"Master of the Game" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sheldon Sidney)

BOOK FIVE Eve and Alexandra 1950-1975

Kate recuperated at Dark Harbor, letting the sun and the sea heal her.

Tony was in a private asylum, where he could get the best care possible. Kate had psychiatrists flown in from Paris, Vienna and Berlin, but when all the examinations and tests had been completed, the diagnosis was the same: Her son was a homicidal schizophrenic and paranoiac.

"He doesn't, respond to drugs or psychiatric treatment, and he's violent. We have to keep him under restraint."

"What kind of restraint?" Kate asked.

"He's in a padded cell. Most of the time we have to keep him in a straitjacket."

"Is that necessary?"

"Without it, Mrs. Blackwell, he would kill anyone who got near him."

She closed her eyes in pain. This was not her sweet, gentle Tony they were talking about. It was a stranger, someone possessed. She opened her eyes. "Is there nothing that can be done?"

"Not if we can't reach his mind. We're keeping him on drugs,

but the moment they wear off, he gets manic again. We can't continue this treatment indefinitely."

Kate stood very straight. "What do you suggest, Doctor?"

"In similar cases, we've found that removing a small portion of the brain has produced remarkable results."

Kate swallowed. "A lobotomy?"

"That is correct. Your son will still be able to function in every way, except that he will no longer have any strong dysfunctional emotions."

Kate sat there, her mind and body chilled. Dr. Morris, a young doctor from the Menninger Clinic, broke the silence. "I know how difficult this must be for you, Mrs. Blackwell. If you'd like to think about—"

"If that's the only thing that will stop his torment," Kate said, "do it."

Frederick Hoffman wanted his granddaughters. "I will take them back to Germany with me."

It seemed to Kate that he had aged twenty years since Marianne's death. Kate felt sorry for him, but she had no intention of giving up Tony's children. "They need a woman's care, Frederick. Marianne would have wanted them brought up here. You'll come and visit them often."

And he was finally persuaded.

The twins were moved into Kate's home, and a nursery suite was set up for them. Kate interviewed governesses, and finally hired a young French woman named Solange Dunas.

Kate named the first-born Eve, and her twin, Alexandra. They were identical—impossible to tell apart. Seeing them together was like looking at an image in a mirror, and Kate marveled at the double miracle that her son and Marianne had created. They were both bright babies, quick and responsive, but even after a few weeks, Eve seemed more mature than Alexandra. Eve was the first to crawl and talk and walk. Alexandra followed quickly, but from the beginning it was Eve who was the leader. Alexandra adored her sister and tried to  imitate everything she did. Kate spent as much time with her granddaughters as possible. They made her feel young. And Kate began to dream again. One day, when I'm old and ready to retire...

On the twins' first birthday, Kate gave them a party. They each had an identical birthday cake, and there were dozens of presents from friends, company employees and the household staff. Their second birthday party seemed to follow almost immediately. Kate could not believe how rapidly the time went by and how quickly the twins were growing. She was able to discern even more clearly the differences in their personalities: Eve, the stronger, was more daring, Alexandra was softer, content to follow her sister's lead. With no mother or father, Kate thought repeatedly, it's a blessing that they have each other and love each other so much.

The night before their fifth birthday, Eve tried to murder Alexandra.

It is written in Genesis 25: 22-23:

And the children struggled together within her ...

And the Lord said unto her, Two [nations] are in thy womb, and two manner of people shall be separated from thy bowels; and the one [people] shall be stronger than the other [people]; and the elder shall serve the younger.

In the case of Eve and Alexandra, Eve had no intention of serving her younger sister.

Eve had hated her sister for as long as she could remember. She went into a silent rage when someone picked up Alexandra, or petted her or gave her a present. Eve felt she was being cheated. She wanted it all for herself—all the love and the beautiful things that surrounded the two of them. She could not have even a birthday of her own. She hated Alexandra for look-ing like her, dressing like her, stealing the part of her grandmother's love that belonged to her. Alexandra adored Eve, and Eve despised her for that. Alexandra was generous, eager to give up her toys and dolls, and that filled Eve with still more contempt. Eve shared nothing. What was hers belonged to her; but it was not enough. She wanted everything Alexandra had. At night, under the watchful eye of Solange Dunas, both girls would say their prayers aloud, but Eve always added a silent prayer begging God to strike Alexandra dead. When the prayer went unanswered, Eve decided she would have to take care of it herself. Their fifth birthday was only a few days away, and Eve could not bear the thought of sharing another party with Alexandra. They were her friends, and her gifts that her sister was stealing from her. She had to kill Alexandra soon.

On the night before their birthday, Eve lay in her bed, wide awake. When she was sure the household was asleep, she went over to Alexandra's bed and awakened her. "Alex," she whispered, "let's go down to the kitchen and see our birthday cakes."

Alexandra said sleepily, "Everybody's sleeping."

"We won't wake anyone up."

"Mademoiselle Dunas won't like it. Why don't we look at the cakes in the morning?"

"Because I want to look at them now. Are you coming or not?"

Alexandra rubbed the sleep out of her eyes. She had no interest in seeing the birthday cakes, but she did not want to hurt her sister's feelings. "I'm coming," she said.

Alexandra got out of bed and put on a pair of slippers. Both girls wore pink nylon nightgowns.

"Come on," Eve said. "And don't make any noise."

"I won't," Alexandra promised.

They tiptoed out of their bedroom, into the long corridor, past the closed door of Mademoiselle Dunas's bedroom, down the steep back stairs that led to the kitchen. It was an enormous kitchen, with two large gas stoves, six ovens, three refrigerators and a walk-in freezer.

In the refrigerator Eve found the birthday cakes that the cook,

Mrs. Tyler, had made. One of them said Happy Birthday, Alexandra. The other said Happy Birthday, Eve.

Next year, Eve thought happily, there will only be one.

Eve took Alexandra's cake out of the refrigerator and placed it on the wooden chopping block in the middle of the kitchen. She opened a drawer and took out a package of brightly colored candles.

"What are you doing?" Alexandra asked.

"I want to see how it looks with the candles all lighted." Eve began pressing the candles into the icing of the cake.

"I don't think you should do that, Eve. You'll ruin the cake. Mrs. Tyler is going to be angry."

"She won't mind." Eve opened another drawer and took out two large boxes of kitchen matches. "Come on, help me."

"I want to go back to bed."

Eve turned on her angrily. "All right. Go back to bed, scaredy cat. I'll do it alone."

Alexandra hesitated. "What do you want me to do?"

Eve handed her one of the boxes of matches. "Start lighting the candles."

Alexandra was afraid of fire. Both girls had been warned again and again about the danger of playing with matches. They knew the horror stories about children who had disobeyed that rule. But Alexandra did not want to disappoint Eve, and so she obediently began lighting the candles.

Eve watched her a moment. "You're leaving out the ones on the other side, silly," she said.

Alexandra leaned over to reach the candles at the far side of the cake, her back to Eve. Quickly, Eve struck a match and touched it to the matches in the box she was holding. As they burst into flames, Eve dropped the box at Alexandra's feet, so that the bottom of Alexandra's nightgown caught fire. It was an instant before Alexandra was aware of what was happening. When she felt the first agonizing pain against her legs, she looked down and screamed, "Help! Help me!"

Eve stared at the flaming nightgown a moment, awed by the extent of her success. Alexandra was standing there, petrified, frozen with fear.

"Don't move!" Eve said. "I'll get a bucket of water." She hurried off to the butler's pantry, her heart pounding with a fearful joy.

It was a horror movie that saved Alexandra's life. Mrs. Tyler, the Blackwells' cook, had been escorted to the cinema by a police sergeant whose bed she shared from time to time. On this particular evening, the motion-picture screen was so filled with dead and mutilated bodies that finally Mrs. Tyler could bear it no longer. In the middle of a beheading, she said, 'This may all be in a day's work for you, Richard, but I've had enough."

Sergeant Richard Dougherty reluctantly followed her out of the theater.

They arrived back at the Blackwell mansion an hour earlier than they had expected to, and as Mrs. Tyler opened the back door, she heard Alexandra's screams coming from the kitchen. Mrs. Tyler and Sergeant Dougherty rushed in, took one horrified look at the scene before them and went into action. The sergeant leaped at Alexandra and ripped off her flaming nightgown. Her legs and hips were blistered, but the flames had not reached her hair or the front of her body. Alexandra fell to the floor, unconscious. Mrs. Tyler filled a large pot with water and poured it over the flames licking at the floor.

"Call an ambulance," Sergeant Dougherty ordered. "Is Mrs. Blackwell home?"

"She should be upstairs asleep."

"Wake her up."

As Mrs. Tyler finished phoning for an ambulance, there was a cry from the butler's pantry, and Eve ran in carrying a pan of water, sobbing hysterically. "Is Alexandra dead?" Eve screamed. "Is she dead?"

Mrs. Tyler took Eve in her arms to soothe her. "No, darling, she's all right. She's going to be just fine."

"It was my fault," Eve sobbed. "She wanted to light the candles on her birthday cake. I shouldn't have let her do it."

Mrs. Tyler stroked Eve's back. "It's all right. You mustn't blame yourself."

"The m-matches fell out of my hand, and Alex caught on fire. It was t-terrible."

Sergeant Dougherty looked at Eve and said sympathetically, "Poor child."

"Alexandra has second-degree burns on her legs and back," Dr. Harley told Kate, "but she's going to be fine. We can do amazing things with burns these days. Believe me, this could have been a terrible tragedy."

"I know," Kate said. She had seen Alexandra's burns, and they had filled her with horror. She hesitated a moment. "John, I think I'm even more concerned about Eve."

"Was Eve hurt?"

"Not physically, but the poor child blames herself for the accident. She's having terrible nightmares. The last three nights I've had to go in and hold her in my arms before she could go back to sleep. I don't want this to become more traumatic. Eve is very sensitive."

"Kids get over things pretty quickly, Kate. If there's any problem, let me know, and I'll recommend a child therapist."

"Thank you," Kate said gratefully.

Eve was terribly upset. The birthday party had been canceled. Alexandra cheated me out of that, Eve thought bitterly.

Alexandra healed perfectly, with no signs of scars. Eve got over her feelings of guilt with remarkable ease. As Kate assured her, "Accidents can happen to anybody, darling. You mustn't Name yourself."

Eve didn't. She blamed Mrs. Tyler. Why did she have to come home and spoil everything? It had been a perfect plan.

The sanitarium where Tony was confined was in a peaceful, wooded area in Connecticut. Kate was driven out to see him once a month. The lobotomy had been successful. There was no longer the slightest sign of aggression in Tony. He recognized

Kate and he always politely asked about Eve and Alexandra, but he showed no interest in seeing them. He showed very little interest in anything. He seemed happy. No, not happy, Kate corrected herself. Content. But content—to do what?

Kate asked Mr. Burger, the superintendent of the asylum, "Doesn't my son do anything all day?"

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Blackwell. He sits by the hour and paints."

Her son, who could have owned the world, sat and painted all day. Kate tried not to think of the waste, that brilliant mind gone forever. "What does he paint?"

The man was embarrassed. "No one can quite figure it out."

During the next two years, Kate became seriously concerned about Alexandra. The child was definitely accident-prone. During Eve and Alexandra's summer vacation at the Blackwell estate in the Bahamas, Alexandra almost drowned while playing with Eve in the pool, and it was only the prompt intervention of a gardener that saved her. The following year when the two girls were on a picnic in the Palisades, Alexandra somehow slipped off the edge of a cliff and saved herself by clinging to a shrub growing out of the steep mountainside.

"I wish you would keep a closer eye on your sister," Kate told Eve. "She can't seem to take care of herself the way you can."

"I know," Eve said solemnly. "I'll watch her, Gran."

Kate loved both her granddaughters, but in different ways. They were seven years old now, and identically beautiful, with long, soft blond hair, exquisite features and the McGregor eyes. They looked alike, but their personalities were quite different. Alexandra's gentleness reminded Kate of Tony, while Eve was more like her, headstrong and self-sufficient.

A chauffeur drove them to school in the family Rolls-Royce. Alexandra was embarrassed to have her classmates see her with the car and chauffeur; Eve reveled in it. Kate gave each girl a weekly allowance, and ordered them to keep a record of how they spent it. Eve invariably ran short of money before the week was out and borrowed from Alexandra. Eve learned to adjust the books so that Gran would not know. But Kate knew, and she could hardly hold back her smile. Seven years old and already a creative accountant!

In the beginning, Kate had nurtured a secret dream that one day Tony would be well again, that he would leave the asylum and return to Kruger-Brent. But as time passed, the dream slowly faded. It was tacitly understood that while Tony might leave the asylum for short visits, accompanied by a male nurse, he would never again be able to participate in the outside world.

It was 1962, and as Kruger-Brent, Ltd., prospered and expanded, the demands for new leadership grew more urgent. Kate celebrated her seventieth birthday. Her hair was white now, and she was a remarkable figure of a woman, strong and erect and vital. She was aware that the attrition of time would overtake her. She had to be prepared. The company had to be safeguarded for the family. Brad Rogers was a good manager, but he was not a Blackwell. I have to last until the twins can take over. She thought of Cecil Rhodes's last words: "So little done—so much to do."

The twins were twelve years old, on the verge of becoming young ladies. Kate had spent as much time with them as she possibly could, but now she turned even more of her attention to them. It was time to make an important decision.

During Easter week, Kate and the twins flew to Dark Harbor in a company plane. The girls had visited all the family estates except the one in Johannesburg, and of them all, Dark Harbor was their favorite. They enjoyed the wild freedom and the seclusion of the island. They loved to sail and swim and water-ski, and Dark Harbor held all these things for them. Eve asked if she could bring some schoolmates along, as she had in the past, but this time her grandmother refused. Grandmother, that powerful, imposing figure who swept in and out, dropping off a pres-ent here, a kiss on the cheek there, with occasional admonitions about how young ladies behaved, wanted to be alone with them. This time the girls sensed that something different was happening. Their grandmother was with them at every meal. She took them boating and swimming and even riding. Kate handled her horse with the sureness of an expert.

The girls still looked amazingly alike, two golden beauties, but Kate was interested less in their similarities than in their differences. Sitting on the veranda watching them as they finished a tennis game, Kate summed them up in her mind. Eve was the leader, Alexandra the follower. Eve had a stubborn streak. Alexandra was flexible. Eve was a natural athlete. Alexandra was still having accidents. Only a few days before, when the two girls were out alone in a small sailboat with Eve at the rudder, the wind had come behind the sail and the sail had luffed, swinging it crashing toward Alexandra's head. She had not gotten out of the way in time and had been swept overboard and nearly drowned. Another boat nearby had assisted Eve in rescuing her sister. Kate wondered whether all these things could have anything to do with Alexandra having been born three minutes later than Eve, but the reasons did not matter. Kate had made her decision. There was no longer any question in her mind. She was putting her money on Eve, and it was a ten-billion-dollar bet. She would find a perfect consort for Eve, and when Kate retired, Eve would run Kruger-Brent. As for Alexandra, she would have a life of wealth and comfort. She might be very good working on the charitable grants Kate had set up. Yes, that would be perfect for Alexandra. She was such a sweet and compassionate child.

The first step toward implementing Kate's plan was to see that Eve got into the proper school. Kate chose Briarcrest, an excel-lent school in South Carolina. "Both my granddaughters are delightful" Kate informed Mrs. Chandler, the headmistress, 'But you'll find that Eve is the clever one. She's an extraordi-nary girl, and I'm sure you'll see to it that she has every advan-age here,"

"All our students have every advantage here, Mrs. Blackwell. You spoke of Eve. What about her sister?"

"Alexandra? A lovely girl." It was a pejorative. Kate stood up. "I shall be checking their progress regularly."

In some odd way, the headmistress felt the words were a warning.

Eve and Alexandra adored the new school, particularly Eve. She enjoyed the freedom of being away from home, of not having to account to her grandmother and Solange Dunas. The rules at Briarcrest were strict, but that did not bother Eve, for she was adept at getting around rules. The only thing that disturbed her was that Alexandra was there with her. When Eve first heard the news about Briarcrest, she begged, "May I go alone? Please, Gran?"

And Kate said, "No, darling. I think it's better if Alexandra goes with you."

Eve concealed her resentment. "Whatever you say, Gran."

She was always very polite and affectionate around her grandmother. Eve knew where the power lay. Their father was a crazy man, locked up in an insane asylum. Their mother was dead. It was their grandmother who controlled the money. Eve knew they were rich. She had no idea how much money there was, but it was a lot—enough to buy all the beautiful things she wanted. Eve loved beautiful things. There was only one problem: Alexandra.

One of the twins' favorite activities at Briarcrest School was the morning riding class. Most of the girls owned their own jumpers, and Kate had given each twin one for her twelfth birthday. Jerome Davis, the riding instructor, watched as his pupils went through their paces in the ring, jumping over a one-foot stile, then a two-foot stile and finally a four-foot stile. Davis was one of the best riding teachers in the country. Several of his former pupils had gone on to win gold medals, and he was adept at spotting a natural-born rider. The new girl, Eve Blackwell, was a natural. She did not have to think about what she was doing, how to hold the reins or post in the saddle. She and her horse were one, and as they sailed over the hurdles, Eve's golden hair flying in the wind, it was a beautiful sight to behold. Nothing's going to stop that one, Mr. Davis thought.

Tommy, the young groom, favored Alexandra. Mr. Davis watched Alexandra saddle up her horse, preparing for her turn. Alexandra and Eve wore different-colored ribbons on their sleeves so he could tell them apart. Eve was helping Alexandra saddle her horse while Tommy was busy with another student. Davis was summoned to the main building for a telephone call, and what happened after that was a matter of great confusion.

From what Jerome Davis was able to piece together later, Alexandra mounted her horse, circled the ring and started toward the first low jump. Her horse inexplicably began rearing and bucking, and threw Alexandra into a wall. She was knocked unconscious, and it was only by inches that the wild horse's hooves missed her face. Tommy carried Alexandra to the infirmary, where the school doctor diagnosed a mild concussion.

"Nothing broken, nothing serious," he said. "By tomorrow morning, she'll be right as rain, ready to get up on her horse again."

"But she could have been killed!" Eve screamed.

Eve refused to leave Alexandra's side. Mrs. Chandler thought the had never seen such devotion in a sister. It was truly touching.

When Mr. Davis was finally able to corral Alexandra's horse to unsaddle it, he found the saddle blanket stained with blood. He lifted it off and discovered a large piece of jagged metal from a beer can still protruding from the horse's back, where it had been pressed down by the saddle. When he reported this to Mrs. Chandler, she started an immediate investigation. All the girls who had been in the vicinity of the stable were questioned.

'I'm sure," Mrs. Chandler said, "that whoever put that piece of metal there thought she was playing a harmless prank, but it could have led to very serious consequences. I want the name of the girl who did it."

When no one volunteered, Mrs. Chandler talked to them in her office, one by one. Each girl denied any knowledge of what had happened. When it was Eve's turn to be questioned, she seemed oddly ill at ease.

"Do you have any idea who could have done this to your sister?" Mrs. Chandler asked.

Eve looked down at the rug. "I'd rather not say," she mumbled.

"Then you did see something?"

"Please, Mrs. Chandler ..."

"Eve, Alexandra could have1 been seriously hurt. The girl who did this must be punished so that it does not happen again."

"It wasn't one of the girls."

"What do you mean?"

"It was Tommy."

"The groom?"

"Yes, ma'am. I saw him. I thought he was just tightening the cinch. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm. Alexandra orders him around a lot, and I guess he wanted to teach her a lesson. Oh, Mrs. Chandler, I wish you hadn't made me tell you. I don't want to get anyone in trouble." The poor child was on the verge of hysteria.

Mrs. Chandler walked around the desk and put her arm around her. "It's all right, Eve. You did right to tell me. Now you just forget about everything. I'll take care of it."

The following morning when the girls went out to the stables, there was a new groom.

A few months later, there was another unpleasant incident at the school. Several of the girls had been caught smoking marijuana and one of them accused Eve of supplying it and selling it Eve angrily denied it. A search by Mrs. Chandler revealed marijuana hidden in Alexandra's locker.

"I don't believe she did it," Eve said stoutly. "Someone put it there. I know it."

An account of the incident was sent to Kate by the headmis-tress, and Kate admired Eve's loyalty in shielding her sister. She was a McGregor, all right.

On the twins' fifteenth birthday, Kate took them to the estate in South Carolina, where she gave a large party for them. It was not too early to see to it that Eve was exposed to the proper young men, and every eligible young man around was invited to the girls' party.

The boys were at the awkward age where they were not yet seriously interested in girls, but Kate made it her business to see that acquaintances were made and friendships formed. Somewhere among these young boys could be the man in Eve's future, the future of Kruger-Brent, Ltd.

Alexandra did not enjoy parties, but she always pretended she was having a good time in order not to disappoint her grandmother. Eve adored parties. She loved dressing up, being admired. Alexandra preferred reading and painting. She spent hours looking at her father's paintings at Dark Harbor, and she wished she could have known him before he became ill. He appeared at the house on holidays with his male companion, but Alexandra found it impossible to reach her father. He was a pleasant, amiable stranger who wanted to please, but had nothing to say. Their grandfather, Frederick Hoffman, lived in Germany, but was ill. The twins seldom saw him.

In her second year at school, Eve became pregnant. For several weeks she had been pale and listless and had missed some morning classes. When she began to have frequent periods of nausea, she was sent to the infirmary and examined. Mrs. Chandler had been hastily summoned.

"Eve is pregnant," the doctor told her.

"But—that's impossible! How could it have happened?"

The doctor replied mildly, "In the usual fashion, I would pre-sume."

"But she's just a child."

"Well, this child is going to be a mother."

Eve bravely refused to talk. "I don't want to get anyone in trouble," she kept saying.

It was the kind of answer Mrs. Chandler expected from Eve.

"Eve, dear, you must tell me what happened."

And so at last Eve broke down. "I was raped," she said, and burst into tears.

Mrs. Chandler was shocked. She held Eve's trembling body close to her and demanded, "Who was it?"

"Mr. Parkinson,"

Her English teacher.

If it had been anyone else but Eve, Mrs. Chandler would not have believed it. Joseph Parkinson was a quiet man with a wife and three children. He had taught at Briarcrest School for eight years, and he was the last one Mrs. Chandler would have ever suspected. She called him into her office, and she knew instantly that Eve had told the truth. He sat facing her, his face twitching with nervousness.

"You know why I've sent for you, Mr. Parkinson?"

"I—I think so."

"It concerns Eve."

"Yes. I—I guessed that."

"She says you raped her."

Parkinson looked at her in disbelief. "Raped her? My God! If anyone was raped, it was me." In his excitement he lapsed into the ungrammatical.

Mrs. Chandler said contemptuously, "Do you know what you're saying? That child is—"

"She's not a child." His voice was venomous. "She's a devil." He wiped the perspiration from his brow. "All semester she sat in the front row of my class, with her dress hiked up. After class she would come up and ask a lot of meaningless questions while she rubbed herself against me. I didn't take her seriously. Then one afternoon about six weeks ago she came over to my house when my wife and children were away and—" His voice broke. "Oh, Jesus! I couldn't help it." He burst into tears.

They brought Eve into the office. Her manner was composed. She looked into Mr. Parkinson's eyes, and it was he who turned away first. In the office were Mrs. Chandler, the assistant principal and the chief of police of the small town where the school was located.

The chief of police said gently, "Do you want to tell us what happened, Eve?"

"Yes, sir." Eve's voice was calm. "Mr. Parkinson said he wanted to discuss my English work with me. He asked me to come to his house on a Sunday afternoon. He was alone in the house. He said he wanted to show me something in the bedroom, so I followed him upstairs. He forced me onto the bed, and he—"

"It's a he!" Parkinson yelled. "That's not the way it happened, that's not the way it happened ..."

Kate was sent for, and the situation was explained to her. It was decided that it was in everyone's interest to keep the incident quiet. Mr. Parkinson was dismissed from the school and given forty-eight hours to leave the state. An abortion was discreetly arranged for Eve.

Kate quietly bought up the school mortgage, carried by a local bank, and foreclosed.

When Eve heard the news, she sighed, "I'm so sorry, Gran. I really liked that school."

A few weeks later when Eve had recovered from her operation, she and Alexandra were registered at L'Institut Fernwood, a Swiss finishing school near Lausanne.

There was a fire burning in Eve that was so fierce she could not put it out. It was not sex alone: That was only a small part of it. It was a rage to live, a need to do everything, be everything. Life was a lover, and Eve was desperate to possess it with all she had in her. She was jealous of everyone. She went to the ballet and hated the ballerina because she herself was not up there dancing and winning the cheers of the audience. She wanted to be a scientist, a singer, a surgeon, a pilot, an actress. She wanted to do everything, and do it better than anyone else had ever done it. She wanted it all, and she could not wait.

Across the valley from L'Institut Fernwood was a boys' military school. By the time Eve was seventeen, nearly every student and almost half the instructors were involved with her. She flirted outrageously and had affairs indiscriminately, but this time she took proper precautions, for she had no intention of ever getting pregnant again. She enjoyed sex, but it was not the act itself Eve loved, it was the power it gave her. She was the one in control. She gloated over the pleading looks of the boys and men who wanted to take her to bed and make love to her. She enjoyed teasing them and watching their hunger grow. She en-joyed the lying promises they made in order to possess her. But most of all, Eve enjoyed the power she had over their bodies. She could bring them to an erection with a kiss, and wither them with a word. She did not need them, they needed her. She controlled them totally, and it was a tremendous feeling. Within minutes she could measure a man's strengths and weaknesses. She decided men were fools, all of them.

Eve was beautiful and intelligent and an heiress to one of the world's great fortunes, and she had had more than a dozen serious proposals of marriage. She was not interested. The only boys who attracted her were the ones Alexandra liked.

