found Callie on the afterdeck in a bikini, reading a novel.

“Good morning,” he said, kissing her.

She kissed him back. “You slept late,” she said.

“Something I rarely do. I must have been tired.”

She chuckled. “I should hope so.”

“You look awfully fresh,” he said.

“I’ve only been up for half an hour.”

“Good book?”

“Starts really well. A writer I haven’t read before, but I saw a good review in the Times Book Review last week. Fellow named…” She looked at the cover. “Frederick James.”

“I don’t know him, either.”

“A first novel, the review said. You had breakfast?”

“No, I was considering waiting for lunch.”

“How about brunch? I’ll take you to the Breakers.”

“Isn’t that a hotel?”

“Yes, and it has a nice beach club.”

“Am I dressed properly?”

“Very.” She stood up. “I’ll get into some real clothes.” She put down the book and walked off toward her cabin.

Stone sat down and picked up the book. He read a couple of pages, and by the time she returned, he had read thirty. “You’re right,” he said, “it starts well.” He looked up at her. “You look wonderful.”

“Thank you, sir.” She was wearing a yellow shift that set off her tan.

They walked through the main house, and as they were about to get into her car, a small procession of Mercedes convertibles pulled into the driveway behind them, and a man got out of one and came toward them, carrying a clipboard.

“Where could I find Mr. Shames?” he asked.

“He’s on his way to Palm Beach, but he won’t be arriving until this afternoon.”

“Are you Ms. Hodges?”

“I am.”

“Oh, good. You can sign for the cars.”

She looked at the three convertibles. “Sign for them?”

“I’m delivering them from the dealer,” the man said. “Mr. Shames ordered them some time ago.”

“Sure, I’ll sign,” Callie said, and did so. “Just leave the keys in them.”

“They’re all registered. You want me to show you how everything works?”

“We’ll figure it out,” she said, getting into her car. She pulled out of the drive and headed toward the beach.

“Thad has bought three Mercedes convertibles?”

“He does things like that. Come to think of it, he mentioned this a few weeks ago, and I had forgotten. He bought them for himself and the guests on the yacht to use.”

“I’m unaccustomed to people who buy expensive cars three at a time.”

“Well, if you’re going to work for Thad, you’d better get used to that sort of thing.”