Eight

Min sighed gustily. "That feels good. I swear, you've got better hands than any masseuse in this place."

Helmut leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Liebchen, I love touching you, even if it's only to ease your shoulders."

They were in their apartment, which covered the entire third floor of the main house. Min was seated at her dressing table wearing a loose kimono. She had unpinned her heavy raven-colored hair, and it fell below her shoulders. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Today she was no ad for this place. Shadows under her eyes-how long since she'd had her eyes done? Five years? Something hard to accept was happening. She was fifty-nine years old. Until this last year she could have passed for ten years younger. No more.

Helmut was smiling at her in the mirror. Deliberately, he rested his chin on her head. His eyes were a shade of blue that always reminded her of the waters in the Adriatic Sea around Dubrovnik, where she had been born. The long, distinguished face with its picture-perfect tan was unlined, the dark brown sideburns untouched by gray. Helmut was fifteen years her junior. For the first years of their marriage it hadn't mattered. But now?

She had met him at the spa in Baden-Baden, after Samuel died. Five years of catering to that fussy old man had paid off. He'd left her twelve million dollars and this property.

She hadn't been stupid about Helmut's sudden attentiveness to her. No man becomes enamored of a woman fifteen years his senior unless there's something he wants. At first she had accepted his attentions cynically, but by the end of two weeks she had realized that she was becoming deeply interested in him and in his suggestion that she convert the Cypress Point Hotel into a spa… The cost had been staggering, but Helmut had urged her to consider it an investment, not an expenditure. The day the Spa opened, he had asked her to marry him.

She sighed heavily.

"Minna, what is it?"

How long had they been staring at each other in the mirror? "You know."

He bent down and kissed her cheek.

Incredibly, they'd been happy together. She had never dared tell him how much she loved him, instinctively afraid to hand him that weapon, always watching for signs of restlessness. But he ignored the young women who flirted with him. It was only Leila who had seemed to dazzle him, only Leila who had made her churn in an agony of fear…

Perhaps she had been wrong. If one could believe him, Helmut had actually disliked Leila, even hated her. Leila had been openly contemptuous of him- but then, Leila had been contemptuous of every man she knew well…

The shadows had become long in the room. The breeze from the sea was sharply cooler. Helmut reached his hands under her elbows. "Rest a little. You'll have to put up with the lot of them in less than an hour."

Min clutched his hand. "Helmut, how do you think she'll react?"

"Very badly."

"Don't tell me that," she wailed. "Helmut, you know why I have to try. It's our only chance."

Nine

At seven o'clock, chimes from the main house announced the arrival of the "cocktail" hour, and immediately the paths to the main house became filled with people-singles, couples, groups of three or four. All were well dressed, in semiformal wear, the women in elegant caftans or flowing tunics, the men in blazers, slacks and sport shirts. Blazing gem-stones were mixed with amusing costume pieces. Famous faces greeted each other warmly, or nodded distantly. Soft lights glowed on the veranda, where waiters in ivory-and-blue uniforms served delicate canap6s and alcohol-free "cocktails."

Elizabeth decided to wear the dusty-pink silk jumpsuit with a magenta sash that had been Leila's last birthday present to her. Leila always wrote a note on her personal stationery. The note that had accompanied this outfit was tucked in the back of Elizabeth 's wallet, a talisman of love. She'd written: "It's a long, long way from May to December. Love and Happy Birthday to my darling Capricorn sister from the Taurus kid."

Somehow, wearing that outfit, rereading that note made it easier for Elizabeth to leave the bungalow and start up the path to the main house. She kept a half-smile on her face as she finally saw some of the regulars. Mrs. Lowell from Boston, who had been coming here since Min opened the place; Countess d'Aronne, the brittle, aging beauty, who was at last showing most of her seventy years. The Countess had been an eighteen-year-old bride when her much older husband was murdered. She'd married four times since then, but after every divorce petitioned the French courts to restore her former title.

"You look gorgeous. I helped Leila pick out that jumpsuit on Rodeo Drive." Min's voice boomed in her ear; Min's arm was solidly linked in hers. Elizabeth felt herself being propelled forward. A scent of the ocean mingled with the perfume of roses. The well-bred voices and laughter of the people on the veranda hummed around her. The background music was Serber playing Mendelssohn's Concerto for Violin in E minor. Leila would drop everything to attend a Serber concert.

A waiter offered her a choice of beverages-nonalcoholic wine or a soft drink. She chose the nonalcoholic wine. Leila had been cynical about Min's firm no-alcohol rule. "Listen, Sparrow, half the people who go to that joint are boozers. They all bring some stuff with them, but even so they have to cut down a lot. So they lose some weight, and Min claims credit for the Spa. Don't you think the Baron keeps a supply in that study of his? You bet he does!"

I should have gone to East Hampton, Elizabeth thought. Anywhere-anywhere but here. It was as if she were filled with a sense of Leila's presence, as if Leila were trying to reach her…

" Elizabeth." Min's voice was sharp. Sharp, but also nervous, she realized. "The Countess is talking to you."

"I'm terribly sorry." Affectionately, she reached out to grasp the aristocratic hand that was extended to her.

The Countess smiled warmly. "I saw your last film. You're developing into a very fine actress, cherie."

How like Countess d'Aronne to sense she would not want to discuss Leila. "It was a good role. I was lucky." And then Elizabeth felt her eyes widen. "Min, coming down the path. Isn't that Syd and Cheryl?"

"Yes. They just called this morning. I forgot to tell you. You don't mind that they're here?"

"Of course not. It's only…" Her voice trailed off. She was still embarrassed over the way Leila had humiliated Syd that night in Elaine's. Syd had made Leila a star. No matter what mistakes he'd talked her into those last few years, they didn't stack up against the times he'd nailed down the parts she wanted…

And Cheryl? Under the veneer of friendship, she and Leila had shared an intense professional and personal rivalry. Leila had taken Ted from Cheryl. Cheryl had almost wrecked her career by stepping into Leila's play…

Unconsciously, Elizabeth straightened her back. On the other hand, Syd had made a fortune off Leila's earnings. Cheryl had tried every trick in the book to get Ted back. If only she'd succeeded, Elizabeth thought, Leila might still be alive…

They had spotted her. They both looked as surprised as she felt. The Countess murmured, "Not that dreadful tart, Cheryl Manning…"

They were coming up the steps toward her. Elizabeth studied Cheryl objectively. Her hair was a tangled web around her face. It was much darker than it had been the last time she had seen her, and very becoming. The last time? That had been at Leila's memorial service.

Reluctantly Elizabeth conceded to herself that Cheryl had never looked better. Her smile was dazzling; the famous amber-colored eyes assumed a tender expression. Her greeting would have fooled anyone who didn't know her. "Elizabeth, my darling, I never dreamed I'd see you here, but how wonderful! Has it gone fairly well?"