At a Saturday-night school dance, Alexandra met an attentive young French student named Rene Mallot. He was not handsome, but he was intelligent and sensitive, and Alexandra thought he was wonderful. They arranged to meet in town the following Saturday.

"Seven o'clock," Rene said.

"I'll be waiting."

In their room that night, Alexandra told Eve about her new friend. "He's not like the other boys. He's rather shy and sweet. We're going to the theater Saturday."

"You like him a lot, don't you, little sister?" Eve teased.

Alexandra blushed. "I just met him, but he seems— Well, you know."

Eve lay back on her bed, hands clasped behind her head. "No, I don't know. Tell me. Did he try to take you to bed?"

"Eve! He's not that kind of boy at all. I told you... he's—he's shy."

"Well, well. My little sister's in love."

"Of course I'm not! Now I wish I hadn't told you."

"I'm glad you did," Eve said sincerely.

When Alexandra arrived in front of the theater the following Saturday, Rene was nowhere in sight. Alexandra waited on the street corner for more than an hour, ignoring the stares of pass-ers-by, feeling like a fool. Finally she had a bad dinner alone in a small cafe and returned to school, miserable. Eve was not in their room. Alexandra read until curfew and then turned out the lights. It was almost two a.m. when Alexandra heard Eve sneak into the room.

"I was getting worried about you," Alexandra whispered.

"I ran into some old friends. How was your evening—divine?"

"It was dreadful. He never even bothered to show up."

"That's a shame," Eve said sympathetically. "But you must learn never to trust a man."

"You don't think anything could have happened to him?"

"No, Alex. I think he probably found somebody he liked better."

Of course he did, Alexandra thought. She was not really surprised. She had no idea how beautiful she was, or how admirable. She had lived all her life in the shadow of her twin sister. She adored her, and it seemed only right to Alexandra that everyone should be attracted to Eve. She felt inferior to Eve, but it never occurred to her that her sister had been carefully nourishing that feeling since they were children.

There were other broken dates. Boys Alexandra liked would seem to respond to her, and then she would never see them again. One weekend she ran into Rene unexpectedly on the streets of Lausanne. He hurried up to her and said, "What happened? You promised you would call me."

"Call you? What are you talking about?"

He stepped back, suddenly wary. "Eve... ?"

"No, Alexandra."

His face flushed. "I—I'm sorry. I have to go." And he hurried away, leaving her staring after him in confusion.

That evening when Alexandra told Eve about the incident, Eve shrugged and said, "He's obviously fou. You're much better off without him, Alex."

In spite of her feeling of expertise about men, there was one male weakness of which Eve was unaware, and it almost proved to be her undoing. From the beginning of time, men have boasted of their conquests, and the students at the military school were no different. They discussed Eve Blackwell with admiration and awe.

"When she was through with me, I couldn't move ..."

"I never thought I'd have a piece of ass like that..."

"She's got a pussy that talks to you ..."

"God, she's like a tigress in bed!"

Since at least two dozen boys and half a dozen teachers were praising Eve's libidinous talents, it soon became the school's worst-kept secret. One of the instructors at the military school mentioned the gossip to a teacher at L'Institut Fernwood, and she in turn reported it to Mrs. Collins, the headmistress. A discreet investigation was begun, and the result was a meeting between the headmistress and Eve.

"I think it would be better for the reputation of this school if you left immediately."

Eve stared at Mrs. Collins as though the lady were demented. "What on earth are you talking about?"

'I'm talking about the fact that you have been servicing half the military academy. The other half seems to be lined up, eagerly waiting."

"I've never heard such terrible lies in my whole life." Eve's voice was quivering with indignation. "Don't think I'm not going to report this to my grandmother. When she hears—"

"I will spare you the trouble," the headmistress interrupted. "I would prefer to avoid embarrassment to L'Institut Fernwood, but if you do not leave quietly, I have a list of names I intend to send to your grandmother."

"I'd like to see that list!"

Mrs. Collins handed it to Eve without a word. It was a long list. Eve studied it and noted that at least seven names were missing. She sat there, quietly thinking.

Finally she looked up and said imperiously, 'This is obviously some kind of plot against my family. Someone is trying to embarrass my grandmother through me. Rather than let that happen, I will leave."

"A very wise decision," Mrs. Collins said dryly. "A car will drive you to the airport in the morning. I'll cable your grandmother that you're coming home. You're dismissed." Eve turned and started for the door, then suddenly thought of something. "What about my sister?" "Alexandra may remain here."

When Alexandra returned to the dormitory after her last class, she found Eve packing. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going home."

"Home? In the middle of the term?"

Eve turned to face her sister. "Alex, don't you really have any idea what a waste this school is? We're not learning anything here. We're just killing time."

Alexandra was listening in surprise. "I had no idea you felt that way, Eve."

"I've felt like this every damn day for the whole bloody year. The only reason I stuck it out was because of you. You seemed to be enjoying it so much."

"I am, but—"

"I'm sorry, Alex. I just can't take it any longer. I want to get back to New York. I want to go home where we belong."

"Have you told Mrs. Collins?"

"A few minutes ago."

"How did she take it?"

"How did you expect her to take it? She was miserable— afraid it would make her school look bad. She begged me to stay."

Alexandra sat down on the edge of the bed. "I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. This has nothing to do with you."

"Of course it has. If you're that unhappy here—" She stopped. "You're probably right. It is a bloody waste of time. Who needs to conjugate Latin verbs?"

"Right. Or who gives a fig about Hannibal or his bloody brother, Hasdrubal?"

Alexandra walked over to the closet, took out her suitcase and put it on the bed.

Eve smiled. "I wasn't going to ask you to leave here, Alex, but I'm really glad we're going home together."

Alexandra pressed her sister's hand. "So am I."

Eve said casually, "Tell you what. While I finish packing, call Gran and tell her we'll be on the plane home tomorrow. Tell her we can't stand this place. Will you do that?"

'Yes." Alexandra hesitated. "I don't think she's going to like it."

"Don't worry about the old lady," Eve said confidently. "I can handle her."

And Alexandra had no reason to doubt it. Eve was able to make Gran do pretty much what she wanted. But then, Alexandra thought, how could anyone refuse Eve anything?

She went to make the phone call.

Kate Blackwell had friends and enemies and business associates in high places, and for the last few months disturbing rumors had been coming to her ears. In the beginning she had ignored them as petty jealousies. But they persisted. Eve was seeing too much of the boys at a military school in Switzerland. Eve had an abortion. Eve was being treated for a social disease.

Thus, it was with a degree of relief that Kate learned that her granddaughters were coming home. She intended to get to the bottom of the vile rumors.

The day the girls arrived, Kate was at home waiting for them. She took Eve into the sitting room off her bedroom. "I've been hearing some distressing stories," she said. "I want to know why you were thrown out of school." Her eyes bored into those of her granddaughter.

"We weren't thrown out," Eve replied. "Alex and I decided to leave."

"Because of some incidents with boys?"

Eve said, "Please, Grandmother. I'd rather not talk about it."

"I'm afraid you're going to have to. What have you been doing?"

"I haven't been doing anything. It is Alex who—" She broke off.

"Alex who what?" Kate was relentless.

"Please don't blame her," Eve said quickly. "I'm sure she couldn't help it. She likes to play this childish game of pretending to be me. I had no idea what she was up to until the girls started gossiping about it. It seems she was seeing a lot of—of boys—" Eve broke off in embarrassment.

"Pretending to be you?" Kate was stunned. "Why didn't you put a stop to it?"

"I tried," Eve said miserably. "She threatened to kill herself. Oh, Gran, I think Alexandra is a bit"—she forced herself to say the word—"unstable. If you even discuss any of this with her, I'm afraid of what she might do." There was naked agony in the child's tear-filled eyes.

Kate's heart felt heavy at Eve's deep unhappiness. "Eve, don't. Don't cry, darling. I won't say anything to Alexandra. This will be just between the two of us."

"I—I didn't want you to know. Oh, Gran," she sobbed, "I knew how much it would hurt you."

Later, over tea, Kate studied Alexandra. She's beautiful outside and rotten inside, Kate thought. It was bad enough that Alexandra was involved in a series of sordid affairs, but to try to put the blame on her sister! Kate was appalled.

During the next two years, while Eve and Alexandra finished school at Miss Porter's, Eve was very discreet. She had been frightened by the close call. Nothing must jeopardize the relationship with her grandmother. The old lady could not last much longer—she was seventy-nine!—and Eve intended to make sure that she was Gran's heiress.

For the girls' twenty-first birthday, Kate took her granddaughters to Paris and bought them new wardrobes at Coco Chanel.

At a small dinner party at Le Petit Bedouin, Eve and

Alexandra met Count Alfred Marnier and his wife, the Countess Vivien. The count was a distinguished-looking man in his fifties, with iron-gray hair and the disciplined body of an athlete. His wife was a pleasant-looking woman with a reputation as an international hostess.

Eve would have paid no particular attention to either of them, except for a remark she overheard someone make to the countess. "I envy you and Alfred. You're the happiest married couple I know. How many years have you been married? Twenty-five?"

"It will be twenty-six next month," Alfred replied for her. "And I may be the only Frenchman in history who has never been unfaithful to his wife."

Everyone laughed except Eve. During the rest of the dinner, she studied Count Maurier and his wife. Eve could not imagine what the count saw in that flabby, middle-aged woman with her crepey neck. Count Maurier had probably never known what real lovemaking was. That boast of his was stupid. Count Alfred Maurier was a challenge.

The following day, Eve telephoned Maurier at his office. "This is Eve Blackwell. You probably don't remember me, but—"

"How could I forget you, child? You are one of the beautiful granddaughters of my friend Kate."

"I'm flattered that you remember, Count. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I was told you're an expert on wines. I'm planning a surprise dinner party for Grandmother." She gave a rueful little laugh. "I know what I want to serve, but I don't know a thing about wines. I wondered whether you'd be kind enough to advise me."

"I would be delighted," he said, flattered. "It depends on what you are serving. If you are starting with a fish, a nice, light Cha-blis would be—"

"Oh, I'm afraid I could never remember all this. Would it be possible for me to see you so that we could discuss it? If you're free for lunch today... ?"

"For an old friend, I can arrange that."

"Oh, good." Eve replaced the receiver slowly. It would be a lunch the count would remember the rest of his life.

They met at Lasserre. The discussion on wines was brief. Eve listened to Maurier's boring discourse impatiently, and then interrupted. "I'm in love with you, Alfred."

The count stopped dead in the middle of a sentence. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said I'm in love with you."

He took a sip of wine. "A vintage year." He patted Eve's hand and smiled. "All good friends should love one another."

"I'm not talking about that kind of love, Alfred."

And the count looked into Eve's eyes and knew exactly what kind of love she was talking about. It made him decidedly nervous. This girl was twenty-one years old, and he was past middle age, a happily married man. He simply could not understand what got into young girls these days. He felt uneasy sitting across from her, listening to what she was saying, and he felt even uneasier because she was probably the most beautiful, desirable young woman he had ever seen. She was wearing a beige pleated skirt and a soft green sweater that revealed the outline of a full, rich bosom. She was not wearing a brassiere, and he could see the thrust of her nipples. He looked at her innocent young face, and he was at a loss for words. "You—you don't even know me."

"I've dreamed about you from the time I was a little girl. I imagined a man in shining armor who was tall and handsome and—"

"I'm afraid my armor's a little rusty. I—"

"Please don't make fun of me," Eve begged. "When I saw you at dinner last night, I couldn't take my eyes off you. I haven't been able to think of anything else. I haven't slept. I haven't been able to get you out of my mind for a moment." Which was almost true.

"I—I don't know what to say to you, Eve. I am a happily married man. I—"

"Oh, I can't tell you how I envy your wife! She's the luckiest

woman in the world. I wonder if she realizes that, Alfred."

"Of course she does. I tell her all the time." He smiled nervously, and wondered how to change the subject.

"Does she really appreciate you? Does she know how sensitive you are? Does she worry about your happiness? I would."

The count was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. "You're a beautiful young woman," he said. "And one day you're going to find your knight in shining, unrusted armor, and then—"

"I've found him and I want to go to bed with him."

He looked around, afraid that someone might have overheard. "Eve! Please!"

She leaned forward. "That's all I ask. The memory will last me for the rest of my life."

The count said firmly, "This is impossible. You are placing me in a most embarrassing position. Young women should not go around propositioning strangers."

Slowly, Eve's eyes filled with tears. "Is that what you think of me? That I go around—I've known only one man in my life. We were engaged to be married." She did not bother to brush the tears away. "He was kind and loving and gentle. He was killed in a mountain-climbing accident. I saw it happen. It was awful."

Count Maurier put his hand over hers. "I am so sorry."

"You remind me so much of him. When I saw you, it was as though Bill had returned to me. If you would give me just one hour, I would never bother you again. You'd never even have to see me again. Please, Alfred!"

The count looked at Eve for a long time, weighing his decision.

After all, he was French.

They spent the afternoon in a small hotel on Rue Sainte-Anne. In all his experience before his marriage, Count Maurier had never bedded anyone like Eve. She was a hurricane, a nym-phet, a devil. She knew too much. By the end of the afternoon, Count Maurier was completely exhausted.

As they were getting dressed, Eve said, "When will I see you again, darling?"

"I'll telephone you," Maurier said.

He did not plan ever to see this woman again. There was something about her that was frightening—almost evil. She was what the Americans so appropriately called bad news, and he had no intention of becoming involved further with her.

The matter would have ended there, had they not been seen coming out of the hotel together by Alicia Vanderlake, who had served on a charity committee with Kate Blackwell the previous year. Mrs. Vanderlake was a social climber, and this was a heaven-sent ladder. She had seen newspaper photographs of Count Maurier and his wife, and she had seen photographs of the Blackwell twins. She was not sure which twin this was, but that was not important. Mrs. Vanderlake knew where her duty lay. She looked in her private telephone book and found Kate Blackwell's number.

The butler answered the telephone. "Bonjour."

"I would like to speak with Mrs. Blackwell, please."

"May I tell her who is calling?"

"Mrs. Vanderlake. It's a personal matter."

A minute later, Kate Blackwell was on the phone. "Who is this?"

'This is Alicia Vanderlake, Mrs. Blackwell. I'm sure you'll remember me. We served on a committee together last year and—"

"If it's for a donation, call my—"

"No, no," Mrs. Vanderlake said hastily. "It's personal. It's about your granddaughter."

Kate Blackwell would invite her over to tea, and they would discuss it, woman to woman. It would be the beginning of a warm friendship.

Kate Blackwell said, "What about her?"

Mrs. Vanderlake had had no intention of discussing the matter over the telephone, but Kate Blackwell's unfriendly tone left her no choice. "Well, I thought it my duty to tell you that a few minutes ago I saw her sneaking out of a hotel with Count Alfred Maurier. It was an obvious assignation."

Kate's voice was icy. "I find this difficult to believe. Which one of my granddaughters?"

Mrs. Vanderlake gave an uncertain laugh. "I—I don't know. I can't tell them apart. But then, no one can, can they? It—"

"Thank you for the information." And Kate hung up.

She stood there digesting the information she had just heard. Only the evening before they had dined together. Kate had known Alfred Maurier for fifteen years, and what she had just been told was entirely out of character for him, unthinkable. And yet, men were susceptible. If Alexandra had set out to lure Alfred into bed ...

Kate picked up the telephone and said to the operator, "I wish to place a call to Switzerland. L'Institut Fernwood at Lausanne."

When Eve returned home late that afternoon, she was flushed with satisfaction, not because she had enjoyed sex with Count Maurier, but because of her victory over him. If I can have him to easily, Eve thought, I can have anyone. I can own the world. She walked into the library and found Kate there.

"Hello, Gran. Did you have a lovely day?"

Kate stood there studying her lovely young granddaughter. "Not a very good one, I'm afraid. What about you?"

"Oh, I did a little shopping. I didn't see anything more I really wanted. You bought me everything. You always—"

"Close the door, Eve."

Something in Kate's voice sent out a warning signal. Eve dosed the large oak door.

"Sit down."   "Is something wrong, Gran?"

"That's what you're going to tell me. I was going to invite Alfred Maurier here, but I decided to spare us all that humiliation."

Eve's brain began to spin. This was impossible! There was no way anyone could have found out about her and Alfred Maurier. She had left him only an hour earlier. "I—I don't understand what you're talking about."

"Then let me put it bluntly. You were in bed this afternoon with Count Maurier."

Tears sprang to Eve's eyes. "I—I was hoping you'd never find out what he did to me, because he's your friend." She fought to keep her voice steady. "It was terrible. He telephoned and invited me to lunch and got me drunk and—"

"Shut up!" Kate's voice was like a whiplash. Her eyes were filled with loathing. "You're despicable."

Kate had spent the most painful hour of her life, coming to a realization of the truth about her granddaughter. She could hear again the voice of the headmistress saying, Mrs. Blackwell, young women will be young women, and if one of them has a discreet affair, it is none of my business. But Eve was so blatantly promiscuous that for the good of the school...

And Eve had blamed Alexandra.

Kate started to remember the accidents. The fire, when Alexandra almost burned to death. Alexandra's fall from the cliff. Alexandra being knocked out of the boat Eve was sailing, and almost drowning. Kate could hear Eve's voice recounting the details of her "rape" by her English teacher: Mr. Parkinson said he wanted to discuss my English work with me. He asked me to come to his house on a Sunday afternoon. When I got there, he was alone in the house. He said he wanted to show me something in the bedroom. I followed him upstairs. He forced me onto the bed, and he...

Kate remembered the incident at Briarcrest when Eve was accused of selling marijuana and the blame had been put on Alexandra. Eve had not blamed Alexandra, she had defended her. That was Eve's technique—to be the villain and play the heroine. Oh, she was clever.

Now Kate studied the beautiful, angel-faced monster in front of her. I built all my future plans around you. It was you who was going to take control of Kruger-Brent one day. It was you I loved and cherished. Kate said, "I want you to leave this house. I never want to see you again."

Eve had gone very pale.

"You're a whore. I think I could live with that. But you're also deceitful and cunning and a psychopathic liar. I cannot live with that."

It was all happening too fast. Eve said desperately, "Gran, if Alexandra has been telling you lies about me—"

"Alexandra doesn't know anything about this. I just had a long talk with Mrs. Collins."

"Is that all?" Eve forced a note of relief in her voice. "Mrs. Collins hates me because—"

Kate was filled with a sudden weariness. "It won't work, Eve. Not anymore. It's over. I've sent for my lawyer. I'm disinheriting you."

Eve felt her world crumbling around her. "You can't. How— how will I live?"

"You will be given a small allowance. From now on, you will live your own life. Do anything you please." Kate's voice hardened. "But if I ever hear or read one word of scandal about you, if you ever disgrace the Blackwell name in any way, your allowance will stop forever. Is that clear?"

Eve looked into her grandmother's eyes and knew this time there would be no reprieve. A dozen excuses sprang to her lips, but they died there.

Kate rose to her feet and said in an unsteady voice, "I don't suppose this will mean anything to you, but this is—this is the most difficult thing I've ever had to do in my life."

And Kate turned and walked out of the room, her back stiff and straight.

Kate sat in her darkened bedroom alone, wondering why everything had gone wrong.

If David had not been killed, and Tony could have known his father...

If Tony had not wanted to be an artist...

If Marianne had lived ...

If. A two-letter word for futility.

The future was clay, to be molded day by day, but the past was bedrock, immutable. Everyone I've loved has betrayed me, Kate thought. Tony. Marianne. Eve. Sartre said it well: "Hell is other people." She wondered when the pain would go away.

If Kate was filled with pain, Eve was filled with fury. All she had done was to enjoy herself in bed for an hour or two, and her grandmother acted as though Eve had committed some unspeakable crime. The old-fashioned bitch! No, not old-fashioned: senile. That was it. She was senile. Eve would find a good attorney and have the new will laughed out of court. Her father and grandmother were both insane. No one was going to disinherit her. Kruger-Brent was her company. How many times had her grandmother told her that one day it would belong to her. And Alexandra! All this time Alexandra had been undermining her, whispering God-knows-what poison into their grandmother's ears. Alexandra wanted the company for herself. The terrible part was that now she would probably get it. What had happened this afternoon was bad enough, but the thought of Alexandra gaining control was unbearable. / can't let that happen, Eve thought. I'll find a way to stop her. She closed the snaps on her suitcase and went to find her sister.

Alexandra was in the garden reading. She looked up as Eve approached.

"Alex, I've decided to go back to New York."

Alexandra looked at her sister in surprise. "Now? Gran's planning a cruise to the Dalmatian coast next week. You—"

"Who cares about the Dalmatian coast? I've been thinking a lot about this. It's time I had my own apartment." She smiled. "I'm a big girl now. So I'm going to find the most divine little apartment, and if you're good, I'll let you spend the night once in a while." That's just the right note, Eve thought. Friendly, but not gushy. Don't let her know you're on to her.

Alexandra was studying her sister with concern. "Does Gran know?"

"I told her this afternoon. She hates the idea, of course, but

she understands. I wanted to get a job, but she insisted on giving me an allowance."

Alexandra asked, "Would you like me to come with you?"

The goddamned, two-faced bitch! First she forced her out of the house, and now she was pretending she wanted to go with her. Well, they're not going to dispose of little Eve so easily. I'll show them all. She would have her own apartment—she would find some fabulous decorator to do it—and she would have complete freedom to come and go as she pleased. She could invite men up to her place and have them spend the night. She would be truly free for the first time in her life. It was an exhilarating thought.

Now she said, "You're sweet, Alex, but I'd like to be on my own for a while."

Alexandra looked at her sister and felt a deep sense of loss. It would be the first time they had ever been parted. "We'll see each other often, won't we?"

"Of course we will," Eve promised. "More than you imagine."

When Eve returned to New York, she checked into a mid-town hotel, as she had been instructed. An hour later, Brad Rogers telephoned.

"Your grandmother called from Paris, Eve. Apparently there's some problem between you two."

"Not really," Eve laughed. "It's just a little family—" She was about to launch into an elaborate defense when she suddenly realized the danger that lay in that direction. From now on, she would have to be very careful. She had never had to think about money. It had always been there. Now it loomed large in her thoughts. She had no idea how large her allowance was going to be and for the first time in her life Eve felt fear.

"She told you she's having a new will drawn up?" Brad asked.

"Yes, she mentioned something about it." She was determined to play it cool.

"I think we had better discuss this in person. How's Monday at three?"

"That will be fine, Brad."

"My office. All right?"

'I'll be there."

At five minutes before three, Eve entered the Kruger-Brent, Ltd., Building. She was greeted deferentially by the security guard, the elevator starter and even the elevator operator. Everyone knows me, Eve thought. I'm a Blackwell. The elevator took her to the executive floor, and a few moments later Eve was seated in Brad Rogers's office.

Brad had been surprised when Kate telephoned him to say she was going to disinherit Eve, for he knew how much Kate cared about this particular granddaughter and what plans she had for her. Brad could not imagine what had happened. Well, it was none of his business. If Kate wanted to discuss it with him, she would. His job was to carry out her orders. He felt a momentary flash of pity for the lovely young woman before him. Kate had not been much older when he had first met her. Neither had he. And now he was a gray-haired old fool, still hoping that one day Kate Blackwell would realize there was someone who loved her very deeply.

He said to Eve, "I have some papers for you to sign. If you'll just read them over and—"

"That won't be necessary."

"Eve, it's important that you understand." He began to explain. "Under your grandmother's will, you're the beneficiary of an irrevocable trust fund currently in excess of five million dollars. Your grandmother is the executor. At her discretion, the money can be paid to you at any time from the age of twenty-one to thirty-five." He cleared his throat. "She has elected to give it to you when you reach age thirty-five."

It was a slap in the face.

"Beginning today, you will receive a weekly allowance of two hundred fifty dollars."

It was impossible! One decent dress cost more than that. There was no way she could live on $250 a week. This was being done to humiliate her. This bastard was probably in on it with her grandmother. He was sitting behind his big desk, enjoying himself, laughing. She wanted to pick up the large bronze paperweight in front of him and smash his head in.

She could almost feel the crunch of bone under her hand.

Brad droned on. "You are not to have any charge accounts, private or otherwise, and you are not to use the Blackwell name at any stores. Anything you purchase must be paid for in cash."

The nightmare was getting worse and worse.

"Next. If there is any gossip connected with your name in any newspaper or magazine—local or foreign—your weekly income will be stopped. Is that clear?"

"Yes." Her voice was a whisper.

"You and your sister Alexandra were issued insurance policies on your grandmother's life for five million dollars apiece. The policy you hold was canceled as of this morning. At the end of one year," Brad went on, "if your grandmother is satisfied with your behavior, your weekly allowance will be doubled." He hesitated. "There is one final stipulation."

She wants to hang me in public by my thumbs. "Yes?"

Brad Rogers looked uncomfortable. "Your grandmother does not wish ever to see you again, Eve."

Well, I want to see you one more time, old woman. I want to see you dying in agony.

Brad's voice trickled through to the cauldron of Eve's mind. "If you have any problems, you are to telephone me. She does not want you to come to this building again, or to visit any of the family estates."

He had tried to argue with Kate about that. "My God, Kate, she's your granddaughter, your flesh and blood. You're treating her like a leper."

"She is a leper."

And the discussion had ended.

Now Brad said awkwardly, "Well, I think that covers everything. Are there any questions, Eve?"

"No." She was in shock.

"Then if you'll just sign these papers ..."

Ten minutes later, Eve was on the street again. There was a check for $250 in her purse.

The following morning Eve called on a real-estate agent and began looking for an apartment. In her fantasies, she had envisioned a beautiful penthouse overlooking Central Park, the rooms done in white with modern furniture, and a terrace where she could entertain guests. Reality came as a stunning blow. It seemed there were no Park Avenue penthouses available for someone with an income of $250 a week. What was available was a one-room studio apartment in Little Italy with a couch that became a bed, a nook that the real-estate agent euphemistically referred to as the "library," a small kitchenette and a tiny bathroom with stained tile.

"Is—is this the best you have?" Eve asked.

"No," the agent informed her. "I've got a twenty-room town-house on Sutton Place for a half a million dollars, plus maintenance."

You bastard! Eve thought.

Real despair did not hit Eve until the following afternoon when she moved in. It was a prison. Her dressing room at home had been as large as this entire apartment. She thought of Alexandra enjoying herself in the huge house on Fifth Avenue. My God, why couldn't Alexandra have burned to death? It had been so close! If she had died and Eve had been the only heiress, things would have been different. Her grandmother would not have dared disinherit her.

But if Kate Blackwell thought that Eve intended to give up her heritage that easily, she did not know her granddaughter. Eve had no intention of trying to live on $250 a week. There was five million dollars that belonged to her, sitting in a bank, and that vicious old woman was keeping it from her. There has to be a way to get my hands on that money. I will find it.

The solution came the following day.

"And what can I do for you, Miss Blackwell?" Alvin Seagram asked deferentially. He was vice-president of the National Union Bank, and he was, in fact, prepared to do almost any-

thing. What kind Fates had brought this young woman to him? If he could secure the Kruger-Brent account, or any part of it, his career would rise like a rocket.

'There's some money in trust for me," Eve explained. "Five million dollars. Because of the rules of the trust, it won't come to me until I'm thirty-five years old." She smiled ingenuously. 'That seems so long from now."

"At your age, I'm sure it does," the banker smiled. "You're— nineteen?"

'Twenty-one."

"And beautiful, if you'll permit me to say so, Miss Blackwell.'

Eve smiled demurely. "Thank you, Mr. Seagram." It was going to be simpler than she thought. The man's an idiot.

He could feel the rapport between them. She likes me. "How exactly may we help you?"

"Well, I was wondering if it would be possible to borrow an advance on my trust fund. You see, I need the money now more than I'll need it later. I'm engaged to be married. My fiance is a construction engineer working in Israel, and he won't be back in this country for another three years."

Alvin Seagram was all sympathy. "I understand perfectly." His heart was pounding wildly. Of course, he could grant her request. Money was advanced against trust funds all the time. And when he had satisfied her, she would sent him other members of the Blackwell family, and he would satisfy them. Oh, how he would satisfy them! After that, there would be no stopping him. He would be made a member of the executive board of National Union. Perhaps one day its chairman. And he owed all this to the delicious little blonde seated across the desk.

"No problem at all," Alvin Seagram assured Eve. "It's a very simple transaction. You understand that we could not loan you the entire amount, but we could certainly let you have, say, a million immediately. Would that be satisfactory?"

"Perfectly," Eve said, trying not to show her exhilaration.

"Fine. If you'll just give me the details of the trust ..." He picked up a pen.

"You can get in touch with Brad Rogers at Kruger-Brent. He'll give you all the information you need." "I'll give him a call right away." Eve rose. "How long will it take?"

"No more than a day or two. I'll rush it through personally." She held out a lovely, delicate hand. "You're very kind."

The moment Eve was out of the office, Alvin Seagram picked up the telephone. "Get me Mr. Brad Rogers at Kruger-Brent, Limited." The very name sent a delicious shiver up his spine.

Two days later Eve returned to the bank and was ushered into Alvin Seagram's office. His first words were, "I'm afraid I can't help you, Miss Blackwell."

Eve could not believe what she was hearing. "I don't understand. You said it was simple. You said—"

"I'm sorry. I was not in possession of all the facts."

How vividly he recalled the conversation with Brad Rogers. "Yes, there is a five-million-dollar trust fund in Eve Blackwell's name. Your bank is perfectly free to advance any amount of money you wish against it. However, I think it only fair to caution you that Kate Blackwell would consider it an unfriendly act."

There was no need for Brad Rogers to spell out what the consequences could be. Kruger-Brent had powerful friends everywhere. And if those friends started pulling money out of National Union, Alvin Seagram did not have to guess what it would do to his career.

"I'm sorry," he repeated to Eve. "There's nothing I can do."

Eve looked at him, frustrated. But she would not let this man know what a blow he had dealt her. 'Thank you for your trouble. There are other banks in New York. Good day."

"Miss Blackwell," Alvin Seagram told her, "there isn't a bank in the world that will loan you one penny against that trust."

Alexandra was puzzled. In the past, her grandmother had made it obvious in a hundred ways that she favored Eve. Now, overnight everything had changed. She knew something terrible had happened between Kate and Eve, but she had no idea what it could have been.

Whenever Alexandra tried to bring up the subject, her grandmother would say, "There is nothing to discuss. Eve chose her own life."

Nor could Alexandra get anything out of Eve.

Kate Blackwell began spending a great deal of time with Alexandra. Alexandra was intrigued. She was not merely in her grandmother's presence, she was becoming an actual part of her life. It was as though her grandmother were seeing her for the first time. Alexandra had an odd feeling she was being evaluated.

Kate was seeing her granddaughter for the first time, and because she had been bitterly deceived once, she was doubly careful in forming an opinion about Eve's twin. She spent every possible moment with Alexandra, and she probed and questioned and listened. And in the end she was satisfied.

It was not easy to know Alexandra. She was a private person, more reserved than Eve. Alexandra had a quick, lively intelligence, and her innocence, combined with her beauty, made her all the more endearing. She had always received countless invitations to parties and dinners and the theater, but now it was Kate who decided which invitations Alexandra should accept and which ones she should refuse. The fact that a suitor was eligible was not enough—not nearly enough. What Kate was looking for was a man capable of helping Alexandra run Kate's dynasty. She said nothing of this to Alexandra. There would be time enough for that when Kate found the right man for her granddaughter. Sometimes, in the lonely early-morning hours when Kate had trouble sleeping, she thought about Eve.

Eve was doing beautifully. The episode with her grandmother had bruised her ego so badly that for a short time she had forgotten something very important: She had forgotten how attractive she was to men. At the first party she was invited to after she moved into her own apartment, she gave her telephone number to six men—four of them married—and within twenty-four hours she had heard from all six of them. From that day on, Eve knew she would no longer have to worry about money. She was showered with gifts: expensive jewelry, paintings and, more often, cash.

"I've just ordered a new credenza, and my allowance check hasn't come. Would you mind, darling?"

And they never minded.

When Eve went out in public, she made sure she was escorted by men who were single. Married men she saw afternoons at her apartment. Eve was very discreet. She was careful to see that her name was kept out of gossip columns, not because she was any longer concerned about her allowance being stopped, but because she was determined that one day her grandmother was going to come crawling to her. Kate Blackwell needed an heir to take over Kruger-Brent. Alexandra is not equipped to be anything but a stupid housewife, Eve gloated.

One afternoon, leafing through a new issue of Town and Country, Eve came across a photograph of Alexandra dancing with an attractive man. Eve was not looking at Alexandra, she was looking at the man. And realizing that if Alexandra married and had a son, it would be a disaster for Eve and her plans.

She stared at the picture a long time.

Over a period of a year, Alexandra had called Eve regularly, for lunch or dinner, and Eve had always put her off with excuses. Now Eve decided it was time to have a talk with her sister. She invited Alexandra to her apartment.

Alexandra had not seen the apartment before, and Eve braced herself for pity. But all Alexandra said was, "It's charming, Eve. It's very cozy, isn't it?"

Eve smiled. "It suits me. I wanted something intime." She had pawned enough jewelry and paintings so that she could have moved into a beautiful apartment, but Kate would have learned of it and would have demanded to know where the money had come from. For the moment, the watchword was discretion.

"How is Gran?" Eve asked.

"She's fine." Alexandra hesitated. "Eve, I don't know what

happened between you two, but you know if there's anything I can do to help, I'll—"

Eve sighed. "She didn't tell you?"

"No. She won't discuss it."

"I don't blame her. The poor dear probably feels as guilty as hell. I met a wonderful young doctor. We were going to be married. We went to bed together. Gran found out about it. She told me to get out of the house, that she never wanted to see me again. I'm afraid our grandmother is very old-fashioned, Alex."

She watched the look of dismay on Alexandra's face. "That's terrible! The two of you must go to Gran. I'm sure she would—"

"He was killed in an airplane accident."

"Oh, Eve! Why didn't you tell me this before?"

'1 was too ashamed to tell anyone, even you." She squeezed her sister's hand. "And you know I tell you everything."

"Let me talk to Gran. I'll explain—"

"No! I have too much pride. Promise me you'll never discuss this with her. Ever!"

"But I'm sure she would—"

"Promise!"

Alexandra sighed. "All right."

"Believe me, I'm very happy here. I come and go as I please. It's great!"

Alexandra looked at her sister and thought how much she had missed Eve.

Eve put her arm around Alexandra and began to tease. "Now, enough about me. Tell me what's going on in your life. Have you met Prince Charming yet? I'll bet you have!"

"No."

Eve studied her sister. It was a mirror image of herself, and she was determined to destroy it. "You will, darling."

"I'm in no hurry. I decided it's time I started earning a living. I talked to Gran about it. Next week I'm going to meet with the head of an advertising agency about a job."

They had lunch at a little bistro near Eve's apartment, and Eve insisted on paying. She wanted nothing from her sister.

When they were bidding each other good-bye, Alexandra said, "Eve, if you need any money—"

"Don't be silly, darling. I have more than enough."

Alexandra persisted. "Still, if you run short, you can have anything I've got."

Eve looked into Alexandra's eyes and said, "I'm counting on that." She smiled. "But I really don't need a thing, Alex." She did not need crumbs. She intended to have the whole cake. The question was: How was she going to get it?

There was a weekend party in Nassau.

"It wouldn't be the same without you, Eve. All your friends will be here."

The caller was Nita Ludwig, a girl whom Eve had known at school in Switzerland.

She would meet some new men. The present crop was tiresome.

"It sounds like fun," Eve said. "I'll be there."

That afternoon she pawned an emerald bracelet she had been given a week earlier by an infatuated insurance executive with a wife and three children, and bought some new summer outfits at Lord amp; Taylor and a round-trip ticket to Nassau. She was on the plane the following morning.

The Ludwig estate was a large, sprawling mansion on the beach. The main house had thirty rooms, and the smallest was larger than Eve's entire apartment. Eve was escorted to her room by a uniformed maid, who unpacked for her while Eve freshened up. Then she went down to meet her fellow guests.

There were sixteen people in the drawing room, and they had one thing in common: They were wealthy. Nita Ludwig was a firm believer in the "birds of a feather" philosophy. These people felt the same way about the same things; they were comfortable with one another because they spoke the same language. They shared the commonality of the best boarding schools and colleges, luxurious estates, yachts, private jets and tax problems.

A columnist had dubbed them the "jet set," an appellation they derided publicly and enjoyed privately. They were the privileged, the chosen few, set apart from all others by a discriminating god. Let the rest of the world believe that money could not buy everything. These people knew better. Money bought them beauty and love and luxury and a place in heaven. And it was from all this that Eve had been excluded by the whim of a narrow-minded old lady. But not for long, Eve thought.

She entered the drawing room and the conversation dropped as Eve walked in. In a room full of beautiful women, she was the most beautiful of all. Nita took Eve around to greet her friends, and to introduce her to the people she did not know. Eve was charming and pleasant, and she studied each man with a knowing eye, expertly selecting her targets. Most of the older men were married, but that only made it easier.

A bald-headed man dressed in plaid slacks and Hawaiian sport shirt came up to her. "I'll bet you get tired of people telling you you're beautiful, honey."

Eve rewarded him with a warm smile. "I never get tired of that, Mr.—?"

"Peterson. Call me Dan. You should be a Hollywood star."

"I'm afraid I have no talent for acting."

"I'll bet you've got a lot of other talents, though."

Eve smiled enigmatically. "You never know until you try, do you, Dan?"

He wet his lips. "You down here alone?"

"Yes."

"I've got my yacht anchored in the bay. Maybe you and I could take a little cruise tomorrow?"

'That sounds lovely," Eve said.

He grinned. "I don't know why we've never met before. I've known your grandmother, Kate, for years."

The smile stayed on Eve's face, but it took a great effort. "Gran's a darling," Eve said. "I think we'd better join the others."

"Sure, honey." He winked. "Remember tomorrow."

From that moment on, he was unable to get Eve alone again. She avoided him at lunch, and after lunch she borrowed one of the automobiles kept in the garage for guests and drove into town. She drove past Blackboard's Tower and the lovely Ardas-tra Gardens where the colorful flamingos were on parade. She stopped at the waterfront to watch the fishing boats unload their catch of giant turtles, enormous lobsters, tropical fish and a brilliantly colored variety of conch shells, which would be polished and sold to the tourists.

The bay was smooth, and the sea sparkled like diamonds. Across the water Eve could see the crescent curve of Paradise Island Beach. A motorboat was leaving the dock at the beach, and as it picked up speed, the figure of a man suddenly rose into the sky, trailing behind the boat. It was a startling sight. He appeared to be hanging on to a metal bar fastened to a blue sail, his long, lean body stretched against the wind. Para-sailing. Eve watched, fascinated, as the motorboat roared toward the harbor, and the airborne figure swept closer. The boat approached the dock and made a sharp turn, and for an instant Eve caught a glimpse of the dark, handsome face of the man in the air, and then he was gone.

He walked into Nita Ludwig's drawing room five hours later, and Eve felt as though she had willed him there. She had known he would appear. Up close he was even more handsome. He was six foot three, with perfectly sculptured, tanned features, Mack eyes and a trim, athletic body. When he smiled, he revealed white, even teeth. He smiled down at Eve as Nita introduced him.

"This is George Mellis. Eve Blackwell."

"My God, you belong in the Louvre," George Mellis said. His voice was deep and husky, with the trace of an indefinable accent.

"Come along, darling," Nita commanded. "I'll introduce you to the other guests."

He waved her away. "Don't bother. I just met everybody."

Nita looked at the two of them thoughtfully. "I see. Well,

if I can do anything, call me." She walked away.

"Weren't you a little rude to her?" Eve asked.

He grinned. "I'm not responsible for what I say or do. I'm in love."

Eve laughed.

"I mean it. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen in my life."

"I was thinking the same about you."

Eve did not care whether this man had money or not. She was fascinated by him. It was more than his looks. There was a magnetism, a sense of power that excited her. No man had ever affected her this way before. "Who are you?" Eve asked.

"Nita told you. George Mellis."

"Who are you?" she repeated.

"Ah, you mean in the philosophical sense. The real me. Nothing colorful to tell, I'm afraid. I'm Greek. My family grows olives and other things."

That Mellis! The Mellis food brands could be found in every corner grocery store and supermarket in America.

"Are you married?" Eve asked.

He grinned. "Are you always this direct?"

"No."

"I'm not married."

The answer gave her an unexpected feeling of pleasure. Just looking at him made Eve want to possess him, to be possessed. "Why did you miss dinner?"

"The truth?"

'Yes."

"It's very personal."

She waited.

"I was busy persuading a young lady not to commit suicide." He said it matter-of-factly, as though it were a common occurrence.

"I hope you succeeded."

"For now. I hope you're not the suicidal type."

"No. I hope you're not."

George Mellis laughed aloud. "I love you," he said. "I really love you." He took Eve's arm, and his touch made her shiver.

He stayed at Eve's side all evening, and he was totally attentive to her, oblivious to everyone else. He had long, delicate hands, and they were constantly doing things for Eve: bringing her a drink, lighting her cigarette, touching her discreetly. His nearness set her body afire, and she could not wait to be alone with him.

Just after midnight when the guests began to retire to their rooms, George Mellis asked, "Which is your bedroom?"

"At the end of the north hall."

He nodded, his long-lashed eyes boring into hers.

Eve undressed and bathed and put on a new sheer, black negligee that clung to her figure. At one a.m. there was a discreet tap on the door. She hurried to open it, and George Mellis stepped in.

He stood there, his eyes filled with admiration. "Matia mou, you make the Venus de Milo look like a hag."

"I have an advantage over her," Eve whispered. "I have two arms."

And she put both arms around George Mellis and drew him to her. His kiss made something explode inside her. His lips pressed hard against hers, and she felt his tongue exploring her mouth.

"Oh, my God!" Eve moaned.

He started to strip off his jacket, and she helped him. In a moment he was free of his trousers and French shorts, and he was naked before her. He had the most glorious physique Eve had ever seen. He was hard and erect.

"Quick," Eve said. "Make love to me." She moved onto the bed, her body on fire.

He commanded, 'Turn over. Give me your ass."

She looked up at him. "I—I don't—"

And he hit her on the mouth. She stared up at him in shock.

'Turnover."

"No."

He hit her again, harder, and the room began to swim in front of her.

"Please, no."

He hit her again, savagely. She felt his powerful hands turning her over, pulling her up on her knees.

"For God's sake," she gasped, "stop it! I'll scream."

He smashed his arm across the back of her neck, and Eve started to lose consciousness. Dimly, she felt him raise her hips higher into the air. He pulled her cheeks apart, and his body pressed against hers. There was a sudden, excruciating pain as he plunged deep inside her. She opened her mouth to scream, but she stopped in terror of what he might do to her.

She begged, "Oh, please, you're hurting me ..."

She tried to pull away from him, but he was holding her hips tightly, plunging into her again and again, tearing her apart with his enormous penis. The pain was unbearable.

"Oh, God, no!" she whispered. "Stop it! Please stop it!"

He kept moving in, deeper and faster, and the last thing Eve remembered was a wild groan that came from deep inside him and seemed to explode in her ears.

When she regained consciousness and opened her eyes, George Mellis was sitting in a chair, fully dressed, smoking a cigarette. He moved over to the bed and stroked her forehead. She cringed from his touch.

"How do you feel, darling?"

Eve tried to sit up, but the pain was too great. She felt as though she bad been ripped apart. "You goddamned animal..." Her voice was a ragged whisper.

He laughed. "I was gentle with you."

She looked at him in disbelief.

He smiled. "I can sometimes be very rough." He stroked her hair again. "But I love you, so I was kind. You'll get used to it, Hree-se'e-moo. I promise you."

If she had had a weapon at that moment, Eve would have killed him. "You're insane!"

She saw the gleam that came into his eyes, and she saw his hand clench into a fist, and in that instant she knew stark terror. He was insane.

She said quickly, "I didn't mean it. It's just that I—I've never experienced anything like that before. Please, I'd like to go to sleep now. Please."

George Mellis stared at her for a long moment, and then relaxed. He rose and walked over to the dressing table where Eve had put her jewelry. There was a platinum bracelet and an expensive diamond necklace lying there. He scooped up the necklace, examined it and slipped it into his pocket. "I'll keep this as a little souvenir."

She was afraid to open her mouth to protest.

"Good night, darling." And he walked back to the bed, leaned over and gently kissed Eve's lips.

She waited until he had gone, and then crawled out of bed, her body burning v/ith pain. Every step was an agony. It was not until she had locked the bedroom door that she felt safe again. She was not sure she would be able to make it to the bathroom, and she fell back onto the bed, waiting for the pain to recede. She couldn't believe the enormity of the rage she felt. He had sodomized her—horribly and brutally. She wondered what he had done to that other girl who had wanted to commit suicide.

When Eve finally dragged herself into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, she was aghast. Her face was bruised and discolored where he had hit her, and one eye was almost swollen shut. She ran a hot bath and crawled into it like a wounded animal, letting the soothing water wash away the pain. Eve lay there for a long time, and, finally, when the water was starting to cool, she got out of the tub and took a few tentative steps. The pain had lessened, but it was still agonizing. She lay awake for the rest of the night, terrified that he might return.

When Eve arose at dawn, she saw that the sheets were stained with her blood. She was going to make him pay for that. She walked into the bathroom, moving carefully, and ran another hot bath. Her face was even more swollen and the bruises were livid. She dipped a washcloth into cold water and applied it to her cheek and eye. Then she lay in the tub, thinking about George Mellis. There was something puzzling about his behavior that had nothing to do with his sadism. And she suddenly realized what it was. The necklace. Why had he taken it?

Two hours later, Eve went downstairs to join the other guests for breakfast, even though she had no appetite. She badly needed to talk to Nita Ludwig.

"My God! What happened to your face?" Nita asked.

Eve smiled ruefully. "The silliest thing. I got up in the middle of the night to go to the loo, and I didn't bother turning on the light. I walked right into one of your fancy doors."

"Would you like to have a doctor look at that?"

"It's nothing," Eve assured her. "It's just a little bruise." Eve looked around. "Where's George Mellis?"

"He's out playing tennis. He's one of the top-seeded players. He said to tell you he'd see you at lunch. I think he really likes you, darling."

"Tell me about him," Eve said casually. "What's his background?"

"George? He comes from a long line of wealthy Greeks. He's the oldest son, and he's filthy rich. He works at a New York brokerage firm, Hanson and Hanson."

"He's not in the family business?"

"No. He probably hates olives. Anyway, with the Mellis fortune, he doesn't have to work. I suppose he does it just to occupy his days." She grinned and said, "His nights are full enough."

"Are they?"

"Darling, George Mellis is the most eligible bachelor around. The girls can't wait to pull their little panties down for him. They all see themselves as the future Mrs. Mellis. Frankly, if my husband weren't so damned jealous, Fd go for George myself. Isn't he a gorgeous hunk of animal?"

"Gorgeous," Eve said.

George Mellis walked onto the terrace where Eve was seated alone, and in spite of herself, she felt a stab of fear.

He walked up to her and said, "Good morning, Eve. Are you all right?" His face was filled with genuine concern. He touched her bruised cheek gently. "My darling, you are so beautiful." He pulled up a chair and straddled it, sitting across from her, and gestured toward the sparkling sea. "Have you ever seen any-thing so lovely?"

It was as though the previous night had never happened. She listened to George Mellis as he went on talking, and she felt once again the powerful magnetism of the man. Even after the nightmare she had experienced, she could still feel that. It was incredible. He looks like a Greek god. He belongs in a museum. He belongs in an insane asylum.

"I have to return to New York tonight," George Mellis was saying. "Where can I call you?"

"I just moved," Eve said quickly. "I don't have a telephone yet. Let me call you."

"All right, my darling." He grinned. "You really enjoyed last night, didn't you?"

Eve could not believe her ears.

"I have many things to teach you, Eve," he whispered.

And I have something to teach you, Mr. Mellis, Eve promised herself.

The moment she returned home, Eve telephoned Dorothy Hollister. In New York, where an insatiable segment of the media covered the comings and goings of the so-called beautiful people, Dorothy was the fountainhead of information. She had been married to a socialite, and when he divorced her for his twenty-one-year-old secretary, Dorothy Hollister was forced to go to work. She took a job that suited her talents well: She became a gossip columnist. Because she knew everyone in the mi-lieu she was writing about, and because they believed she could be trusted, few people kept any secrets from her.

If anyone could tell Eve about George Mellis, it would be Dorothy Hollister. Eve invited her to lunch at La Pyramide.

Hollister was a heavyset woman with a fleshy face, dyed red hair, a loud, raucous voice and a braying laugh. She was loaded down with jewelry—all fake.

When they had ordered, Eve said casually, "I was in the Bahamas last week. It was lovely there."

"I know you were," Dorothy Hollister said. "I have Nita Ludwig's guest list. Was it a fun party?"

Eve shrugged. "I saw a lot of old friends. I met an interesting man named"—she paused, her brow wrinkled in thought— "George somebody. Miller, I think. A Greek."

Dorothy Hollister laughed, a loud, booming laugh that could be heard across the room. "Mellis, dear. George Mellis."

"That's right. Mellis. Do you know him?"

"I've seen him. I thought I was going to turn into a pillar of salt. My God, he's fantastic looking."

"What's his background, Dorothy?"

Dorothy Hollister looked around, then leaned forward confidentially. "No one knows this, but you'll keep it to yourself, won't you? George is the black sheep of the family. His family is in the wholesale food business, and they're too rich for words, my dear. George was supposed to take over the business, but he got in so many scrapes over there with girls and boys and goats, for all I know, that his father and his brothers finally got fed up and shipped him out of the country."

Eve was absorbing every word.

"They cut the poor boy off without a drachma, so he had to go to work to support himself."

So that explained the necklace!

"Of course, he doesn't have to worry. One of these days George will marry rich." She looked over at Eve and asked, "Are you interested, sweetie?"

"Not really."

Eve was more than interested. George Mellis might be the key she had been looking for. The key to her fortune.

Early the next morning, she telephoned him at the brokerage firm where he worked. He recognized her voice immediately.

"I've been going mad waiting for your call, Eve. We'll have dinner tonight and—"

"No. Lunch, tomorrow."

He hesitated, surprised. "All right. I was supposed to have lunch with a customer, but I'll put him off."

Eve did not believe it was a him. "Come to my apartment," Eve said. She gave him the address. "I'll see you at twelve-thirty."

"I'll be there." She could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice.

George Mellis was due for a surprise.

He arrived thirty minutes late, and Eve realized it was a pattern with him. It was not a deliberate rudeness, it was an indifference, the knowledge that people would always wait for him His pleasures would be there for him whenever he bothered to reach out and take them. With his incredible looks and charm, the world belonged to him. Except for one thing: He was poor. That was his vulnerable point.

George looked around the little apartment, expertly appraising the value of its contents. "Very pleasant."

He moved toward Eve, his arms outstretched. "I've thought about you every minute."

She evaded his embrace. "Wait. I have something to tell you, George."

His black eyes bored into hers. "We'll talk later."

"We'll talk now." She spoke slowly and distinctly. "If you ever touch me like that again, I'm going to kill you."

He looked at her, his lips curved in a half smile. "What kind of joke is that?"

"It's not a joke. I mean it. I have a business proposition for you."

There was a puzzled expression on his face. "You called me here to discuss business?"

"Yes. I don't know how much you make conning silly old ladies into buying stocks and bonds, but I'm sure it's not enough."

His face went dark with anger. "Are you crazy? My family—"

"Your family is rich—you're not. My family is rich—I'm not. We're both in the same leaky rowboat, darling. I know a way we can turn it into a yacht." She stood there, watching his curiosity get the better of his anger.

"You'd better tell me what you're talking about."

"It's quite simple. I've been disinherited from a very large fortune. My sister Alexandra hasn't."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"If you married Alexandra, that fortune would be yours— ours."

"Sorry. I could never stand the idea of being tied down to anyone."

"As it happens," Eve assured him, "that's no problem. My sister has always been accident-prone."

Berkley and Mathews Advertising Agency was the diadem in Madison Avenue's roster of agencies. Its annual billings exceeded the combined billings of its two nearest competitors, chiefly because its major account was Kruger-Brent, Ltd., and its dozens of worldwide subsidiaries. More than seventy-five account executives, copywriters, creative directors, photographers, engravers, artists and media experts were employed on the Kruger-Brent account alone. It came as no surprise, therefore, that when Kate Blackwell telephoned Aaron Berkley to ask him if he could find a position in his agency for Alexandra, a place was found for her instantly. If Kate Blackwell had desired it, they would probably have made Alexandra president of the agency.

"I believe my granddaughter is interested in being a copywriter," Kate informed Aaron Berkley.

Berkley assured Kate that there just happened to be a copywriter vacancy, and that Alexandra could start any time she wished.

She went to work the following Monday.

Few Madison Avenue advertising agencies are actually located on Madison Avenue, but Berkley and Mathews was an exception. The agency owned a large, modern building at the corner of Madison and Fifty-seventh Street. The agency occupied eight floors of the building and leased the other floors. In order to save a salary, Aaron Berkley and his partner, Norman Mathews, decided Alexandra Blackwell would replace a young copywriter hired six months earlier. The word spread rapidly. When the staff learned the young woman who was fired was being replaced by the granddaughter of the agency's biggest client, there was general indignation. Without even having met Alexandra, the consensus was that she was a spoiled bitch who had probably been sent there to spy on them.

When Alexandra reported for work, she was escorted to the huge, modern office of Aaron Berkley, where both Berkley and Mathews waited to greet her. The two partners looked nothing alike. Berkley was tall and thin, with a full head of white hair, and Mathews was short, tubby and completely bald. They had two things in common: They were brilliant advertising men who had created some of the most famous slogans of the past decade; and they were absolute tyrants. They treated their employees like chattels, and the only reason the employees stood for such treatment was that anyone who had worked for Berkley and Mathews could work at any advertising agency in the world. It was the training ground.

Also present in the office when Alexandra arrived was Lucas Pinkerton, a vice-president of the firm, a smiling man with an obsequious manner and cold eyes. Pinkerton was younger than the senior partners, but what he lacked in age, he made up for in vindictiveness toward the men and women who worked under him.

Aaron Berkley ushered Alexandra to a comfortable armchair. "What can I get you, Miss Blackwell? Would you like some coffee, tea?"

"Nothing, thank you."

"So. You're going to work with us here as a copywriter."

"I really appreciate your giving me this opportunity, Mr. Berkley. I know I have a great deal to learn, but I'll work very hard."

"No need for that," Norman Mathews said quickly. He caught himself. "I mean—you can't rush a learning experience like this. You take all the time you want."

"I'm sure you'll be very happy here," Aaron Berkley added. "You'll be working with the best people in the business."

One hour later, Alexandra was thinking, They may be the best, but they're certainly not the friendliest. Lucas Pinkerton had taken Alexandra around to introduce her to the staff, and the reception everywhere had been icy. They acknowledged her presence and then quickly found other things to do. Alexandra sensed their resentment, but she had no idea what had caused it. Pinkerton led her into a smoke-filled conference room. Against one wall was a cabinet filled with Clios and Art Directors' awards. Seated around a table were a woman and two men, all of them chain-smoking. The woman was short and dumpy, with rust-colored hair. The men were in their middle thirties, pale and harassed-looking.

Pinkerton said, "This is the creative team you'll be working with. Alice Koppel, Vince Barnes and Marty Bergheimer. This is Miss Blackwell."

The three of them stared at Alexandra.

"Well, I'll leave you to get acquainted with one another," Pinkerton said. He turned to Vince Barnes. "I'll expect the new perfume copy on my desk by tomorrow morning. See that Miss Blackwell has everything she needs." And he left.

"What do you need?" Vince Barnes asked.

The question caught Alexandra off guard. "I—I guess I just need to learn the advertising business."

Alice Koppel said sweetly, "You've come to the right place, Miss Blackwell. We're dying to play teacher."

"Lay off," Marty Bergheimer told her.

Alexandra was puzzled. "Have I done something to offend any of you?"

Marty Bergheimer replied, "No, Miss Blackwell. We're just under a lot of pressure here. We're working on a perfume campaign, and so far Mr. Berkley and Mr. Mathews are underwhelmed by what we've delivered."

"I'll try not to be a bother," Alexandra promised.

"That would be peachy," Alice Koppel said.

The rest of the day went no better. There was not a smile in the place. One of their co-workers had been summarily fired because of this rich bitch, and they were going to make her pay.

At the end of Alexandra's first day, Aaron Berkley and Norman Mathews came into the little office Alexandra had been assigned, to make sure she was comfortable. The gesture was not lost on Alexandra's fellow workers.

Everyone in the agency was on a first-name basis—except for Alexandra. She was Miss Blackwell to everyone.

"Alexandra," she said.

"Right."

And the next time they addressed her, it was "Miss Black-well."

Alexandra was eager to learn and to make a contribution. She attended think-tank meetings where the copywriters brain-stormed ideas. She watched art editors draw up their designs. She listened to Lucas Pinkerton tear apart the copy that was brought to him for approval. He was a nasty, mean-spirited man, and Alexandra felt sorry for the copywriters who suffered under him. Alexandra found herself shuttling from floor to floor for meetings with department heads, meetings with clients, photographic sessions, strategy discussion meetings. She kept her mouth shut, listened and learned. At the end of her first week, she felt as though she had been there a month. She came home exhausted, not from the work but from the tension that her presence seemed to create.

When Kate asked how the job was going, Alexandra replied, 'Fine, Gran. It's very interesting."

"I'm sure you'll do well, Alex. If you have any problems, just see Mr. Berkley or Mr. Mathews."

That was the last thing Alexandra intended to do.

On the following Monday Alexandra went to work determined to find a way to solve her problem. There were daily morning and afternoon coffee breaks, and the conversation was easy and casual.

"Did you hear what happened over at National Media? Some genius there wanted to call attention to the great year they had, so he printed their financial report in The New York Times in red ink!"

"Remember that airline promotion: Fly Your Wife Free"! It was a smash until the airline sent letters of appreciation to the wives and got back a flood of mail demanding to know who their husbands had flown with. They—"

Alexandra walked in, and the conversation stopped dead.

"Can I get you some coffee, Miss Blackwell?"

"Thank you. I can get it."

There was silence while Alexandra fed a quarter into the coffee machine. When she left, the conversation started again.

"Did you hear about the Pure Soap foul-up? The angelic-looking model they used turned out to be a porno star ..."

At noon Alexandra said to Alice Koppel, "If you're free for lunch, I thought we might—"

"Sorry. I have a date."

Alexandra looked at Vince Barnes. "Me, too," he said.

She looked at Marty Bergheimer. "I'm all booked up."

Alexandra was too upset to eat lunch. They were making her feel as though she were a pariah, and she found herself getting angry. She did not intend to give up. She was going to find a way to reach them, to let them know that deep down under the Blackwell name she was one of them. She sat at meetings and listened to Aaron Berlcley and Norman Mathews and Lucas Pinkerton tongue-lash the creators who were merely trying to do their jobs as well as they could. Alexandra sympathized, but they did not want her sympathy. Or her.

Alexandra waited three days before trying again. She said to Alice Koppel, "I heard of a wonderful little Italian restaurant near here—"

"I don't eat Italian food."

She turned to Vince Barnes. "I'm on a diet."

Alexandra looked at Marty Bergheimer. "I'm going to eat Chinese."

Alexandra's face was flushed. They did not want to be seen with her. Well, to hell with them. To hell with all of them. She had had enough. She had gone out of her way to try to make friends, and each time she had been slapped down. Working there was a mistake. She would find another job somewhere with a company that her grandmother had nothing to do with. She would quit at the end of the week. But I'm going to make you all remember I was here, Alexandra thought grimly.

At 1:00 p.m. on Thursday, everyone except the receptionist at the switchboard was out to lunch. Alexandra stayed behind. She had observed that in the executive offices there were intercoms connecting the various departments, so that if an executive wanted to talk to an underling, all he had to do was press a button on the talk box where the employee's name was written on a card. Alexandra slipped into the deserted offices of Aaron Berkley and Norman Mathews and Lucas Pinkerton and spent the next hour changing all the cards around. Thus it was that early that afternoon Lucas Pinkerton pressed down the key that connected him to his chief copywriter and said, "Get your ass in here. Now!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, then Norman Mathews's voice bellowed, "What did you say?"

Pinkerton stared at the machine, transfixed. "Mr. Mathews, is that you?"

"You're damned right it is. Get your fucking ass in here. Now!"

A minute later, a copywriter pressed down a button on the machine on his desk and said, "I've got some copy for you to run downstairs."

Aaron Berkley's voice roared back at him. "You what?"

It was the beginning of pandemonium. It took four hours to straighten out the mess that Alexandra had created, and it was the best four hours that the employees of Berkley and Mathews had ever known. Each time a fresh incident occurred, they whooped with joy. The executives were being buzzed to run errands, fetch cigarettes and repair a broken toilet. Aaron Berkley and Norman Mathews and Lucas Pinkerton turned the place upside down trying to find out who the culprit was, but no one knew anything.

The only one who had seen Alexandra go into the various offices was Fran, the woman on the switchboard, but she hated her bosses more than she hated Alexandra, so all she would say was, "I didn't see a soul."

That night when Fran was in bed with Vince Barnes, she related what had happened.

He sat up in bed. "The Blackwell girl did it? I'll be a sonofa-bitch!"

The following morning when Alexandra walked into her office, Vince Barnes, Alice Koppel and Marty Bergheimer were there, waiting. They stared at her in silence. "Is something wrong?" Alexandra asked.

"Not a thing, Alex," Alice Koppel said. "The boys and I were just wondering if you'd like to join us for lunch. We know this great little Italian joint near here ..."

From the time she was a little girl, Eve Blackwell had been aware of her ability to manipulate people. Before, it had always been a game with her, but now it was deadly serious. She had been treated shabbily, deprived of a vast fortune that was rightfully hers, by her scheming sister and her vindictive old grandmother. They were going to pay in full for what they had done to her, and the thought of it gave Eve such intense pleasure that it almost brought her to orgasm. Their lives were now in hei hands.

Eve worked out her plan carefully and meticulously, orchestrating every move. In the beginning, George Mellis had been a reluctant conspirator.

"Christ, it's too dangerous. I don't need to get involved in anything like this," he argued. "I can get all the money I need."

"How?" Eve asked contemptuously. "By laying a lot of fat women with blue hair? Is that how you want to spend the rest of your life? What happens when you put on a little weight and start to get a few wrinkles around your eyes? No, George, you'll never have another opportunity like this. If you listen to me, you

and I can own one of the largest conglomerates in the world. You hear me? Own it."

"How do you know this plan will work?"

"Because I'm the greatest living expert on my grandmother and my sister. Believe me, it will work."

Eve sounded confident, but she had reservations and they concerned George Mellis. Eve knew she could do her part, but she was not sure George would be able to do his. He was unstable, and there was no room for error. One mistake, and the whole plan would fall apart.

She said to him now, "Make up your mind. Are you in or out?"

He studied her for a long time. "I'm in." He moved close to her and stroked her shoulders. His voice was husky. "I want to be all the way in."

Eve felt a sexual thrill go through her. "All right," she whispered, "but we do it my way."

They were in bed. Naked, he was the most magnificent animal Eve had ever seen. And the most dangerous, but that only added to her excitement. She had the weapon now to control him. She nibbled at his body, slowly moving down toward his groin, tiny, teasing bites that made his penis grow stiff and hard.

"Fuck me, George," Eve said.

"Turn over."

"No. My way."

"I don't enjoy that."

"I know. You'd like me to be a tight-assed little boy, wouldn't you, darling? I'm not. I'm a woman. Get on top of me."

He mounted her and put his tumescent penis inside her. "I can't be satisfied this way, Eve."

She laughed. "I don't care, sweetheart. / can."

She began to move her hips, thrusting against him, feeling him going deeper and deeper inside her. She had orgasm after orgasm, and watched his frustration grow. He wanted to hurt her. to make her scream with pain, but he dared not.

"Again!" Eve commanded. And he pounded his body into her

until she moaned aloud with pleasure. "Ahh-h-h ... that's enough for now."

He withdrew and lay at her side. He reached for her breasts. "Now it's my—"

And she said curtly, "Get dressed."

He rose from the bed, trembling with frustration and rage. Eve lay in bed watching him put on his clothes, a tight smile on her face. "You've been a good boy, George. It's time you got your reward. I'm going to turn Alexandra over to you."

Overnight, everything had changed for Alexandra. What was to have been her last day at Berkley and Mathews had turned into a triumph for her. She had gone from outcast to heroine. News of her caper spread all over Madison Avenue.

"You're a legend in your own time," Vince Barnes grinned.

Now she was one of them.

Alexandra enjoyed her work, particularly the creative sessions that went on every morning. She knew this was not what she wanted to do for the rest of her life, but she was not sure what she wanted. She had had at least a dozen proposals of marriage, and she had been tempted by one or two of them, but something had been lacking. She simply had not found the right man.

On Friday morning, Eve telephoned to invite Alexandra to lunch. 'There's a new French restaurant that just opened. I hear the food is marvelous."

Alexandra was delighted to hear from her sister. She was concerned about Eve. Alexandra telephoned her two or three times a week, but Eve was either out or too busy to see her. So now, even though Alexandra had an engagement, she said, "I'd love to have lunch with you."

The restaurant was chic and expensive, and the bar was filled with patrons waiting for tables. Eve had had to use her grandmother's name in order to get a reservation. It galled her, and she thought, Just wait. One day you'll be begging me to eat at your crummy restaurant.  Eve was already seated when

Alexandra arrived. She watched Alexandra as the maitre d' escorted her to the table, and she had the odd sensation she was watching herself approach the table.

Eve greeted her sister with a kiss on the cheek. "You look absolutely marvelous, Alex. Work must agree with you."

They ordered, and then caught up with each other's lives.

"How's the job going?" Eve asked.

Alexandra told Eve everything that was happening to her, and Eve gave Alexandra a carefully edited version of her own life. In the midst of their conversation, Eve glanced up. George Mellis was standing there. He was looking at the two of them, momentarily confused. My God, Eve realized, he doesn't know which one I am!

"George!" she said.

He turned to her in relief. "Eve!"

Eve said, "What a pleasant surprise." She nodded toward Alexandra. "I don't believe you've met my sister. Alex, may I present George Mellis."

George took Alexandra's hand and said, "Enchanted." Eve had mentioned that her sister was a twin, but it had not occurred to him that they would be identical twins.

Alexandra was staring at George, fascinated.

Eve said, "Won't you join us?"

"I wish I could. I'm afraid I'm late for an appointment. Another time, perhaps." He looked at Alexandra. "And soon, I hope."

They watched him leave. "Good heavens!" Alexandra said. "Who was that?"

"Oh, he's a friend of Nita Ludwig. I met him at her house party."

"Am I crazy, or is he as stunning as I think he is?"

Eve laughed. "He's not my type, but women seem to find Mm attractive."

"I would think so! Is he married?"

"No. But it's not because they aren't out there trying, darling. George is very rich. You might say he has everything: looks,

money, social background." And Eve skillfully changed the subject.

When Eve asked for the check, the captain told her it had been taken care of by Mr. Mellis.

Alexandra was unable to stop thinking about George Mellis.

On Monday afternoon, Eve called Alexandra and said, "Well, it looks like you made a bit, darling. George Mellis called me and asked for your telephone number. Is it all right to give it to him?"

Alexandra was surprised to find that she was smiling. "If you're sure you're not interested in—"

"I told you, Alex, he's not my type."

"Then I don't mind if you give him my number."

They chatted a few minutes more, and Eve hung up. She replaced the receiver and looked up at George, who was lying next to her on the bed, naked. "The lady said yes."

"How soon?"

"When I tell you."

Alexandra tried to forget that George Mellis was going to telephone her, but the more she tried to put him out of her mind, the more she thought about him. She had never been particularly attracted to handsome men, for she had found that most of them were self-centered. But George Mellis, Alexandra thought, seemed different. There was an overpowering quality about him. The mere touch of his hand had stirred her. You're crazy, she told herself. You've only seen the man for two minutes.

He did not call all that week, and Alexandra's emotions went from impatience to frustration to anger. To hell with him, she thought. He's found someone else. Good!

When the phone rang at the end of the following week and Alexandra heard his deep, husky voice, her anger dissipated as if by magic.

"This is George Mellis," he said. "We met briefly when you and your sister were having lunch. Eve said you wouldn't mind if I telephoned you."

"She did mention that you might call," Alexandra said casually. "By the way, thank you for the lunch."

"You deserve a feast. You deserve a monument."

Alexandra laughed, enjoying his extravagance.

"I wonder if you would care to have dinner with me one evening?"

"Why—I—yes. That would be nice."

"Wonderful. If you had said no, I should have killed myself."

"Please don't," Alexandra said. "I hate eating alone."

"So do I. I know a little restaurant on Mulberry Street: Matoon's. It's very obscure, but the food is—"

"Matoon's! I love it!" Alexandra exclaimed. "It's my favorite."

"You know it?" There was surprise in his voice.

"Oh, yes."

George looked over at Eve and grinned. He had to admire her ingenuity. She had briefed him on all of Alexandra's likes and dislikes. George Mellis knew everything there was to know about Eve's sister.

When George finally replaced the receiver, Eve thought, It's started.

It was the most enchanting evening of Alexandra's life. One hour before George Mellis was due, a dozen pink balloons arrived, with an orchid attached. Alexandra had been filled with a fear that her imagination might have led her to expect too much, but the moment she saw George Mellis again, all her doubts were swept away. She felt once again his overpowering magnetism.

They had a drink at the house and then went on to the restaurant.

"Would you like to look at the menu?" George asked. "Or shall I order for you?"

Alexandra had her favorite dishes here, but she wanted to please George. "Why don't you order?"

He chose every one of Alexandra's favorites, and she had the heady feeling he was reading her mind. They dined on stuffed artichokes, veal Matoon, a specialty of the house, and angel hair, a delicate pasta. They had a salad that George mixed at the table with a deft skill.

"Do you cook?" Alexandra asked.

"Ah, it's one of the passions of my life. My mother taught me. She was a brilliant cook."

"Are you close to your family, George?"

He smiled, and Alexandra thought it was the most attractive smile she had ever seen.

'I'm Greek," he said simply. "I'm the oldest of three brothers and two sisters, and we are like one." A look of sadness came into his eyes. "Leaving them was the most difficult thing I ever had to do. My father and my brothers begged me to stay. We have a large business, and they felt I was needed there."

"Why didn't you stay?"

"I will probably seem a fool to you, but I prefer to make my own way. It has always been difficult for me to accept gifts from anyone, and the business was a gift handed down from my grandfather to my father. No, I will take nothing from my father. Let my brothers have my share."

How Alexandra admired him.

"Besides," George added softly, "if I had stayed in Greece, I never would have met you."

Alexandra felt herself blushing. "You've never been married?"

"No. I used to get engaged once a day," he teased, "but at the last moment I always felt there was something wrong." He leaned forward, and his voice was earnest. "Beautiful Alexandra, you are going to think me very old-fashioned, but when I get married, it will be forever. One woman is enough for me, but it must be the right woman."

"I think that's lovely," she murmured.

"And you?" George Mellis asked. "Have you ever been in love?"

"No."

"How unlucky for someone," he said. "But how lucky for—"

At that moment, the waiter appeared with dessert. Alexandra

was dying to ask George to finish the sentence, but she was afraid to.

Alexandra had never felt so completely at ease with anyone. George Mellis seemed so genuinely interested in her that she found herself telling him about her childhood, her life, the experiences she had stored up and treasured.

George Mellis prided himself on being an expert on women. He knew that beautiful women were usually the most insecure, for men concentrated on that beauty, leaving the women feeling like objects rather than human beings. When George was with a beautiful woman, he never mentioned her looks. He made the woman feel that he was interested in her mind, her feelings, that he was a soul mate sharing her dreams. It was an extraordinary experience for Alexandra. She told George about Kate, and about Eve.

"Your sister does not live with you and your grandmother?"

"No. She—Eve wanted an apartment of her own."

Alexandra could not imagine why George Mellis had not been attracted to her sister. Whatever the reason, Alexandra was grateful. During the course of the dinner, Alexandra noted that every woman in the place was aware of George, but not once did he look around or take his eyes from her.

Over coffee, George said, "I don't know if you tike jazz, but there's a club on St. Marks Place called the Five Spot..."

"Where Cecil Taylor plays!"

He looked at Alexandra in astonishment. "You've been

"Often!" Alexandra laughed. "I love him! It's incredible how we share the same tastes." George replied quietly, "It's like some kind of miracle." They listened to Cecil Taylor's spellbinding piano playing, long solos that rocked the room with arpeggios and rippling glissandi. From there they went to a bar on Bleecker Street, where the customers drank, ate popcorn, threw darts and lis-tened to good piano music. Alexandra watched as George got into a dart contest with one of the regular patrons. The man was good, but he never had a chance. George played with a grim in-tensity that was almost frightening. It was only a game, but he played it as though it meant life or death. He's a man who has to win, Alexandra thought.

It was 2:00 a.m. when they left the bar, and Alexandra hated for the evening to end.

George sat beside Alexandra in the chauffeur-driven Rolls-Royce he had rented. He did not speak. He just looked at her. The resemblance between the two sisters was startling. I wonder if their bodies are alike. He visualized Alexandra in bed with him, writhing and screaming with pain.

"What are you thinking?" Alexandra asked.

He looked away from her so she could not read his eyes. "You'll laugh at me."

"I won't. I promise."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. I suppose I'm considered something of a playboy. You know the life—yachting trips and parties, and all the rest of it."

"Yes..."

He fixed his dark eyes on Alexandra. "I think you are the one woman who could change all that. Forever."

Alexandra felt her pulse quicken. "I—I don't know what to say."

"Please. Don't say anything." His lips were very close to hers, and Alexandra was ready. But he made no move. Don't make any advances, Eve had warned. Not on the first night. If you do, you become one of a long line of Romeos dying to get their hands on her and her fortune. She has to make the first move.

And so, George Mellis merely held Alexandra's hand in his until the car glided to a smooth stop in front of the Blackwell mansion. George escorted Alexandra to her front door. She turned to him and said, "I can't tell you how much I've enjoyed this evening."

"It was magic for me."

Alexandra's smile was bright enough to light up the street "Good night, George," she whispered. And she disappeared inside.

Fifteen minutes later, Alexandra's phone rang. "Do you know what I just did? I telephoned my family. I told them about the wonderful woman I was with tonight. Sleep well, lovely Alexandra."

When he hung up, George Mellis thought, After we're married, I will call my family. And I'll tell them all to go fuck themselves.

Alexandra did not hear from George Mellis again. Not that day, or the next, or the rest of that week. Every time the phone rang, she rushed to pick it up, but she was always disappointed. She could not imagine what had gone wrong. She kept replaying the evening in her mind: I think you are the one woman who could change all that forever, and I telephoned my mother and father and brothers and told them about the wonderful woman I was with tonight. Alexandra went through a litany of reasons why he had not telephoned her.

She had offended him in some way without realizing it.

He liked her too much, was afraid of falling in love with her and had made up his mind never to see her again.

He had decided she was not his type.

He had been in a terrible accident and was lying helpless in a hospital somewhere.

He was dead.

When Alexandra could stand it no longer, she telephoned Eve. Alexandra forced herself to make small talk for a full minute before she blurted out, "Eve, you haven't heard from George Mellis lately, by any chance, have you?"

"Why, no. I thought he was going to call you about dinner."

"We did have dinner—last week."

"And you haven't heard from him since?"

"No."

"He's probably busy."

No one is that busy, Alexandra thought. Aloud she said, "Probably."

"Forget about George Mellis, darling. There's a very attractive Canadian I'd like you to meet. He owns an airline and ..."

When Eve had hung up, she sat back, smiling. She wished her grandmother could have known how beautifully she had planned everything.

"Hey, what's eating you?" Alice Koppel asked.

"I'm sorry," Alexandra replied.

She had been snapping at everyone all morning. It had been two full weeks since she had heard from George Mellis, and Alexandra was angry—not with him, but with herself for not being able to forget him. He owed her nothing. They were strangers who had shared an evening together, and she was act-ing as though she expected him to marry her, for God's sake. George Mellis could have any woman in the world. Why on earth would he want her?

Even her grandmother had noticed how irritable she had be-come. "What's the matter with you, child? Are they working you too hard at that agency?"

"No, Gran. It's just that I—I haven't been sleeping well

When she did sleep, she had erotic dreams about George Mellis. Damn him! She wished Eve had never introduced him to her.

The call came at the office the following afternoon. "Alex? George Mellis." As though she didn't hear that deep voice in her dreams.

"Alex? Are you there?"

"Yes, I'm here." She was filled with mixed emotions. She

did not know whether to laugh or cry. He was a thoughtless, selfish egotist, and she did not care whether she ever saw him again.

"I wanted to call you sooner," George apologized, "but I just returned from Athens a few minutes ago."

Alexandra's heart melted. "You've been in Athens?"

"Yes. Remember the evening we had dinner together?"

Alexandra remembered.

"The next morning Steve, my brother, telephoned me— My father had a heart attack."

"Oh, George!" She felt so guilty for having thought such terrible things about him. "How is he?"

"He's going to be all right, thank God. But I felt as though I was being torn in pieces. He begged me to come back to Greece and take over the family business."

"Are you going to?" She was holding her breath.

"No."

She exhaled.

"I know now that my place is here. There isn't one day or one hour that's gone by that I haven't thought about you. When can I see you?"

Now! "I'm free for dinner this evening."

He was almost tempted to name another of Alexandra's favorite restaurants. Instead he said, "Wonderful. Where would you like to dine?"

"Anywhere. I don't care. Would you like to have dinner at the house?"

"No." He was not ready to meet Kate yet. Whatever you do, stay away from Kate Blackwell for now. She's your biggest obstacle. "I'll pick you up at eight o'clock," George told her.

Alexandra hung up, kissed Alice Koppel, Vince Barnes and Marty Bergheimer and said, "I'm off to the hairdresser. I'll see you all tomorrow."

They watched her race out of the office.

"It's a man," Alice Koppel said.

They had dinner at Maxwell's Plum. A captain led them past the crowded horseshoe bar near the front door and up the stairs to the dining room. They ordered.

"Did you think about me while I was away?" George asked.

"Yes." She felt she had to be completely honest with this man—this man who was so open, so vulnerable. "When I didn't hear from you, I thought something terrible might have happened. I—I got panicky. I don't think I could have stood it another day."

Full marks for Eve, George thought. Sit tight, Eve had said. I'll tell you when to call her. For the first time George had the feeling the plan really was going to work. Until now he had let it nibble at the edges of his mind, toying with the idea of controlling the incredible Blackwell fortune, but he had not really dared believe it. It had been merely a game that he and Eve had been playing. Looking at Alexandra now, seated across from him, her eyes filled with naked adoration, George Mellis knew it was no longer just a game. Alexandra was his. That was the first step in the plan. The other steps might be dangerous, but with Eve's help, he would handle them.

We're in this together all the way, George, and we'll share everything right down the middle.

  George Mellis did not believe in partners. When he had what he wanted, when he had disposed of Alexandra, then he would take care of Eve. That thought gave him enormous pleasure.  "You're smiling," Alexandra said.

He put his hand over hers, and his touch warmed her. "I was thinking how nice it was our being here together. About our being anywhere together." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a jewel box. "I brought something for you from Greece."

"Oh, George ..."

"Open it, Alex."

Inside the box was an exquisite diamond necklace.  "It's beautiful."

It was the one he had taken from Eve. It's safe to give it to her, Eve had told him. She's never seen it.

"It's too much. Really."

"It's not nearly enough. I'll enjoy watching you wear it."

"I—" Alexandra was trembling. "Thank you."

He looked at her plate. "You haven't eaten anything."

"I'm not hungry."

He saw the look in her eyes again and felt the familiar soaring sense of power. He had seen that look in the eyes of so many women: beautiful women, ugly women, rich women, poor women. He had used them. In one way or another, they had all given him something. But this one was going to give him more than all of them put together.

"What would you like to do?" His husky voice was an invitation.

She accepted it, simply and openly. "I want to be with you."

George Mellis had every right to be proud of his apartment. It was a tasteful jewel of a place, furnished by grateful lovers— men and women—who had tried to buy his affection with expensive gifts, and had succeeded, always temporarily.

"It's a lovely apartment," Alexandra exclaimed.

He went over to her and slowly turned her around so that the diamond necklace twinkled in the subdued lighting of the room. "It becomes you, darling."

And he kissed her gently, and then more urgently, and Alexandra was hardly aware when he led her into the bedroom. The room was done in tones of blue, with tasteful, masculine furniture. In the center of the room stood a large, king-size bed. George took Alexandra in his arms again and found that she was shaking. "Are you all right, kale' mou?'

"I—I'm a little nervous." She was terrified that she would disappoint this man. She took a deep breath and started to unbutton her dress.

George whispered, "Let me." He began to undress the exquisite blonde standing before him, and he remembered Eve's words: Control yourself. If you hurt Alexandra, if she finds out what a pig you really are, you'll never see her again. Do you un-derstand that? Save your fists for your whores and your pretty little boys.

And so George tenderly undressed Alexandra and studied her nakedness. Her body was exactly the same as Eve's: beautiful and ripe and full. He had an overwhelming desire to bruise the white, delicate skin; to hit her, choke her, make her scream. If you hurt her, you'll never see her again.

He undressed and drew Alexandra close to his body. They stood there together, looking into each other's eyes, and then George gently led Alexandra to the bed and began to kiss her, slowly and lovingly, his tongue and fingers expertly exploring every crevice of her body until she was unable to wait another moment.

"Oh, please," she said. "Now. Now!"

He mounted her then, and she was plunged into an ecstasy that was almost unbearable. When finally Alexandra lay still in his arms and sighed, "Oh, my darling. I hope it was as wonderful for you," he lied and said, "It was."

She held him close and wept, and she did not know why she was weeping, only that she was grateful for the glory and the joy of it.

'There, there," George said soothingly. "Everything is marvelous."

And it was.

Eve would have been so proud of him.

In every love affair, there are misunderstandings, jealousies, small hurts, but not in the romance between George and Alexandra. With Eve's careful coaching, George was able to play skillfully on Alexandra's every emotion. George knew Alexandra's fears, her fantasies, her passions and aversions, and he was always there, ready to give her exactly what she needed, He knew what made her laugh, and what made her cry. Alexandra was thrilled by his lovemaking, but George found it frustrating. When he was in bed with Alexandra, listening to her animal cries, her excitement aroused him to a fever pitch. He wanted to savage her, make her scream for mercy so he could have his own relief. But he knew if he did that he would destroy everything. His frustration kept growing. The more they made love, the more he grew to despise Alexandra.

There were certain places where George Mellis could find satisfaction, but he knew he had to be cautious. Late at night he haunted anonymous singles' bars and gay discos, and he picked up lonely widows looking for an evening's comfort, gay boys hungry for love, prostitutes hungry for money. George took them to a series of seedy hotels on the West Side, in the Bowery and in Greenwich Village. He never returned to the same hotel twice, nor would he have been welcomed back. His sexual partners usually were found either unconscious or semiconscious, their bodies battered and sometimes covered with cigarette burns.

George avoided masochists. They enjoyed the pain he inflicted, and that took away his pleasure. No, he had to hear them scream and beg for mercy, as his father had made him scream and beg for mercy when George was a small boy. His punishments for the smallest infractions were beatings that often left him unconscious. When George was eight years old and his father caught him and a neighbor's son naked together, George's father beat him until the blood ran from his ears and nose, and to make sure the boy never sinned again, his father pressed a lighted cigar to George's penis. The scar healed, but the deeper scar inside festered.

George Mellis had the wild, passionate nature of his Hellenic ancestors. He could not bear the thought of being controlled by anyone. He put up with the taunting humiliation Eve Blackwell inflicted upon him only because he needed her. When he had the Blackwell fortune in his hands, he intended to punish her until she begged him to kill her. Meeting Eve was the luckiest thing that had ever happened to him. Lucky for me, George mused. Unlucky for her,

Alexandra continually marveled at how George always knew just what flowers to send her, what records to buy, what books would please her. When he took her to a museum, he was excited about the same paintings she loved. It was incredible to Alexandra how identical their tastes were. She looked for a single flaw in George Mellis, and she could find none. He was perfect. She grew more and more eager for Kate to meet him.

But George always found an excuse to avoid meeting Kate Blackwell.

"Why, darling? You'll love her. Besides, I want to show you off."

"I'm sure she's wonderful," George said boyishly. "I'm terrified she'll think I'm not good enough for you."

'That's ridiculous!" His modesty touched her. "Gran will adore you."

"Soon," he told Alexandra. "As soon as I get up my courage."

He discussed it with Eve one night.

She thought about it. "All right. You'll have to get it over with sooner or later. But you'll have to watch yourself every second. She's a bitch, but she's a smart bitch. Don't underestimate her for a second. If she suspects you're after anything, she'll cut your heart out and feed it to her dogs."

"Why do we need her?" George asked.

"Because if you do anything to make Alexandra antagonize her, we'll all be out in the cold."

Alexandra had never been so nervous. They were going to dine together for the first time, George and Kate and Alexandra, and Alexandra prayed that nothing would go wrong. She wanted more than anything in the world for her grandmother and George to like each other, for her grandmother to see what a wonderful person George was and for George to appreciate Kate Blackweli.

Kate had never seen her granddaughter so happy. Alexandra had met some of the most eligible young men in the world, and none of them had interested her. Kate intended to take a very close look at the man who had captivated her granddaughter. Kate had had long years of experience with fortune hunters, and she had no intention of allowing Alexandra to be taken in by one.

She was eagerly looking forward to meeting Mr. George Mellis. She had a feeling he had been reluctant to meet her, and she wondered why.

Kate heard the front doorbell ring, and a minute later Alexandra came into the drawing room leading a tall, classically handsome stranger by the hand.

"Gran, this is George Mellis."

"At last," Kate said. "I was beginning to think you were avoiding me, Mr. Mellis."

"On the contrary, Mrs. Blackwell, you have no idea how much I've been looking forward to this moment." He was about to say, "You're even more beautiful than Alex told me," but he stopped himself.

Be careful. No flattery, George. It's like a red flag to the old lady.

A butler came in, fixed drinks and discreetly withdrew.

"Please sit down, Mr. Mellis."

"Thank you."

Alexandra sat beside him on the couch, facing her grandmother.

"I understand you've been seeing quite a bit of my granddaughter."

"That's been my pleasure, yes."

Kate was studying him with her pale-gray eyes. "Alexandra tells me you're employed by a brokerage firm."

"Yes."

"Frankly, I find it strange, Mr. Mellis, that you should choose to work as a salaried employee when you could be heading a very profitable family business."

"Gran, I explained that—"

"I would like to hear it from Mr. Mellis, Alexandra."

Be polite, but for Christ's sake, don't kowtow to her. If you show the slightest sign of weakness, she'll tear you apart.

"Mrs. Blackwell, I'm not in the habit of discussing my personal life." He hesitated, as though making a decision. "How-ever, under the circumstances, I suppose ..." He looked Kate Blackwell in the eye and said, "I'm a very independent man. I don't accept charity. If I had founded Mellis and Company, I would be running it today. But it was founded by my grandfather and built into a very profitable business by my father. It does not need me. I have three brothers who are perfectly capable of running it. I prefer being a salaried employee, as you call it, until I find something that I can build up myself and take pride in."

Kate nodded slowly. This man was not what she had expected at all. She had been prepared for a playboy, a fortune hunter, the kind who had been pursuing her granddaughters ever since Kate could remember. This one appeared to be different. And yet, there was something disturbing about him that Kate could not define. He seemed almost too perfect.

"I understand your family is wealthy."

All she has to believe is that you're filthy rich, and madly in love with Alex. Be charming. Keep your temper under control, and you've got it made.

"Money is a necessity, of course, Mrs. Blackwell. But there are a hundred things that interest me more."

Kate had checked on the net worth of Mellis and Company. According to the Dun amp; Bradstreet report, it was in excess of thirty million dollars.

"Are you close to your family, Mr. Mellis?"

George's face lighted up. "Perhaps too close." He allowed a smile to play on his lips. "We have a saying in our family, Mrs. Blackwell. When one of us cuts his finger, the rest of us bleed. We are in touch with each other constantly." He had not spoken to any member of his family for more than three years.

Kate nodded approvingly. "I believe in closely knit families."

Kate glanced at her granddaughter. There was a look of ado-ration on Alexandra's face. For one fleeting instant, it reminded Kate of herself and David in those long-ago days when they were so much in love. The years had not dimmed the memory of how she had felt.

Lester came into the room. "Dinner is served, madame."

The conversation at dinner seemed more casual, but Kate's questions were pointed. George was prepared for the most important question when it came.

"Do you like children, Mr. Mellis?"

She's desperate for a great-grandson.... She wants that more than anything in the world.

George turned toward Kate in surprise. "Like children? What is a man without sons and daughters? I am afraid that when I marry, my poor wife will be kept very busy. In Greece, a man's worth is measured by the number of children he has sired."

He seems genuine, Kate thought. But, one can't be too careful. Tomorrow I'll have Brad Rogers run a check on his personal finances.

Before Alexandra went to bed, she telephoned Eve. She had told Eve that George Mellis was coming to dinner.

"I can't wait to hear all about it, darling," Eve had said. "You must call me the moment he leaves. I want a full report."

And now Alexandra was reporting. "I think Gran liked him a lot."

Eve felt a small frisson of satisfaction. "What did she say?"

"She asked George a hundred personal questions. He handled himself beautifully."

So he had behaved

"Ah! Are you two lovebirds going to get married?"

"I— He hasn't asked me yet, Eve, but I think he's going to."

She could hear the happiness in Alexandra's voice. "And Gran will approve?"

"Oh, I'm sure she will. She's going to check on George's personal finances, but of course that will be no problem."

Eve felt her heart lurch.

Alexandra was saying, "You know how cautious Gran is."

"Yes," Eve said slowly. "I know."

They were finished. Unless she could think of something quickly.

"Keep me posted," Eve said.

"I will. Good night."

The moment Eve replaced the receiver, she dialed George Mellis's number. He had not reached home yet. She called him every ten minutes, and when he finally answered Eve said, "Can you get your hands on a million dollars in a hurry?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kate is checking out your finances."

"She knows what my family is worth. She—"

"I'm not talking about your family. I'm talking about you. I told you she's no fool."

There was a silence. "Where would I get hold of a million dollars?"

"I have an idea," Eve told him.

When Kate arrived at her office the following morning, she said to her assistant, "Ask Brad Rogers to run a personal financial check on George Mellis. He's employed by Hanson and Hanson."

"Mr. Rogers is out of town until tomorrow, Mrs. Blackwell. Can it wait until then or—?"

"Tomorrow will be fine."

At the lower end of Manhattan on Wall Street, George Mellis was seated at his desk at the brokerage firm of Hanson and Hanson. The stock exchanges were open, and the huge office was a bedlam of noise and activity. There were 225 employees working at the firm's headquarters: brokers, analysts, accountants, operators and customer representatives, and everyone was working at a feverish speed. Except for George Mellis. He was frozen at his desk, in a panic. What he was about to do would put him in prison if he failed. If he succeeded, he would own the world.

"Aren't you going to answer your phone?"

One of the partners was standing over him, and George realized that his phone had been ringing for—how long? He must act normally and not do anything that might arouse suspicion. He scooped up the phone. "George Mellis," and smiled reassuringly at the partner.

George spent the morning taking buy and sell orders, but his mind was on Eve's plan to steal a million dollars. It's simple, George. All you have to do is borrow some stock certificates for one night. You can return them in the morning, and no one will be the wiser.

Every stock brokerage firm has millions of dollars in stocks and bonds stored in its vaults as a convenience to customers. Some of the stock certificates bear the name of the owner, but the vast majority are street-name stocks with a coded CUSIP number—the Committee on Uniform Security Identification Procedures—that identifies the owner. The stock certificates are not negotiable, but George Mellis did not plan to cash them in. He had something else in mind. At Hanson and Hanson, the stocks were kept in a huge vault on the seventh floor in a security area guarded by an armed policeman in front of a gate that could only be opened by a coded plastic access card. George Mellis had no such card. But he knew someone who did.

Helen Thatcher was a lonely widow in her forties. She had a pleasant face and a reasonably good figure, and she was a remarkable cook. She had been married for twenty-three years, and the death of her husband had left a void in her life. She needed a man to take care of her. Her problem was that most of the women who worked at Hanson and Hanson were younger than she, and more attractive to the brokers at the office. No one asked Helen out.

She worked in the accounting department on the floor above George Mellis. From the first time Helen had seen George, she had decided he would make a perfect husband for her. Half a dozen times she had invited him to a home-cooked evening, as she phrased it, and had hinted that he would be served more than dinner, but George had always found an excuse. On this particular morning, when her telephone rang and she said, "Accounting, Mrs. Thatcher," George Mellis's voice came over the

line. "Helen? This is George." His voice was warm, and she thrilled to it. "What can I do for you, George?"

"I have a little surprise for you. Can you come down to my office?"

"Now?"

"Yes."

"I'm afraid Fm in the middle of—"

"Oh, if you're too busy, never mind. It will keep."

"No, no. I—I'll be right down."

George's phone was ringing again. He ignored it. He picked op a handful of papers and walked toward the bank of elevators. Looking around to make sure no one was observing him, he walked past the elevators and took the backstairs. When he reached the floor above, he checked to make sure Helen had left her office, then casually walked in as though he had business there. If he was caught— But he could not think of that. He opened the middle drawer where he knew Helen kept her access card to the vault. There it was. He picked it up, slipped it in his pocket, left the office and hurried downstairs. When he reached his desk, Helen was there, looking around for him.

"Sorry," George said. "I was called away for a minute."

"Oh, that's all right. Tell me what the surprise is."

"Well, a little bird told me it's your birthday," George said, "and I want to take you to lunch today." He watched the expression on her face. She was torn between telling him the truth and missing the chance of a lunch date with him.

"That's—very nice of you," she said. "I'd love to have lunch with you."

"All right," he told her. 'I'll meet you at Tony's at one o'clock." It was a date he could have made with her over the telephone, but Helen Thatcher was too thrilled to even question it. He watched as she left. The minute she was gone, George went into action. He had a lot to accomplish before he returned the plastic card. He took the elevator to the seventh floor and walked over to the security area where the guard stood in front of the closed grilled gate.

George inserted the plastic card and the gate opened. As he started inside, the guard said, "I don't think I've seen you here before."

George's heart began to beat faster. He smiled. "No. This isn't my usual territory. One of my customers suddenly decided he wanted to see his stock certificates, so I've got to dig them out. I hope it doesn't take me the whole blasted afternoon."

The guard smiled sympathetically. "Good luck." He watched as George walked into the vault.

The room was concrete, thirty feet by fifteen feet. George walked back to the fireproof file cabinets that contained the stocks and opened the steel drawers. Inside were hundreds of stock certificates that represented shares of every company on the New York and American stock exchanges. The number of shares represented by each certificate was printed on the face of the certificate and ranged from one share to one hundred thousand shares. George went through them swiftly and expertly. He selected certificates of various blue-chip companies, representing a value of one million dollars. He slipped the pieces of paper into his inside jacket pocket, closed the drawer and walked back to the guard.

"That was fast," the guard said.

George shook his head. "The computers came up with the wrong numbers. I'll have to straighten it out in the morning."

"Those damned computers," the guard commiserated. "They'll be the ruination of us all yet."

When George returned to his desk, he found he was soaked with perspiration. But so far so good He picked up the telephone and called Alexandra.

"Darling," he said, "I want to see you and your grandmother tonight."

"I thought you had a business engagement tonight, George."

"I did, but I canceled it. I have something very important to tell you."

At exactly 1:00 p.m. George was in Helen Thatcher's office returning the access card to her desk drawer, while she waited for him at the restaurant. He desperately wanted to hang on to the card, for he would need it again, but he knew that every card that was not turned in each night was invalidated by the computer the next morning. At ten minutes past one, George was lunching with Helen Thatcher.

He took her hand in his. "I want us to do this more often," George said, looking at her searchingly. "Are you free for lunch tomorrow?"

She beamed. "Oh, yes, George."

When George Mellis walked out of his office that afternoon, he was carrying with him one-million-dollars' worth of stock certificates.

He arrived at the Blackwell house promptly at seven o'clock and was ushered into the library, where Kate and Alexandra were waiting for him.

"Good evening," George said. "I hope this is not an intrusion, but I had to speak to you both." He turned to Kate. "I know this is very old-fashioned of me, Mrs. Blackwell, but I would like your permission for your granddaughter's hand in marriage. I love Alexandra, and I believe she loves me. But it would make both of us happy if you would give us your blessing." He leached into his jacket pocket, brought out the stock certificates and tossed them on the table in front of Kate. "I'm giving her a million dollars as a wedding present. She won't need any of your money. But we both need your blessing."

Kate glanced down at the stock certificates George had carelessly scattered on the table. She recognized the names of every one of the companies. Alexandra had moved to George, her eyes shining. "Oh, darling!" She turned to her grandmother, her eyes imploring, "Gran?"

Kate looked at the two of them standing together, and there was no way she could deny them. For a brief instant, she envied them. "You have my blessing," she said.

George grinned and walked over to Kate. "May I?" He kissed her on the cheek.

For the next two hours they talked excitedly about wedding plans. "I don't want a large wedding, Gran," Alexandra said. "We don't have to do that, do we?"

"I agree," George replied. "Love is a private matter."

In the end, they decided on a small ceremony, with a judge marrying them.

"Will your father be coming over for the wedding?" Kate inquired.

George laughed. "You couldn't keep him away. My father, my three brothers and my two sisters will all be here."

"I'll be looking forward to meeting them."

"You'll like them, I know." Then his eyes turned back to Alexandra.

Kate was very touched by the whole evening. She was thrilled for her granddaughter—pleased that she was getting a man who loved her so much. I must remember, Kate thought, to tell Brad not to bother about that financial rundown on George.

Before George left, and he was alone with Alexandra, he said casually, "I don't think it's a good idea to have a million dollars in securities lying around the house. I'll put them in my safe-deposit box for now."

"Would you?" Alexandra asked.

George picked up the certificates and put them back into his jacket pocket.

The following morning George repeated the procedure with Helen Thatcher. While she was on her way downstairs to see him ("I have a little something for you"), he was in her office getting the access card. He gave her a Gucci scarf—"a belated birthday present"—and confirmed his luncheon date with her. This time getting into the vault seemed easier. He replaced the stock certificates, returned the access card and met Helen Thatcher at a nearby restaurant.

She held his hand and said, "George, why don't I fix a nice dinner for the two of us tonight?"

And George replied, 'I'm afraid that's impossible, Helen. I'm getting married."

Three days before the wedding ceremony was to take place, George arrived at the Blackwell house, his face filled with distress. "I've just had terrible news," he said. "My father suffered another heart attack."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," Kate said. "Is he going to be all right?"

"I've been on the phone with the family all night. They think he'll pull through, but of course they won't be able to attend the wedding."

"We could go to Athens on our honeymoon and see them," Alexandra suggested.

George stroked her cheek. "I have other plans for our honeymoon, matia mou. No family, just us."

The marriage ceremony was held in the drawing room of the Blackwell mansion. There were fewer than a dozen guests in attendance, among them Vince Barnes, Alice Koppel and Marty Bergheimer. Alexandra had pleaded with her grandmother to let Eve attend the wedding, but Kate was adamant. "Your sister will never be welcome in this house again."

Alexandra's eyes filled with tears. "Gran, you're being cruel. I love you both. Can't you forgive her?"

For an instant, Kate was tempted to blurt out the whole story

Eve's disloyalty, but she stopped herself. "I'm doing what I think is best for everyone."

A photographer took pictures of the ceremony, and Kate heard George ask him to make up some extra prints to send to his family. What a considerate man he is, Kate thought.

After the cake-cutting ceremony, George whispered to Alexandra, "Darling, I'm going to have to disappear for an hour or so."

"Is anything wrong?"

"Of course not. But the only way I could persuade the office to let me take time off for our honeymoon was to promise to finish up some business for an important client. I won't be long. Our plane doesn't leave until five o'clock."

She smiled. "Hurry back. I don't want to go on our honeymoon without you."

When George arrived at Eve's apartment, she was waiting for him, wearing a filmy negligee. "Did you enjoy your wedding, darling?"

"Yes, thank you. It was small but elegant. It went off without a hitch."

"Do you know why, George? Because of me. Never forget that."

He looked at her and said slowly, "I won't."

"We're partners all the way."

"Of course."

Eve smiled. "Well, well. So you're married to my little sister."

George looked at his watch. "Yes. And I must get back."

"Not yet," Eve told him.

"Why not?"

"Because you're going to make love to me first, darling. I want to fuck my sister's husband.'

Eve had planned the honeymoon. It was expensive, but she told George, "You mustn't stint on anything."

She sold three pieces of jewelry she had acquired from an ardent admirer and gave the money to George.

"I appreciate this, Eve," he said. "I—"

'I'll get it back."

The honeymoon was perfection. George and Alexandra stayed at Round Hill on Montego Bay, in the northern part of Jamaica. The lobby of the hotel was a small, white building set in the center of approximately two dozen beautiful, privately owned bungalows that sprawled down a hill toward the clear, blue sea. The Mellises had the Noel Coward bungalow, with its own swimming pool and a maid to prepare their breakfast, which they ate in the open-air dining room. George rented a small boat and they went sailing and fishing. They swam and read and played backgammon and made love. Alexandra did everything she could think of to please George in bed, and when the heard him moaning at the climax of their lovemaking, she was thrilled that she was able to bring him such pleasure.

On the fifth day, George said, "Alex, I have to drive into Kingston on business. The firm has a branch office there and they asked me to look in on it."

"Fine," Alexandra said. "I'll go with you."

He frowned. "I'd love you to, darling, but I'm expecting an overseas call. You'll have to stay and take the message."

Alexandra was disappointed. "Can't the desk take it?"

"It's too important. I can't trust them."

"All right, then. Of course I'll stay."

George rented a car and drove to Kingston. It was late afternoon when he arrived. The streets of the capital city were swarming with colorfully dressed tourists from the cruise ships, shopping at the straw market and in small bazaars. Kingston is a city of commerce, with refineries, warehouses and fisheries, but with its landlocked harbor it is also a city of beautiful old buildings and museums and libraries.

George was interested in none of these things. He was filled with a desperate need that had been building up in him for weeks and had to be satisfied. He walked into the first bar he saw and spoke to the bartender. Five minutes later George was accompanying a fifteen-year-old black prostitute up the stairs of a cheap hotel. He was with her for two hours. When George left the room, he left alone, got into the car and drove back to Mon-tego Bay, where Alexandra told him the urgent telephone call he was expecting had not come through.

The following morning the Kingston newspapers reported that a tourist had beaten up and mutilated a prostitute, and that she was near death.

At Hanson and Hanson, the senior partners were discussing George Mellis. There had been complaints from a number of clients about the way he handled their securities accounts. A decision had been reached to fire him. Now, however, there were second thoughts.

"He's married to one of Kate Blackwell's granddaughters," a senior partner said. "That puts things in a new light."

A second partner added, "it certainly does. If we could acquire the Blackwell account..."

The greed in the air was almost palpable. They decided George Mellis deserved another chance.

When Alexandra and George returned from their honeymoon, Kate told them, "I'd like you to move in here with me. This is an enormous house, and we wouldn't be in one another's way. You—"

George interrupted. "That's very kind of you," he said. "But I think it would be best if Alex and I had our own place."

He had no intention of living under the same roof with the old woman hovering over him, spying on his every move.

"I understand," Kate replied. "In that case, please let me buy a house for you. That will be my wedding present."

George put his arms around Kate and hugged her. "That's very generous of you." His voice was hoarse with emotion. "Alex and I accept with gratitude."

"Thank you, Gran," Alexandra said. "We'll look for a place not too far away."

"Right," George agreed. "We want to be close enough to keep an eye on you. You're a damned attractive woman, you know!"

Within a week they found a beautiful old brownstone near the park, a dozen blocks away from the Blackwell mansion. It was a charming three-story house, with a master bedroom, two guest bedrooms, servants' quarters, a huge old kitchen, a pan-eled dining room, an elegant living room and a library.

"You're going to have to do the decorating by yourself, dar-ling," George told Alexandra. "I'm all tied up with clients."

The truth was that he spent almost no time at the office, and very little time with clients. His days were occupied with more interesting matters. The police were receiving a string of assault reports from male and female prostitutes and lonely women who visited singles' bars. The victims described their attacker as handsome and cultured, and coming from a foreign back-ground, possibly Latin. Those who were willing to look at police mug shots were unable to come up with an identification.

Eve and George were having lunch in a small downtown restaurant where there was no chance of their being recognized.

"You've got to get Alex to make a new will without Kate knowing about it."

"How the hell do I do that?"

"I'm going to tell you, darling ..."

The following evening George met Alexandra for dinner at Le Plaisir, one of New York's finest French restaurants. He was almost thirty minutes late.

Pierre Jourdan, the owner, escorted him to the table where Alexandra was waiting. "Forgive me, angel," George said breathlessly. "I was at my attorneys', and you know how they are. They make everything so complicated."

Alexandra asked, "Is anything wrong, George?"

"No. I just changed my will." He took her hands in his. "If anything should happen to me now, everything I have will belong to you."

"Darling, I don't want—"

"Oh, it's not much compared to the Blackwell fortune, but it would keep you very comfortably."

"Nothing's going to happen to you. Not ever."

"Of course not, Alex. But sometimes life plays funny tricks. These things aren't pleasant to face, but it's better to plan ahead and be prepared, don't you think?"

She sat there thoughtfully for a moment. "I should change my will, too, shouldn't I?"

"What for?" He sounded surprised.

"You're my husband. Everything I have is yours."

He withdrew his hand. "Alex, I don't give a damn about your money."

"I know that, George, but you're right. It is better to look ahead and be prepared." Her eyes filled with tears. "I know I'm an idiot, but I'm so happy that I can't bear to think of anything happening to either of us. I want us to go on forever."

"We will," George murmured.

"I'll talk to Brad Rogers tomorrow about changing my will."

He shrugged. "If that's what you wish, darling." Then, as an afterthought, "Come to think of it, it might be better if my lawyer made the change. He's familiar with my estate. He can coordinate everything."

"Whatever you like. Gran thinks—"

He caressed her cheek. "Let's keep your grandmother out of this. I adore her, but don't you think we should keep our personal affairs personal?"

"You're right, darling. I won't say anything to Gran. Could you make an appointment for me to see your attorney tomorrow?"

"Remind me to call him. Now, I'm starved. Why don't we start with the crab... ?"

One week later George met Eve at her apartment. "Did Alex sign the new will?" Eve asked. 'This morning. She inherits her share of the company next week on her birthday."

The following week, 49 percent of the shares of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., were transferred to Alexandra. George called to tell Eve the news. She said, "Wonderful! Come over tonight. We'll cele-brate."

"I can't. Kate's giving a birthday party for Alex." There was a silence. "What are they serving?" "How the hell do I know?" "Find out." The line went dead.

Forty-five minutes later George called Eve back. "I don't know why you're so interested in the menu," he said nastily, #since you aren't invited to the party, but it's Coquille Saint-Jacques, Chateaubriand, a bibb lettuce salad, Brie, cappuccino and a birthday cake with Alex's favorite ice cream, Neapolitan. Satisfied?"

"Yes, George. I'll see you tonight."

"No, Eve. There's no way I can walk out in the middle of Alex's—"

"You'll think of something."

Goddamn the bitch! George hung up the phone and looked at his watch. God damn everything! He had an appointment with an important client he had stood up twice already. Now he was late. He knew the partners were keeping him on only because he had married into the Blackwell family. He could not afford to do anything to jeopardize his position. He had created an image for Alexandra and Kate, and it was imperative that nothing destroy that. Soon he would not need any of them.

He had sent his father a wedding invitation, and the old man had not even bothered to reply. Not one word of congratulations. I never want to see you again, his father had told him. You're dead, you understand? Dead Well, his father was in for a surprise. The prodigal son was going to come to life again.

Alexandra's twenty-third birthday party was a great success. There were forty guests. She had asked George to invite some of his friends, but he had demurred. "It's your party, Alex," he said. "Let's just have your friends."

The truth was that George had no friends. He was a loner, he told himself proudly. People who were dependent on other people were weaklings. He watched as Alexandra blew out the candles on her cake and made a silent wish. He knew the wish involved him, and he thought, You should have wished for a longer life, darling. He had to admit that Alexandra was exquisite looking. She was wearing a long white chiffon dress with delicate silver slippers and a diamond necklace, a present from Kate. The large, pear-shaped stones were strung together on a platinum chain, and they sparkled in the candlelight.

Kate looked at them and thought, I remember our first anniversary, when David put that necklace on me and told me how much he loved me.

And George thought, That necklace must be worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

George had been aware all evening that several of Alexandra's female guests were eyeing him, smiling at him invitingly, touching him as they talked to him. Horny bitches, he thought contemptuously. Under other circumstances, he might have been tempted to risk it, but not with Alexandra's friends. They might not dare complain to Alexandra, but there was a chance they could go to the police. No, things were moving along too smoothly to take any unnecessary chances.

At one minute before ten o'clock, George positioned himself near the telephone. When it rang a minute later, he picked it up. "Hello."

"Mr. Mellis?"

"Yes."

"This is your answering service. You asked me to call you at ten o'clock."

Alexandra was standing near him. He looked over at her and frowned. "What time did he call?"

"Is this Mr. Mellis?"

"Yes."

"You left a ten o'clock call, sir."

Alexandra was at his side.

"Very well," he said into the phone. "Tell him I'm on my way. I'll meet him at the Pan Am Clipper Club."

George slammed the phone down.

"What's the matter, darling?"

He turned to Alexandra. "One of the idiot partners is on his way to Singapore and he left some contracts at the office that he needs to take with him. I've got to pick them up and get them to him before his plane leaves."

"Now?" Alexandra's voice was filled with dismay. "Can't someone else do it?"

"I'm the only one they trust," George sighed. "You'd think I was the only capable one in the whole office." He put his arms around her. "I'm sorry, darling. Don't let me spoil your party. You go on and I'll get back as soon as I can."

She managed a smile. "I'll miss you." Alexandra watched him go, then looked around the room to make sure all her guests were enjoying themselves. She wondered what Eve was doing on their birthday.

Eve opened the door to let George in. "You managed," she said. "You're such a clever man."

"I can't stay, Eve. Alex is—"

She took his hand. "Come, darling. I have a surprise for you." She led him into the small dining room. The table was set for two, with beautiful silver and white napery and lighted candles in the center of the table.

"What's this for?"

"It's my birthday, George."

"Of course," he said lamely. "I—I'm afraid I didn't bring you a present."

She stroked his cheek. "Yes you did, love. You'll give it to me later. Sit down."

"Thanks," George said. "I couldn't eat anything. I just had a big dinner."

"Sit down." There was no inflection to her voice.

George looked into her eyes, and sat down.

Dinner consisted of Coquille Saint-Jacques, Chateaubriand, a bibb lettuce salad, Brie, cappuccino and a birthday cake with Neapolitan ice cream.

Eve sat across from him, watching George force the food down. "Alex and I have always shared everything," Eve told him. 'Tonight I'm sharing her birthday dinner. But next year there will be just one of us having a birthday party. The time has come, darling, for my sister to have an accident. And after that, poor old Gran is going to die of grief. It's going to be all ours, George. Now, come into the bedroom and give me my birthday present."

He had been dreading this moment. He was a man, strong and vigorous, and Eve dominated him and made him feel impotent. She had him undress her slowly, and then she undressed him and skillfully excited him to an erection.

"There you are, darling." She got astride him and began slowly moving her hips. "Ah, that feels so good. ... You can't have an orgasm, can you, poor baby? Do you know why? Because you're a freak. You don't like women, do you, George? You only enjoy hurting them. You'd like to hurt me, wouldn't you? Tell me you'd like to hurt me."

"I'd like to kill you."

Eve laughed. "But you won't, because you want to own the company as much as I do___You'll never hurt me, George, because if anything ever happens to me, a friend of mine is holding a letter that will be delivered to the police."

He did not believe her. "You're bluffing."

Eve raked a long, sharp nail down his naked chest. "There's only one way you can find out, isn't there?" she taunted.

And he suddenly knew she was telling the truth. He was never going to be able to get rid of her! She was always going to be there to taunt him, to enslave him. He could not bear the idea of being at this bitch's mercy for the rest of his life. And something inside him exploded. A red film descended over his eyes, and from that moment on he had no idea what he was doing. It was as though someone outside himself was controlling him. Everything happened in slow motion. He remembered shoving Eve off him, pulling her legs apart and her cries of pain. He was battering at something over and over, and it was indescribably wonderful. The whole center of his being was racked with a long spasm of unbearable bliss, and then another, and another, and he thought, Oh, God! I've waited so long for this. From somewhere in the far distance, someone was screaming. The red film slowly started to clear, and he looked down. Eve was lying on the bed, covered with blood. Her nose was smashed in, her body was covered with bruises and cigarette burns and her eyes were swollen shut. Her jaw was broken, and she was whimpering out of the side of her mouth. "Stop it, stop it, stop it..."

George shook his head to clear it. As the reality of the situation hit him, he was filled with sudden panic. There was no way he could ever explain what he had done. He had thrown everything away. Everything!

He leaned over her. "Eve?"

She opened one swollen eye. "Doctor ... Get... a ... doctor-----" Each word was a drop of pain. "Harley ... John Harley."

All George Mellis said on the phone was, "Can you come right away? Eve Blackwell has had an accident."

When Dr. John Harley walked into the room, he took one look at Eve and the blood-spattered bed and walls and said, "Oh, my God!" He felt Eve's fluttering pulse, and turned to George. "Call the police. Tell them we need an ambulance."

Through the mist of pain, Eve whispered, "John ..."

John Harley leaned over the bed. "You're going to be all right. We'll get you to the hospital."

She reached out and found his hand. "No police ..."

"I have to report this. L—"

Her grip tightened. "No ... police ..."

He looked at her shattered cheekbone, her broken jaw and the cigarette burns on her body. "Don't try to talk."

The pain was excruciating, but Eve was fighting for her life. "Please..." It took a long time to get the words out. "Private...

Gran would never ... forgive me___No ... police___Hit... run ... accident___"

There was no time to argue. Dr. Harley walked over to the telephone and dialed. "This is Dr. Harley." He gave Eve's address. "I want an ambulance sent here immediately. Find Dr. Keith Webster and ask him to meet me at the hospital. Tell him it's an emergency. Have a room prepared for surgery." He listened a moment, then said, "A hit-and-run accident." He slammed down the receiver.

"Thank you, Doctor," George breathed.

Dr. Harley turned to look at Alexandra's husband, his eyes filled with loathing. George's clothes had been hastily donned, but his knuckles were raw, and his hands and face were still spattered with blood. "Don't thank me. I'm doing this for the Blackwells. But on one condition. That you agree to see a psychiatrist."

"I don't need a-"

"Then I'm calling the police, you sonofabitch. You're not fit to be running around loose." Dr. Harley reached for the telephone again.

"Wait a minute!" George stood there, thinking. He had almost thrown everything away, but now, miraculously, he was being given a second chance. "All right. I'll see a psychiatrist."

In the far distance they heard the wail of a siren.

She was being rushed down a long tunnel, and colored lights were flashing on and off. Her body felt light and airy, and she thought, I can fly if I want to, and she tried to move her arms, but something was holding them down. She opened her eyes, and she was speeding down a white corridor on a gurney being wheeled by two men in green gowns and caps. I'm starring in a play, Eve thought. I can't remember my lines. What are my lines? When she opened her eyes again, she was in a large white room on an operating table.

A small thin man in a green surgical gown was leaning over her. "My name is Keith Webster. I'm going to operate on you."

"I don't want to be ugly," Eve whispered. It was difficult to talk. "Don't let me be ... ugly."

"Not a chance," Dr. Webster promised. "I'm going to put you to sleep now. Just relax."

He gave a signal to the anesthesiologist.

George managed to wash the blood off himself and clean up in Eve's bathroom, but he cursed as he glanced at his wrist-watch. It was three o'clock in the morning. He hoped Alexandra was asleep, but when he walked into their living room, she was waiting for him.

"Darling! I've been frantic! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine, Alex."

She went up to him and hugged him. "I was getting ready to call the police. I thought something terrible had happened."

How right you are, George thought.

"Did you bring him the contracts?"

"Contracts?" He suddenly remembered. "Oh, those. Yes. I did." That seemed like years ago, a lie from the distant past.

"What on earth kept you so late?"

"His plane was delayed," George said glibly. "He wanted me to stay with him. I kept thinking he'd take off at any minute, and then finally it got too late for me to telephone you. I'm sorry."

"It's all right, now that you're here."

George thought of Eve as she was being carried out on the stretcher. Out of her broken, twisted mouth, she had gasped,

"Go ... home ... nothing ... happened___" But what if Eve died? He would be arrested for murder. If Eve lived, everything would be all right; it would be just as it was before. Eve would forgive him because she needed him.

George lay awake the rest of the night. He was thinking about Eve and the way she had screamed and begged for mercy. He felt her bones crunch again beneath his fists, and he smelled her burning flesh, and at that moment he was very close to loving her.

It was a stroke of great luck that John Harley was able to obtain the services of Keith Webster for Eve. Dr. Webster was one of the foremost plastic surgeons in the world. He had a private practice on Park Avenue and his own clinic in lower Manhattan, where he specialized in taking care of those who had been born with disfigurements. The people who came to the clinic paid only what they could afford. Dr. Webster was used to treating accident cases, but his first sight of Eve Blackwell's battered face had shocked him. He had seen photographs of her in magazines, and to see that much beauty deliberately disfigured filled him with a deep anger.

"Who's responsible for this, John?"

"It was a hit-and-run accident, Keith."

Keith Webster snorted. "And then the driver stopped to strip her and snuff out his cigarette on her behind? What's the real story?"

"I'm afraid I can't discuss it. Can you put her back together again?" 'That's what I do, John, put them back together again."

It was almost noon when Dr. Webster finally said to his assistants, "We're finished. Get her into intensive care. Call me at the slightest sign of anything going wrong."

The operation had taken nine hours.

Eve was moved out of intensive care forty-eight hours later. George went to the hospital. He had to see Eve, to talk to her, to make sure she was not plotting some terrible vengeance against him.

"I'm Miss Blackwell's attorney," George told the duty nurse. "She asked to see me. I'll only stay a moment."

The nurse took one look at this handsome man and said, "She's not supposed to have visitors, but I'm sure it's all right if you go in."

Eve was in a private room, lying in bed, flat on her back, swathed in bandages, tubes connected to her body like obscene appendages. The only parts of her face visible were her eyes and her lips.

"Hello, Eve ..."

"George ..." Her voice was a scratchy whisper. He had to lean close to hear what she said.

"You didn't... tell Alex?"

"No, of course not." He sat down on the edge of the bed. "I came because—"

"I know why you came___We're... going ahead with it.. ."'

He had a feeling of indescribable relief. "I'm sorry about this, Eve. I really am. I—"

"Have someone call Alex ... and tell her I've gone away ... on a trip ... back in a few ... weeks ..."

"All right."

Two bloodshot eyes looked up at him. "George ... do me a favor."

"Yes?"

"Die painfully...."

She slept. When she awakened, Dr. Keith Webster was at her bedside.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was gentle and soothing.

"Very tired ... What was the ... matter with me?"

Dr. Webster hesitated. The X rays had shown a fractured zygoma and a blowout fracture. There was a depressed zygomatic arch impinging on the temporal muscle, so that she was unable to open or close her mouth without pain. Her nose was broken. There were two broken ribs and deep cigarette burns on her posterior and on the soles of her feet.

"What?" Eve repeated.

Dr. Webster said, as gently as possible, "You had a fractured cheekbone. Your nose was broken. The bony floor where your eye sits had been shifted. There was pressure on the muscle that opens and closes your mouth. There were cigarette burns. Everything has been taken care of."

"I want to see a mirror," Eve whispered.

That was the last thing he would allow. "I'm sorry," he smiled. "We're fresh out."

She was afraid to ask the next question. "How am I—how am I going to look when these bandages come ofF?"

"You're going to look terrific. Exactly the way you did before your accident."

"I don't believe you."

"You'll see. Now, do you want to tell me what happened? I have to write up a police report."

There was a long silence. "I was hit by a truck."

Dr. Keith Webster wondered again how anyone could have tried to destroy this fragile beauty, but he had long since given up pondering the vagaries of the human race and its capacity for cruelty. "I'll need a name," he said gently. "Who did it?"

"Mack."

"And the last name?"

"Truck."

Dr. Webster was puzzled by the conspiracy of silence. First John Harley, now Eve Blackwell

"In cases of criminal assault," Keith Webster told Eve, "I'm required by law to file a police report."

Eve reached out for his hand and grasped it and held it tightly. "Please, if my grandmother or sister knew, it would kill them. If you tell the police ... the newspapers will know. You nustn't... please___"

"I can't report it as a hit-and-run accident. Ladies don't usually run out in the street without any clothes on."

"Please!"

He looked down at her, and was filled with pity. "I suppose you could have tripped and fallen down the stairs of your home."

She squeezed his hand tighter. "That's exactly what happened ..."

Dr. Webster sighed. "That's what I thought."

Dr. Keith Webster visited Eve every day after that, sometimes stopping by two or three times a day. He brought her flowers and small presents from the hospital gift shop. Each day Eve would ask him anxiously, "I just he here all day. Why isn't any- one doing anything?"

"My partner's working on you," Dr. Webster told her.

"Your partner?"

"Mother Nature. Under all those frightening-looking ban-dages, you're healing beautifully."

Every few days he would remove the bandages and examine her.

"Let me have a mirror," Eve pleaded.  But his answer was always the same: "Not yet."

He was the only company Eve had, and she began to look forward to his visits. He was an unprepossessing man, small and thin, with sandy, sparse hair and myopic brown eyes that costantly blinked. He was shy in Eve's presence, and it amused her.

"Have you ever been married?" she asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I—I don't know. I guess I wouldn't make a very good husband. I'm on emergency call a lot."

"But you must have a girl friend."

He was actually blushing. "Well, you know ..."

"Tell me," Eve teased him.

"I don't have a regular girl friend."

"I'll bet all the nurses are crazy about you."

"No. I'm afraid I'm not a very romantic kind of person."

To say the least, Eve thought. And yet, when she discussed Keith Webster with the nurses and interns who came in to perform various indignities on her body, they spoke of him as though he were some kind of god.

'The man is a miracle worker," one intern said. "There's nothing he can't do with a human face."

They told her about bis work with deformed children and criminals, but when Eve asked Keith Webster about it, he dismissed the subject with, "Unfortunately, the world judges people by their looks. I try to help those who were born with physical deficiencies. It can make a big difference in their lives."

Eve was puzzled by him. He was not doing it for the money or the glory. He was totally selfless. She had never met anyone lik him, and she wondered what motivated him. But it was an idle curiosity. She had no interest in Keith Webster, except for what he could do for her.

Fifteen days after Eve checked into the hospital, she was moved to a private clinic in upstate New York.

"You'll be more comfortable here," Dr. Webster assured her.

Eve knew it was much farther for him to travel to see her, and yet he still appeared every day.

"Don't you have any other patients?" Eve asked.

"Not like you."

Five weeks after Eve entered the clinic, Keith Webster removed the bandages. He turned her head from side to side. "Do you feel any pain?" he asked.

"No."

"Any tightness?"

"No."

Dr. Webster looked up at the nurse. "Bring Miss Blackwell a mirror."

Eve was rilled with a sudden fear. For weeks she had been longing to look at herself in a mirror. Now that the moment was here, she was terrified. She wanted her own face, not the face of some stranger.

When Dr. Webster handed her the mirror, she said faintly, "I'm afraid—"

"Look at yourself," he said gently.

She raised the mirror slowly. It was a miracle! There was no

change at all; it was her face. She searched for the signs of scars, There were none. Her eyes filled with tears.

She looked up and said, "Thank you," and reached out to give Keith Webster a kiss. It was meant to be a brief thank-you

kiss, but she could feel his lips hungry on hers.

He pulled away, suddenly embarrassed. "I'm—I'm glad you're pleased," he said.

Pleased! "Everyone was right. You are a miracle worker."

He said shyly, "Look what I had to work with."

George Mellis had been badly shaken by what had happened. He had come perilously close to destroying everything he wanted. George had not been fully aware before of how much the control of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., meant to him. He had been satisfied to live on gifts from lonely ladies, but he was married to a Blackwell now, and within his reach was a company larger than anything his father had ever conceived of. Look at me, Papa. I'm alive again. I own a company bigger than yours. It was no longer a game. He knew he would kill to get what he wanted.

George devoted himself to creating the image of the perfect husband. He spent every possible moment with Alexandra. They breakfasted together, he took her out to lunch and he made it a point to be home early every evening. On weekends they went to the beach house Kate Blackwell owned in East Hampton, on Long Island, or flew to Dark Harbor in the company Cessna 620. Dark Harbor was George's favorite. He loved the rambling old house, with its beautiful antiques and priceless paintings. He wandered through the vast rooms. Soon all this will be mine, he thought. It was a heady feeling.

George was also the perfect grandson-in-law. He paid a great deal of attention to Kate, She was eighty-one, chairman of the board of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., and a remarkably strong, vital woman. George saw to it that he and Alexandra dined with her once a week, and he telephoned the old woman every few days to chat with her. He was carefully building up the picture of a loving husband and caring grandson-in-law.

No one would ever suspect him of murdering two people he loved so much.

George Mellis's sense of satisfaction was abruptly shattered by a telephone call from Dr. John Harley.

"I've made arrangements for you to see a psychiatrist. Dr. Peter Templeton."

George made his voice warm and ingratiating. "That's really not necessary any more, Dr. Harley. I think—"

"I don't give a damn what you think. We have an agreement—I don't report you to the police, and you consult a psychiatrist. If you wish to break that agree—"

"No, no," George said hastily. "If that's what you want, fine."

"Dr. Templeton's telephone number is five-five-five-three-one-six-one. He's expecting your call. Today." And Dr. Harley dammed down the receiver.

The damned busybody, George thought angrily. The last thing in the world he needed was to waste time with a shrink, but he could not risk Dr. Harley's talking. He would call this Dr. Tem-pleton, see him once or twice and that would be the end of it.

Eve telephoned George at the office. "I'm home." "Are you—?" He was afraid to ask. "All right?" "Come and see for yourself. Tonight." "It's difficult for me to get away just now. Alex and I—" "Eight o'clock."

He could hardly believe it. Eve stood in front of him, looking just as beautiful as ever. He studied her face closely and could find no sign of the terrible damage he had inflicted upon her.

"It's incredible! You—you look exactly the same."

"Yes. I'm still beautiful, aren't 1, George?" She smiled, a cat smile, thinking of what she planned to do to him. He was a sick animal, not fit to live. He would pay in full for what he had done to her, but not yet. She still needed him. They stood there, smiling at each other.

"Eve, I can't tell you how sorry I—"

She held up a hand. "Let's not discuss it. It's over. Nothing has changed."

But George remembered that something had changed. "I got a call from Harley," he said. "He's arranged for me to see some damned psychiatrist."

Eve shook her head. "No. Tell him you haven't time."

"I tried. If I don't go, he'll turn in a report of the—the accident to the police."

"Damn!"

She stood there, deep in thought. "Who is he?"

"The psychiatrist? Someone named Templeton. Peter Templeton."

"I've heard of him. He has a good reputation."

"Don't worry. I can just he on his couch for fifty minutes and say nothing. If—"

Eve was not listening. An idea had come to her, and she was exploring it.

She turned to George. "This may be the best thing that could have happened."

Peter Templeton was in his middle thirties, just over six feet, with broad shoulders, clean-cut features and inquisitive blue eyes, and he looked more like a quarterback than a doctor. At the moment, he was frowning at a notation on his schedule: George Mellis—grandson-in-law of Kate Blackwell

The problems of the rich held no interest for Peter Templeton. Most of his colleagues were delighted to get socially prominent patients. When Peter Templeton had first begun his practice, he had had his share, but he had quickly found he was unable to sympathize with their problems. He had dowagers in his office literally screaming because they had not been in-vited to some social event, financiers threatening to commit suicide because they had lost money in the stock market, overweight matrons who alternated between feasting and fat farms. The world was full of problems, and Peter Templeton had long since decided that these were not the problems he was interested in helping to solve.

George Mellis. Peter had reluctantly agreed to see him only because of his respect for Dr. John Harley. "I wish you'd send him somewhere eke, John," Peter Templeton had said. "I really have a full schedule."

"Consider this a favor, Peter."

"What's his problem?"

"That's your department. I'm just an old country doctor."

"All right," Peter had agreed. "Have him call me."

Now he was here. Dr. Templeton pressed down the button on the intercom on his desk. "Send Mr. Mellis in."

Peter Templeton had seen photographs of George Mellis in newspapers and magazines, but he was still unprepared for the overpowering vitality of the man. He gave new meaning to the word charisma.

They shook hands. Peter said, "Sit down, Mr. Mellis."

George looked at the couch. "Over there?"

"Wherever you're comfortable."

George took the chair opposite the desk. George looked at Peter Templeton and smiled. He had thought he would dread this moment, but after his talk with Eve, he had changed his Bind. Dr. Templeton was going to be his ally, his witness.

Peter studied the man opposite him. When patients came to Be him for the first time, they were invariably nervous. Some covered it up with bravado, others were silent or talkative or defensive. Peter could detect no signs of nervousness in this man. On the contrary, he seemed to be enjoying himself. Curious, Peter thought.

"Dr. Harley tells me you have a problem."

George sighed. "I'm afraid I have two."

"Why don't you tell me about them?"

"I feel so ashamed. That's why I—I insisted on coming to see you." He leaned forward in his chair and said earnestly, "I did something I've never done before in my life, Doctor. I struck a woman."

Peter waited.

"We were having an argument and I blacked out, and when I came to, I had ... hit her." He let his voice break slightly. "It was terrible."

Peter Templeton's inner voice told him he already knew what George Mellis's problem was. He enjoyed beating up women.

"Was it your wife you struck?"

"My sister-in-law."

Peter had occasionally come across items about the Blackwell twins in newspapers or magazines when they appeared at charity events or society affairs. They were identical, Peter recalled, and strikingly beautiful. So this man had hit his sister-in-law. Peter found that mildly interesting. He also found it interesting that George Mellis made it sound as though he had merely slapped her once or twice. If that had been true, John Harley would not have insisted that Peter see Mellis.

"You say you hit her. Did you hurt her?"

"As a matter of fact, I hurt her pretty badly. As I told you, Doctor, I blacked out. When I came to, I—I couldn't believe it."

When I came to. The classic defense. I didn't do it, my subconscious did it.

"Do you have any idea what caused that reaction?"

"I've been under a terrible strain lately. My father has been seriously ill. He's had several heart attacks. I've been deeply concerned about him. We're a close family."

"Is your father here?"

"He's in Greece."

That Mellis. "You said you had two problems."

"Yes. My wife, Alexandra ..." He stopped.

"You're having marital problems?"

"Not in the sense you mean. We love each other very much. It's just that—" He hesitated. "Alexandra hasn't been well lately."

"Physically?"

"Emotionally. She's constantly depressed. She keeps talking about suicide."

"Has she sought professional help?"

George smiled sadly. "She refuses."

Too bad, Peter thought. Some Park Avenue doctor is being cheated out of a fortune. "Have you discussed this with Dr. Harley?"

"No."

"Since he's the family doctor, I would suggest you speak with him. If he feels it's necessary, he'll recommend a psychiatrist."

George Mellis said nervously, "No. I don't want Alexandra to feel I'm discussing her behind her back. I'm afraid Dr. Harley would—"

'That's all right, Mr. Mellis. I'll give him a call."

"Eve, we're in trouble," George snapped. "Big trouble."

"What happened?"

"I did exactly as you told me. I said I was concerned about Alexandra, that she was suicidal."

"And?"

'The sonofabitch is going to call John Harley and discuss it  with him!"

"Oh, Christ! We can't let him."

Eve began to pace. She stopped suddenly. "All right. I'll handle Harley. Do you have another appointment with Temple-ton?"

"Yes."

"Keep it."

The following morning Eve went to see Dr. Harley at his office. John Harley liked the Blackwell family. He had watched the children grow up. He had gone through the tragedy of Marianne's death and the attack on Kate, and putting Tony away in a sanitarium. Kate had suffered so much. And then the rift between Kate and Eve. He could not imagine what had caused it, but it was none of his business. His business was to keep the family physically healthy.

When Eve walked into his office, Dr. Harley looked at her and said, "Keith Webster did a fantastic job!" The only telltale mark was a very thin, barely visible red scar across her forehead. Eve said, "Dr. Webster is going to remove the scar in a month or so."

Dr. Harley patted Eve's arm. "It only makes you more beautiful, Eve. I'm very pleased." He motioned her to a chair. "What can I do for you?"

"This isn't about me, John. It's about Alex."

Dr. Harley frowned. "Is she having a problem? Something to do with George?"

"Oh, no," Eve said quickly. "George is behaving perfectly. In fact, it's George who's concerned about her. Alex has been acting strangely lately. She's been very depressed. Suicidal, even."

Dr. Harley looked at Eve and said flatly, "I don't believe it. That doesn't sound like Alexandra."

"I know. I didn't believe it either, so I went to see her. I was shocked by the change in her. She's in a state of deep depression. Fm really worried, John. I can't go to Gran about it— That's why I came to you. You've got to do something." Her eyes misted. "I've lost my grandmother. I couldn't bear to lose my sister."

"How long has this been going on?"

"I'm not sure. I pleaded with her to talk to you about it. At first she refused, but I finally persuaded her. You've got to help her."

"Of course I will. Have her come in tomorrow morning. And try not to worry, Eve. There are new medications that work miracles."

Dr. Harley walked her to the door of his office. He wished Kate were not so unforgiving. Eve was such a caring person.

When Eve returned to her apartment, she carefully cold-creamed away the red scar on her forehead.

The following morning at ten o'clock, Dr. Harley's receptionist announced, "Mrs. George Mellis is here to see you, Doctor.'

"Send her in."

She walked in slowly, unsure of herself. She was pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes.

John Harley took her hand and said, "It's good to see you, Alexandra. Now what's this I hear about your having problems?"

Her voice was low. "I feel foolish bothering you, John. I'm sure there's nothing wrong with me. If Eve hadn't insisted, I never would have come. I feel fine, physically."

"What about emotionally?"

She hesitated. "I don't sleep very well."

"What else?"

"You'll think I'm a hypochondriac ..."

"I know you better than that, Alexandra."

She lowered her eyes. "I feel depressed all the time. Sort of anxious and ... tired. George goes out of his way to make me happy and to think up things for us to do together and places for us to go. The problem is that I don't feel like doing anything or going anywhere. Everything seems so—hopeless."

He was listening to every word, studying her. "Anything else?"

"I—I think about killing myself." Her voice was so soft he could barely hear her. She looked up at him and said, "Am I going crazy?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't think you're going crazy. Have you ever heard of anhedonia?"

She shook her head.

"It's a biological disturbance that causes the symptoms you've described. It's a fairly common condition, and there are some new drugs that make it easy to treat. These drugs have no side effects, and they're effective. I'm going to examine you, but I'm sure we won't find anything really wrong."

When the examination was completed and she had gotten dressed again, Dr. Harley said, "I'm going to give you a prescription for Wellbutrin. It's part of a new generation of antidepressants^—one of the new wonder drugs."

She watched listlessly as he wrote out a prescription.

"I want you to come back and see me a week from today. In the meantime, if you have any problems, call me, day or night." He handed her the prescription.

'Thank you, John," she said. "I just hope these will stop the dream."

"What dream?"

"Oh, I thought I told you. It's the same one every night. I'm on a boat and it's windy, and I hear the sea calling. I walk to the rail and I look down and I see myself in the water, drowning.."

She walked out of Dr. Harley's office and onto the street. She leaned against the building, taking deep breaths. I did it, Eve thought exultantly. I got away with it. She threw the prescription away.

Kate Blackwell was tired. The meeting had gone on too long, She looked around the conference table at the three men and three women on the executive board. They all seemed fresh and vital. So it's not the meeting that has been going on too long, Kate thought. I've gone on too long. I'll be eighty-two. I'm getting old. The thought depressed her, not because she had any fear of dying, but because she was not ready yet. She refused to die until Kruger-Brent, Ltd., had a member of the Blackwell family running it. After the bitter disappointment with Eve, Kate had tried to build her future plans around Alexandra.  "You know I would do anything for you, Gran, but I'm sim-ply not interested in becoming involved with the company. George would be an excellent executive ..."

"Do you agree, Kate?" Brad Rogers was addressing her. The question shook Kate out of her reverie. She looked toward Brad guiltily. "I'm sorry. What was the question?"

"We were discussing the Deleco merger." His voice was patient. Brad Rogers was concerned about Kate Blackwell. In recent months she had started daydreaming during board meetings, and then just when Brad Rogers decided Kate was becoming senile and should retire from the board, she would come up with some stunning insight that would make everyone wonder why he had not thought of it. She was an amazing woman. He thought of their brief, long-ago affair and wondered again why it had ended so abruptly.

It was George Mellis's second visit to Peter Templeton. "Has there been much violence in your past, Mr. Mellis?"

George shook his head. "No. I abhor violence." Make a note of that, you smug sonofabitch. The coroner is going to ask you about that.

"You told me your mother and father never physically punished you."

"That is correct."

"Would you say you were an obedient child?"

Careful. There are traps here. "About average, I suppose."

"The average child usually gets punished at some time or another for breaking the rules of the grown-up world."

George gave him a deprecating smile. "I guess I didn't break any rules."

He's lying, Peter Templeton thought. The question is why? What is he concealing? He recalled the conversation he had had with Dr. Harley after the first session with George Mellis.

"He said he hit his sister-in-law, John, and—"

"Hit her!" John Harley's voice was filled with indignation. "It was butchery, Peter. He smashed her cheekbone, broke her nose and three ribs, and burned her buttocks and the soles of her feet with cigarettes."

Peter Templeton felt a wave of disgust wash over him. "He didn't mention that to me."

"I'll bet he didn't," Dr. Harley snapped. "I told him if he didn't go to you, I was going to report him to the police."

Peter remembered George's words: I feel ashamed. That's why I insisted on coming to see you. So he had lied about that, too.

"Mellis told me his wife is suffering from depression, that she's talking about suicide."

"Yes, I can vouch for that. Alexandra came to see me a few

days ago. I prescribed Wellbutrin. I'm quite concerned about her. What's your impression of George Mellis?"

Peter said slowly, "I don't know yet. I have a feeling he's dangerous."

Dr. Keith Webster was unable to get Eve Blackwell out of his mind. She was like a beautiful goddess, unreal and untouchable. She was outgoing and vivacious and stimulating, white he was shy and dull and drab. Keith Webster had never married, because he had never found a woman he felt was unworthy enough to be his wife. Apart from his work, his self-esteem was negligible. He had grown up with a fiercely domineering mother and a weak, bullied father. Keith Webster's sexual drive was low, and what little there was of it was sublimated in his work. But now he began to dream about Eve Blackwell, and when he recalled the dreams in the morning, he was embarrassed. She was completely healed and there was no reason for him to see her anymore, yet he knew he had to see her.

He telephoned her at her apartment. "Eve? This is Keith Webster. I hope I'm not disturbing you. I—er—I was thinking about you the other day, and I—I was just wondering how you were getting along?"

"Fine, thank you, Keith. How are you getting along?" There was that teasing note in her voice again.

"Jus—just fine," he said. There was a silence. He summoned up his nerve. "I guess you're probably too busy to have lunch with me."

Eve smiled to herself. He was such a deliciously timid little man. It would be amusing. "I'd love to, Keith."

"Would you really?" She could hear the note of surprise in his voice. "When?"

"What about tomorrow?"

"It's a date." He spoke quickly, before she could change her mind.

Eve enjoyed the luncheon. Dr. Keith Webster acted like a young schoolboy in love. He dropped bis napkin, spilled his wine and knocked over a vase of flowers. Watching him, Eve thought with amusement, No one would ever guess what a brilliant surgeon he is.

When the luncheon was over, Keith Webster asked shyly, "Could we—could we do this again sometime?"

She replied with a straight face, "We'd better not, Keith. I'm afraid I might fall in love with you."

He blushed wildly, not knowing what to say.

Eve patted his hand. "I'll never forget you."

He knocked over the vase of flowers again.

John Harley was having lunch at the hospital cafeteria when Keith Webster joined him.

Keith said, "John, I promise to keep it confidential, but I'd feel a lot better if you told me the truth about what happened to Eve Blackwell."

Harley hesitated, then shrugged. "All right. It was her brother-in-law, George Mellis."

And Keith Webster felt that now he was sharing a part of Eve's secret world.

George Mellis was impatient. "The money is there, the will has been changed— What the hell are we waiting for?"

Eve sat on the couch, her long legs curled up under her, watching him as he paced.

"I want to get this thing over with, Eve."

He's losing his nerve, Eve thought. He was like a deadly coiled snake. Dangerous. She had made a mistake with him once by goading him too far, and it had almost cost her her life. She would not make that mistake again.

"I agree with you," she said slowly. "I think it's time."

He stopped pacing. "When?"

"Next week."

The session was almost over and George Mellis had not once mentioned his wife. Now, suddenly he said, "I'm worried about

Alexandra, Dr. Templeton. Her depression seems to be worse. Last night she kept talking about drowning. I don't know what to do."

"I spoke to John Harley. He's given her some medication he thinks will help her."

"I hope so, Doctor," George said earnestly. "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to her."

And Peter Templeton, his ear attuned to the unspoken words, had the uneasy feeling he was witnessing a charade. There was a deadly violence in this man. "Mr. Mellis, how would you describe your past relationships with women?"

"Normal."

"Did you ever get angry with any of them, lose your temper?"

George Mellis saw where the questions were leading. "Never." I'm too damned smart for you, Doc. "I told you, I don't believe in violence."

It was butchery, Peter. He smashed her cheekbone, broke her nose and three ribs, and burned her buttocks and the soles of her feet with cigarettes.

"Sometimes," Peter said, "to some people violence provides a necessary outlet, an emotional release."

"I know what you mean. I have a friend who beats up whores."

I have a friend. An alarm signal. "Tell me about your friend."

"He hates prostitutes. They're always trying to rip him off. So when he finishes with them, he roughs them up a little—just to teach them a lesson." He looked at Peter's face, but saw no disapproval there. Emboldened, George went on. "I remember once he and I were in Jamaica together. This little black hooker took him up to a hotel room, and after she got his pants off, she told him she wanted more money." George smiled. "He beat the shit out of her. I'll bet she won't try that on anyone again."

He's psychotic, Peter Templeton decided. There was no friend, of course. He was boasting about himself, hiding behind an alter ego. The man was a megalomaniac, and a dangerous one.

Peter decided he had better have another talk with John Har-ley as quickly as possible.

The two men met for lunch at the Harvard Club. Peter Tem-pleton was in a difficult position. He needed to get all the information he could about George Mellis without breaching the confidentiality of the doctor-patient relationship.

"What can you tell me about George Mellis's wife?" he asked Harley.

"Alexandra? She's lovely. I've taken care of her and her sister, Eve, since they were babies." He chuckled. "You hear about identical twins, but you never really appreciate what that means until you see those two together."

Peter asked slowly, 'They're identical twins?"

"Nobody could ever tell them apart. They used to play all kinds of pranks when they were little tykes. I remember once when Eve was sick and supposed to get a shot, I somehow wound up giving it to Alexandra." He took a sip of his drink. "It's amazing. Now they're grown up, and I still can't tell one from the other."

Peter thought about that. "You said Alexandra came to see you because she was feeling suicidal."

"That's right."

"John, how do you know it was Alexandra?"

"That's easy," Dr. Harley said. "Eve still has a little scar on her forehead from the surgery after the beating George Mellis gave her."

So that was a blind alley. "I see."

"How are you getting along with Mellis?"

Peter hesitated, wondering how much he could say. "I haven't reached him. He's hiding behind a facade. I'm trying to break it down."

"Be careful, Peter. If you want my opinion, the man's insane." He was remembering Eve lying in bed, in a pool of blood.

"Both sisters are heir to a large fortune, aren't they?" Peter asked.

Now it was John Harley's turn to hesitate. "Well, it's private family business," he said, "but the answer is no. Their grandmother cut off Eve without a dime. Alexandra inherits everything."

I'm worried about Alexandra, Dr. Templeton. Her depression seems to be worse. She keeps talking about drowning. I couldn't stand it if anything happened to her.

It had sounded to Peter Templeton like a classic setup for murder—except that George Mellis was the heir to a large fortune of his own. There would be no reason for him to kill anyone for money. You're imagining things, Peter chided himself.

A woman was drowning in the cold sea, and he was trying to swim to her side, but the waves were too high, and she kept sinking under them and rising again. Hold on, he shouted. I'm coming. He tried to swim faster, but bis arms and legs seemed leaden, and he watched as she went down again. When he reached the place where she had disappeared, he looked around and saw an enormous white shark bearing down on him. Peter Templeton woke up. He turned on the lights and sat up in bed, thinking about his dream.

Early the following morning, he telephoned Detective Lieutenant Nick Pappas.

Nick Pappas was a huge man, six feet four inches and weighing almost three hundred pounds. As any number of criminals could testify, not an ounce of it was fat. Lieutenant Pappas was with the homicide task force in the "silk stocking" district in Manhattan. Peter had met him several years earlier while testifying as a psychiatric expert in a murder trial, and he and Pappas had become friends. Pappas's passion was chess, and the two met once a month to play.

Nick answered the phone. "Homicide. Pappas."

"It's Peter, Nick."

"My friend! How go the mysteries of the mind?"

"Still trying to unravel them, Nick. How's Tina?"

"Fantastic. What can I do for you?"

"I need some information. Do you still have connections in Greece?"

"Do I!" Pappas moaned. "I got a hundred relatives over there, and they all need money. The stupid part is I send it to them. Maybe you oughta analyze me."

'Too late," Peter told him. "You're a hopeless case."

'That's what Tina keeps telling me. What information do you need?"

"Have you ever heard of George Mellis?"

"The food family?"

"Yes."

"He's not exactly on my beat, but I know who he is. What about him?"

"I'd like to know if he has any money."

"You must be kiddin'. His family—"

"I mean money of his own."

"I'll check it out, Peter, but it'll be a waste of time. The Mel-lises are rich-rich."

"By the way, if you have anyone question George Mellis's father, tell him to handle it gently. The old man's had several heart attacks."

"Okay. I'll put it out on the wire."

Peter remembered the dream. "Nick, would you mind making a telephone call instead? Today?"

There was a different note in Pappas's voice. "Is there anything you'd like to tell me, Peter?"

'There's nothing to tell. I just want to satisfy my curiosity. Charge the phone call to me."

"Damn right I will—and the dinner you're gonna buy me when you tell me what the fuck this is all about."

"Deal." Peter Templeton hung up. He felt a little better.

Kate Blackwell was not feeling well. She was at her desk talking on the telephone when she felt the sudden attack. The room started to spin, and she gripped her desk tightly until everything righted itself again.

Brad came into the office. He took one look at her pale face and asked, "Are you all right, Kate?"

She let go of the desk. "Just a little dizzy spell. Nothing important"

"How long since you've had a medical checkup?"

"I don't have time for that nonsense, Brad."

"Find time. I'm going to have Annette call and make an appointment for you with John Harley."

"Bloody hell, Brad. Stop fussing, will you please?"

"Will you go see him?"

"If it will get you off my back."

The following morning Peter Templeton's secretary said, "Detective Pappas is calling on line one."

Peter picked up the phone. "Hello, Nick."   "I think you and I better have a little talk, my friend."   Peter felt a sudden anxiety stirring in him. "Did you talk to someone about Mellis?"

"I talked to Old Man Mellis himself. First of all, he's never had a heart attack in his life, and second, he said as far as he's concerned, his son George is dead. He cut him off without a dime a few years ago. When I asked why, the old man hung up on me. Then I called one of my old buddies at headquarters in Athens. Your George Mellis is a real beauty. The police know him well. He gets his kicks beating up girls and boys. His last victim before he left Greece was a fifteen-year-old male prosti-tute. They found his body in a hotel, and tied him in with Mellis. The old man bought somebody off, and Georgie boy got his ass kicked out of Greece. For good. Does that satisfy you?"  It did more than satisfy Peter, it terrified him. "Thanks, Nick. I owe you one."

"Oh, no, pal. I think I'd like to collect on this one. If your boy's on the loose again, you'd better tell me."

"I will as soon as I can, Nick. Give my love to Tina." And Peter hung up. He had a lot to think about. George Mellis was coming in at noon.

Dr. John Harley was in the middle of an examination when his receptionist said, "Mrs. George Mellis is here to see you, Doctor. She has no appointment, and I told her your schedule is—"

John Harley said, "Bring her in the side door and put her in my office."

Her face was paler than the last time, and the shadows under her eyes were darker. "I'm sorry to barge in on you like this, John, but—"

'That's all right, Alexandra. What's the problem?"

"Everything. I—I feel awful."

"Have you been taking the Wellbutrin regularly?"

"Yes."

"And you still feel depressed?"

Her hands were clenched. "It's worse than depression. It's - I feel desperate. I feel as though I have no control over anything anymore. I can't stand myself. I'm afraid I'm—I'm going to do something terrible."

Dr. Harley said reassuringly, "There's nothing physically wrong with you. I'll stake my reputation on that. It's all emo-tional. Fm going to switch you to another drug, Nomifensine. It's very effective. You should notice a change within a few days." He wrote out a prescription and handed it to her. "If you don't feel better by Friday, I want you to call me. I may want to send you to a psychiatrist."

Thirty minutes later, back in her apartment, Eve removed the pale foundation cream from her face and wiped away the smudges under her eyes.

The pace was quickening.

George Mellis sat opposite Peter Templeton, smiling and confident.

"How are you feeling today?"

"Much better, Doctor. These few sessions we've had have helped more than you know."

"Have they? In what way?"

"Oh, just having someone to talk to. That's the principle the Catholic Church is built on, isn't it? Confession?"

"I'm glad you feel the sessions have been helpful. Is your wife feeling better?"

George frowned. "I'm afraid not. She saw Dr. Harley again, but she's talking about suicide more and more. I may take her away somewhere. I think she needs a change."

It seemed to Peter that there was an ominous foreboding in those words. Could it be his imagination?

"Greece is a very relaxing place," Peter said casually. "Have you taken her there to meet your family?"

"Not yet. They're dying to meet Alex." He grinned. "The only problem is that every time Pop and I get together, he keeps trying to talk me into coming back and taking over the family business."

And at that moment, Peter knew that Alexandra Mellis was in real danger.

Long after George Mellis had left, Peter Templeton sat in his office going over his notes. Finally, he reached for the telephone and dialed a number.

"I want you to do me a favor, John. Can you find out where George Mellis took his wife on their honeymoon?"

"I can tell you right now. I gave them some shots before they left. They went to Jamaica."

I have a friend who beats up whores.... I remember once we were in Jamaica together. This little black whore took him up to a hotel room, and after she got his pants off, she told him she wanted more money. ...He beat the shit out of her. I'll bet she won't try that on anyone again.

Still, there was no proof that George Mellis was planning to kill his wife. John Harley had verified that Alexandra Mellis was suicidal. It's not my problem, Peter tried to tell himself. But he knew it was his problem.

Peter Templeton had had to work his way through school. His father had been the caretaker of a college in a small town in Nebraska, and even with a scholarship, Peter had not been able to afford to go to one of the Ivy League medical schools. He had been graduated from the University of Nebraska with honors and had gone on to study psychiatry. He had been successful from the start. His secret was that he genuinely liked people; he cared what happened to them. Alexandra Mellis was not a patient, yet he was involved with her. She was a missing part of the puzzle, and meeting her face-to-face might help him solve it. He took out George Mellis's file, found his home number and telephoned Alexandra Mellis. A maid summoned her to the phone.

"Mrs. Mellis, my name is Peter Templeton. I'm—"

"Oh, I know who you are, Doctor. George has told me about you."

Peter was surprised. He would have bet that George Mellis would not have mentioned hitn to his wife. "I wondered if we could meet. Perhaps lunch?"

"Is it about George? Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing. I just thought we might have a talk."

"Yes, certainly, Dr. Templeton."

They made an appointment for the following day.

They were seated at a corner table at La Grenouille. From the moment Alexandra had walked into the restaurant, Peter had been unable to take his eyes off her. She was dressed simply in a white skirt and blouse that showed off her figure, and she wore a single strand of pearls around her neck. Peter looked for signs of the tiredness and depression Dr. Harley had mentioned. There! were none. If Alexandra was aware of Peter's stare, she gave no sign of it.

"My husband is all right, isn't he, Dr. Templeton?"

"Yes." This was going to be much more difficult than Peter had anticipated. He was walking a very fine line. He had no right to violate the sanctity of the doctor-patient relationship, yet at the same time he felt that Alexandra Mellis must be warned.

After they had ordered, Peter said, "Did your husband tell you why he's seeing me, Mrs. Mellis?"

"Yes. He's been under a great strain lately. His partners at the

brokerage firm where he works put most of the responsibility on his shoulders. George is very conscientious, as you probably know, Doctor."

It was incredible. She was completely unaware of the attack on her sister. Why had no one told her?

"George told me how much better he felt having someone he could discuss his problems with." She gave Peter a grateful smile. "I'm very pleased that you're helping him."

She was so innocent! She obviously idolized her husband. What Peter had to say could destroy her. How could he inform her that her husband was a psychopath who had murdered a young male prostitute, who had been banished by his family land who had brutally assaulted her sister? Yet, how could he not?

"It must be very satisfying being a psychiatrist," Alexandra went on. "You're able to help so many people."

"Sometimes we can," Peter said carefully. "Sometimes we cant.

The food arrived. They talked as they ate, and there was an easy rapport between them. Peter found himself enchanted by her. He suddenly became uncomfortably aware that he was envious of George Mellis.

"I'm enjoying this luncheon very much," Alexandra finally said, "but you wanted to see me for a reason, didn't you, Dr. Templeton?"

The moment of truth had arrived.

"As a matter of fact, yes. I—"

Peter stopped. His next words could shatter her life. He had come to this luncheon determined to tell her of his suspicions and suggest that her husband be put in an institution. Now that he had met Alexandra, he found it was not so simple. He thought again of George Mellis's words: She's not any better. It's the suicidal thing that worries me. Peter thought he had never seen a happier, more normal person. Was that a result of the medication she was taking? At least he could ask her about that. He said, "John Harley told me that you're taking—"

And George Mellis's voice boomed out. 'There you are, dar-ling! I called the house and they told me you'd be here." He turned to Peter. "Nice to see you, Dr. Templeton. May I join you?"

And the opportunity vanished.

"Why did he want to meet Alex?" Eve demanded.

"I haven't the slightest idea," George said. "Thank God she left a message where she would be in case I wanted her. With Peter Templeton, for Christ's sake! I got over there fast!"

"I don't like it."

"Believe me, there was no harm done. I questioned her afterward, and she told me they didn't discuss anything in particular."

"I think we'd better move up our plan."

George Mellis felt an almost sexual thrill at her words. He had been waiting so long for this moment. "When?"

"Now."

The dizzy spells were getting worse, and things were beginning to blur in Kate's mind. She would sit at her desk considering a proposed merger and suddenly realize the merger had taken place ten years earlier. It frightened her. She finally decided to take Brad Rogers's advice to see John Harley.

It had been a long time since Dr. Harley had been able to persuade Kate Blackwell to have a checkup, and he took full advantage of her visit. He examined her thoroughly, and when he finished he asked her to wait for him in his office. John Harley was disturbed. Kate Blackwell was remarkably alert for her age, but there were disquieting signs. There was a definite hardening of the arteries, which would account for her occasional dizziness and weakened memory. She should have retired years ago, and yet she hung on tenaciously, unwilling to give the reins to anyone else. Who am I to talk? he thought. I should have retired ages ago.

Now, with the results of the examination in front of him, John Harley said, "I wish I were in your condition, Kate."

"Cut the soft-soap, John. What's my problem?"

"Age, mostly. There's a little hardening of the arteries, and—"

"Arteriosclerosis?"

"Oh. Is that the medical term for it?" Dr. Harley asked. "Whatever it is, you've got it."

"How bad is it?"

"For your age, I'd say it was pretty normal. These things are all relative."

"Can you give me something to stop these bloody dizzy spells? I hate fainting in front of a roomful of men. It looks bad for my sex."

He nodded. "I don't think that will be any problem. When are you going to retire, Kate?"

"When I have a great-grandson to take over the business."

The two old friends who had known each other for so many years sized each other up across the desk. John Harley had not always agreed with Kate, but he had always admired her courage.

As though reading his mind, Kate sighed, "Do you know one of the great disappointments of my life, John? Eve. I really cared for that child. I wanted to give her the world, but she never gave a damn about anyone but herself."

"You're wrong, Kate. Eve cares a great deal about you."

"Like bloody hell she does."

"I'm in a position to know. Recently she"—he had to choose his words carefully—"suffered a terrible accident. She almost died."

Kate felt her heart lurch. "Why—why didn't you tell me?"

"She wouldn't let me. She was so concerned you would be worried that she made me swear not to say a word."

"Oh, my God." It was an agonized whisper. "Is—is she all right?" Kate's voice was hoarse.

"She's fine now."

Kate sat, staring into space. "Thank you for telling me, John. Thank you."

"I'll write out a prescription for those pills." When he finished writing the prescription, he looked up. Kate Blackwell had left.

Eve opened the door and stared unbelievingly. Her grandmother was standing there, stiff and straight as always, allowing no sign of frailty to show.

"May I come in?" Kate asked.

Eve stepped aside, unable to take in what was happening. "Of course."

Kate walked in and looked around the small apartment, but she made no comment. "May I sit down?"

"I'm sorry. Please do. Forgive me—this is so— Can I get you something? Tea, coffee, anything?"

"No, thank you. Are you well, Eve?"

"Yes, thank you. I'm fine."

"I just came from Dr. John. He told me you had been in a terrible accident."

Eve watched her grandmother cautiously, not sure what was coming. "Yes ..."

"He said you were ... near death. And that you would not allow him to tell me because you didn't want to worry me."

So that was it. Eve was on surer ground now. "Yes, Gran."

"That would indicate to me," Kate's voice was suddenly choked, "that—that you cared."

Eve started to cry from relief. "Of course I care. I've always cared."

And an instant later, Eve was in her grandmother's arms. Kate held Eve very close and pressed her lips to the blond head in her lap. Then she whispered, "I've been such a damned old fool. Can you ever forgive me?" Kate pulled out a linen handkerchief and blew her nose. "I was too hard on you," she declared. "I couldn't bear it if anything had happened to you."

Eve stroked her grandmother's blue-veined hand soothingly and said, "I'm all right, Gran. Everything's fine."

Kate was on her feet, blinking back tears. "We'll have a fresh start, all right?" She pulled Eve up to face her. "I've been stubborn and unbending, like my father. I'm going to make amends for that. The first thing I'm going to do is put you back in my will, where you belong."

What was happening was too good to be true! "I—I don't care about the money. I only care about you."

"You're my heiress—you and Alexandra. You two are all the family I have."

"I'm getting along fine," Eve said, "but if it will make you happy—"

"It will make me very happy, darling. Very happy, indeed. When can you move back into the house?"

Eve hesitated for only a moment. "I think it would be better if I stayed here, but I'll see you as often as you want to see me. Oh, Gran, you don't know how lonely I've been."

Kate took her granddaughter's hand and said, "Can you forgive me?"

Eve looked her in die eye and said solemnly, "Of course, I can forgive you."

The moment Kate left, Eve mixed herself a stiff Scotch and water and sank down onto the couch to relive the incredible scene that had just occurred. She could have shouted aloud with joy. She and Alexandra were now the sole heirs to the Blackwell fortune. It would be easy enough to get rid of Alexandra. It was George Mellis Eve was concerned about. He had suddenly become a hindrance.

"There's been a change of plans," Eve told George. "Kate has put me back in her will."

George paused in the middle of lighting a cigarette. "Really? Congratulations."

"If anything happened to Alexandra now, it would look suspicious. So we'll take care of her later when—"

"I'm afraid later doesn't suit me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not stupid, darling. If anything happens to Alexandra, I'll inherit her stock. You want me out of the picture, don't you?"

Eve shrugged. "Let's say you're an unnecessary complication.

I'm willing to make a deal with you. Get a divorce, and as soon as I come into the money, I'll give you—"

He laughed. "You're funny. It's no good, baby. Nothing has changed. Alex and I have a date in Dark Harbor Friday night. I intend to keep it."

Alexandra was overjoyed when she heard the news about Eve and her grandmother. "Now we're a family again," she said.

The telephone.

"Hello. I hope I'm not disturbing you, Eve. It's Keith Webster."

He had started telephoning her two or three times a week. At first his clumsy ardor had amused Eve, but lately he had become a nuisance.

"I can't talk to you now," Eve said. "I was just going out the door.

"Oh." His voice was apologetic. "Then I won't keep you. I have two tickets for the horse show next week. I know you love horses, and I thought—"

"Sorry. I will probably be out of town next week."

"I see." She could hear the disappointment in his voice. "Perhaps the following week, then. I'll get tickets to a play. What would you like to see?"

"I've seen them all," Eve said curtly. "I have to run." She replaced the receiver. It was time to get dressed. She was meeting Rory McKenna, a young actor she had seen in an off-Broadway play. He was five years younger than she, and he was like an insatiable wild stallion. Eve visualized his making love to her, and she felt a moisture between her legs. She looked forward to an exciting evening.

On his way home, George Mellis stopped to buy flowers for Alexandra. He was in an exuberant mood. It was a delicious irony that the old lady had put Eve back in her will, but it changed nodiing. After Alexandra's accident, he would take care of Eve. The arrangements were all made. On Friday Alexandra would be waiting for him at Dark Harbor. "Just the two of us," he had pleaded as he kissed her. "Get rid of all the servants, darling."

Peter Templeton was unable to get Alexandra Mellis out of his mind. He heard the echo of George Mellis's words: / may take her away somewhere. I think she needs a change. Every instinct told Peter that Alexandra was in danger, yet he was powerless to act. He could not go to Nick Pappas with his suspicions. He had no proof.

Across town, in the executive offices of Kruger-Brent, Ltd., Kate Blackwell was signing a new will, leaving the bulk of her estate to her two granddaughters.

In upstate New York, Tony Blackwell was standing before his easel in the garden of the sanitarium. The painting on the easel was a jumble of colors, the kind of painting an untalented child might do. Tony stepped back to look at it and smiled with pleasure.

At La Guardia Airport, a taxi pulled up in front of the Eastern Airlines shuttle terminal and Eve Blackwell got out. She handed the driver a hundred-dollar bill.

"Hey, I can't change this, lady," he said. "Have you got anything smaller?"

"No."

'Then you'll have to get change inside."

"I haven't time. I have to catch the next shuttle to Washington." She looked at the Baume amp; Mercier watch on her wrist and made a decision. "Keep the hundred dollars," she told the startled driver.

Eve hurried into the terminal. She half-walked and half-ran to the departure gate marked Washington Shuttle. "One round trip to Washington," Eve said breathlessly.

The man looked at the clock above his head. "You missed this one by two minutes. It's just taking off."

"I've got to be on that plane. I'm meeting— Isn't there anything you can do?" She was near panic.

"Take it easy, miss. There's another shuttle leaving in an hour."

"That's too— Damn it!"

He watched her regain control of herself.

"Very well. I'll wait. Is there a coffee shop around here?"

"No, ma'am. But there's a coffee machine down the corridor."

"Thank you."

He looked after her and thought, What a beauty. I sure envy the guy she's in such a hurry to meet.

It will be a second honeymoon, Alexandra thought. The idea excited her. Get rid of all the servants. I want it to be just the two of us, angel. We'll have a lovely weekend. And now Alexandra was leaving the brownstone, on her way to Dark Harbor to meet George. She was running behind schedule. She had had a luncheon engagement, and it had taken longer than Alexandra had planned. She said to the maid, "I'm going now. I'll be back Monday morning."

As Alexandra reached the front door, the telephone rang. I'm late. Let it ring, she thought, and hurried out the door.

George Mellis had examined Eve's plan over and over. There was not a single flaw in it. There will be a motor launch waiting for you at Philbrook Cove. Take it to Dark Harbor and make sure you're not seen. Tie it to the stern of the Corsair. You'll take Alexandra for a moonlight sail. When you're out at sea, do whatever turns you on, George—just don't leave any traces of blood. Dump the body overboard, get into the launch and leave the Corsair adrift. You'll take the launch back to Philbrook Cove, then catch the Lincolnville ferry to Dark Harbor. Take a taxi to the house. Use some excuse to get the driver to go in so that you'll both

notice the Corsair is missing from the dock. When you see that Alexandra is gone, you'll call the police. They'll never find Alexandra's body. The tide will wash it out to sea. Two eminent doctors will testify it was a probable suicide.

He found the motorboat moored at Philbrook Cove, waiting for him, according to plan.

George crossed the bay without running lights, using the light of the moon to steer by. He passed a number of moored boats without being detected, and arrived at the dock at the Blackwell estate. He cut the motor and made the line fast to the Corsair, the large motor sailer.

She was talking on the telephone, waiting for him in the living room when George walked in. She waved to him, covered the receiver with her hand and mouthed, "It's Eve." She listened a moment, then, "I have to go now, Eve. My darling just arrived. I'll see you at lunch next week." She replaced the receiver and hurried over to hug George. "You're early. I'm so pleased."

"I got lonely for you, so I just dropped everything and came."

She kissed him. "I love you."

"I love you, matia mou. Did you get rid of the servants?"

She smiled. "It's just the two of us. Guess what? I made moussaka for you."

He traced a finger lightly across the nipples straining against her silk blouse. "Do you know what I've been thinking about all afternoon at that dreary office? Going for a sail with you. There's a brisk wind. Why don't we go out for an hour or two?"

"If you like. But my moussaka is—"

He cupped his hand over her breast. "Dinner can wait. I can't."

She laughed. "All right. I'll go change. It won't take me a minute."

"I'll race you,"

He went upstairs to his clothes closet, changed into a pair of slacks, a sweater and boat shoes. Now that the moment was here, he was filled with a sense of wild anticipation, a feeling of excitement that was almost an explosion.

He heard her voice. "I'm ready, darling."

He turned. She stood in the doorway, dressed in a sweater, a pair of black slacks and canvas shoes. Her long, blond hair was tied back with a little blue ribbon. My God, she's beautiful! he thought. It seemed almost a shame to waste that beauty.

"So am I," George told her.

She noticed the motor launch secured to the stern of the yacht. "What's that for, darling?"

"There's a little island at the end of the bay that I've always wanted to explore," George explained. "We'll take the launch over to it so we won't have to worry about rocks."

He cast off the lines and powered slowly out of the slip. He nosed into the wind to raise the mainsail and jib, and the boat fell off on a starboard tack. The wind caught the large sails and the Corsair surged forward. George headed out to sea. As they cleared the breakwater, they were met with a stiff force-five wind, and the boat started heeling, its lee rail running under.

"It's wild and lovely," she called out. "I'm so happy, darling."

He smiled. "So am I."

In an odd way, it gave George Mellis pleasure that Alexandra was happy, that she was going to die happy. He scanned the horizon to make certain no other boats were close by. There were only faint lights from afar. It was time.

He put the boat on automatic pilot, took one last look around the empty horizon and walked over to the lee railing, his heart beginning to pound with excitement.

"Alex," he called. "Come look at this."

She made her way over to him and looked down at the cold, dark water racing below them.

"Come to me." His voice was a harsh command.

She moved into his arms, and he kissed her hard on the lips. His arms closed around her, hugging her, and he felt her body relax. He flexed bis muscles and began to lift her in the air toward the railing.

She was fighting him suddenly. "George!"

He lifted her higher, and he felt her try to pull away, but he was too strong for her. She was almost on top of the railing now,

her feet kicking wildly, and he braced himself to shove her over the side. At that instant, he felt a sudden white-hot pain in his chest. His first thought was, I'm having a heart attack. He opened his mouth to speak and blood came spurting out. He dropped his arms and looked down at his chest in disbelief. Blood was pouring from a gaping wound in it. He looked up, and she was standing there with a bloody knife in her hand, smiling at him.

George Mellis's last thought was, Eve ...

It was ten o'clock in the evening when Alexandra arrived at the house at Dark Harbor. She had tried telephoning George  there several times, but there had been no answer. She hoped he would not be angry because she had been detained. It had been a stupid mix-up. Early that afternoon, as Alexandra was leaving for Dark Harbor, the phone had rung. She had thought, I'm late. Let it ring, and had gone out to the car. The maid had come hurrying after her.

"Mrs. Mellis! It's your sister. She says it is urgent."

When Alexandra picked up the telephone, Eve said, "Darling, I'm in Washington, D.C. I'm having a terrible problem. I have to see you."

"Of course," Alexandra said instantly. "I'm leaving for Dark Harbor now to meet George, but I'll be back Monday morning and—"

"This can't wait." Eve sounded desperate. "Will you meet me at La Guardia Airport? I'll be on the five o'clock plane."

"I'd like to, Eve, but I told George—"

"This is an emergency, Alex. But, of course, if you're too busy..."

"Wait! All right. I'll be there."

'Thanks, darling. I knew I could count on you."

It was so seldom that Eve asked her for a favor, she could not refuse her. She would catch a later plane to the island. She telephoned George at the office to tell him she would be detained, but he was not in. She left a message with his secretary. An hour later she took a taxi to La Guardia in time to meet the five o'clock plane from Washington. Eve was not on it. Alexandra waited for two hours, and there was still no sign of Eve. Alexandra had no idea where to reach Eve in Washington. Finally, because there was nothing else she could do, Alexandra took a plane to the island. Now as she approached Cedar Hill House, she found it dark. Surely George should have arrived by now. Alexandra went from room to room, turning on the lights.

"George?"

There was no sign of him. She telephoned her home in Manhattan. The maid answered.

"Is Mr. Mellis there?" Alexandra asked.

"Why, no, Mrs. Mellis. He said you would both be away for the weekend."

"Thank you, Marie. He must have been detained somewhere."

There had to be a logical reason for his absence. Obviously some business had come up at the last minute and, as usual, the partners had asked George to handle it. He would be along at any moment. She dialed Eve's number.

"Eve!" Alexandra exclaimed. "What on earth happened to you?"

"What happened to you? I waited at Kennedy, and when you didn't show up—"

"Kennedy! You said La Guardia."

"No, darling, Kennedy."

"But—" It did not matter any longer. "I'm sorry," Alexandra said. "I must have misunderstood. Are you all right?"

Eve said, "I am now. I've had a hellish time. I got involved with a man who's a big political figure in Washington. He's insanely jealous and—" She laughed. "I can't go into the details over the telephone. The phone company will take out both our phones. I'll tell you all about it Monday."

"All right," Alexandra said. She was enormously relieved.

"Have a nice weekend," Eve told her. "How's George?"

"He's not here." Alexandra tried to keep the note of concern out of her voice. "I suppose he got tied up on business and hasn't had a chance to call me."

"I'm sure you'll hear from him soon. Good night, darling."

"Good night, Eve."

Alexandra replaced the receiver and thought, It would be nice if Eve found someone really wonderful. Someone as good and kind as George. She looked at her watch. It was almost eleven o'clock. Surely he would have had a chance to call by now. She picked up the telephone and dialed the number of the brokerage firm. There was no answer. She telephoned his club. No, they had not seen Mr. Mellis. By midnight, Alexandra was alarmed, and by one a.m. she was in a state of panic. She was not sure what to do. It was possible that George was out with a client and could not get to a telephone, or perhaps he had had to fly somewhere and had not been able to reach her before he left. There was some simple explanation. If she called the police and George walked in, she would feel like a fool.

At 2:00 a.m. she telephoned the police. There was no police force on the island of Islesboro itself, and the closest station was in Waldo County.

A sleepy voice said, "Waldo County Sheriff's Department. Sergeant Lambert."

"This is Mrs. George Mellis at Cedar Hill House."

"Yes, Mrs. Mellis." The voice was instantly alert. "What can I do for you?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not sure," Alexandra said hesitantly. "My husband was supposed to have met me at the house earlier this evening, and he—he hasn't shown up."

"I see." There were all kinds of implications in that phrase. The sergeant knew at least three reasons why a husband could be away from home at two a.m. in the morning: blondes, brunets and redheads.

He said tactfully, "Is it possible he was detained on business somewhere?"

"He—he usually calls."

"Well, you know how it is, Mrs. Mellis. Sometimes you get in a situation where you can't call. I'm sure you'll be hearing from him."

Now she did feel like a fool. Of course there was nothing the police could do. She had read somewhere that a person had to be missing for twenty-four hours before the police would even start looking for him, and George was not missing, for heaven's sake. He was just late.

"I'm sure you're right," Alexandra said into the telephone. "I'm sorry to have troubled you."

"Not at all, Mrs. Mellis. I'll bet he'll be on the seven o'clock ferry first thing in the morning."

He was not on the seven o'clock ferry, or the one after that. Alexandra telephoned the Manhattan house again. George was not there.

A feeling of disaster began to grip Alexandra. George had been in an accident; he was in a hospital somewhere, ill or dead. If only there had not been the mix-up with Eve at the airport. Perhaps George had arrived at the house, and when he found she was not there, he had gone. But that left too many things unexplained. He would have left a note. He could have surprised burglars and been attacked or kidnapped. Alexandra went through the house, room by room, looking for any possible clue. Everything was intact. She went down to the dock. The Corsair was there, safely moored.

She telephoned the Waldo County Sheriff's Department again. Lieutenant Philip Ingram, a twenty-year veteran of the force, was on morning duty. He was already aware that George Mellis had not been home all night. It had been the chief topic of conversation around the station all morning, most of it ribald.

Now he said to Alexandra, "There's no trace of him at all Mrs. Mellis? All right. I'll come out there myself." He knew it

would be a waste of time. Her old man was probably tomcatting around in some alley. But when the Blackwells call, the peasants come running, he thought wryly. Anyway, this was a nice lady. He had met her a few times over the years. "Back in an hour or so," he told the desk sergeant.

Lieutenant Ingram listened to Alexandra's story, checked the house and the dock and reached the conclusion that Alexandra Mellis had a problem on her hands. George Mellis was to have met his wife the evening before at Dark Harbor, but he had not shown up. While it was not Lieutenant Ingram's problem, he knew it would do him no harm to be helpful to a member of the Blackwell family. Ingram telephoned the island airport and the ferry terminal at Lincolnville. George Mellis had used neither facility within the past twenty-four hours. "He didn't come to Dark Harbor," the lieutenant told Alexandra. And where the hell did that leave things? Why would the man have dropped out of sight?In the lieutenant's considered opinion, no man in his right mind would voluntarily leave a woman like Alexandra.

"We'll check the hospitals and mor—" He caught himself. "And other places, and I'll put out an APB on him."

Alexandra was trying to control her emotions, but he could see what an effort it was. 'Thank you, Lieutenant. I don't have to tell you how much I'll appreciate anything you can do."

'That's my job," Lieutenant Ingram replied.

When Lieutenant Ingram returned to the station, he began calling hospitals and morgues. The responses were negative. There was no accident report on George Mellis. Lieutenant Ingram's next move was to call a reporter friend on the Maine Courier. After that, the lieutenant sent out a missing person all-points-bulletin.

The afternoon newspapers carried the story in headlines:

HUSBAND OF BLACKWELL HEIRESS MISSING.

Peter Templeton first heard the news from Detective Nick Pappas.

"Peter, remember askin' me a while ago to do some checkin' on George Mellis?"

"Yes..."

"He's done a vanishing act."

"He's what!"

"Disappeared, vamoosed, gone." He waited while Peter digested the news.

"Did he take anything with him? Money, clothes, passport?"

"Nope. According to the report we got from Maine, Mr. Mellis just melted into thin air. You're his shrink. I thought you might have some idea why our boy would do a thing like that."

Peter said truthfully, "I haven't any idea, Nick."

"If you think of anything, let me know. There's gonna be a lot of heat on this."

"Yes," Peter promised. "I will."

Thirty minutes later, Alexandra Mellis telephoned Peter Templeton, and he could hear the shrill edge of panic in her voice. "I— George is missing. No one seems to know what happened to him. I was hoping he might have told you something that might have given you a clue or—" She broke off.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Mellis. He didn't. I have no idea what could have happened."

"Oh."

Peter wished there was some way he could comfort her. "If I think of anything, I'll call you back. Where can I reach you?"

"I'm at Dark Harbor now, but I'm going to return to New York this evening. I'll be at my grandmother's."

Alexandra could not bear the thought of being alone. She had talked to Kate several times that morning. "Oh, darling, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," Kate said. "He probably went off on some business deal and forgot to tell you."

Neither of them believed it.

Eve saw the story of George's disappearance on television. There were photographs of the exterior of Cedar Hill House, and pictures of Alexandra and George after their wedding cere-mony. There was a close-up of George, looking upward, with his eyes wide. Somehow it reminded Eve of the look of surprise on his face just before he died.

The television commentator was saying, 'There has been no evidence of foul play and no ransom demands have been made. The police speculate that George Mellis was possibly the victim of an accident and may be suffering from amnesia." Eve smiled in satisfaction.

They would never find the body. It had been swept out to sea with the tide. Poor George. He had followed her plan perfectly. But she had changed it. She had flown up to Maine and rented a motorboat at Philbrook Cove, to be held for "a friend." She had then rented a second boat from a nearby dock and taken it to Dark Harbor, where she had waited for George. He had been totally unsuspecting. She had been careful to wipe the deck clean before she returned the yacht to the dock. After that, it had been a simple matter to tow George's rented motorboat back to its pier, return her boat and fly back to New York to await the telephone call she knew Alexandra would make.

It was a perfect crime. The police would list it as a mysterious disappearance.

The announcer was saying, "In other news ..." Eve switched the television set off.

She did not want to be late for her date with Rory McKenna.

At six o'clock the following morning, a fishing boat found George Mellis's body pinned against the breakwater at the mouth of Penebscot Bay. The early news reports called it a drowning and accidental death, but as more information came in, the tenor of the stories began to change. From the coroner's office came reports that what at first had been thought to have been shark bites were actually stab wounds. The evening newspaper editions screamed: murder suspected in george mellis

MYSTERY DEATH . . . MILLIONAIRE FOUND STABBED TO DEATH.

Lieutenant Ingram was studying the tide charts for the previous evening. When he was finished, he leaned back in his chair, a perplexed expression on his face. George Mellis's body would have been swept out to sea had it not been caught against the breakwater. What puzzled the lieutenant was that the body had to have been carried by the tide from the direction of Dark Harbor. Where George Mellis was not supposed to have been.

Detective Nick Pappas flew up to Maine to have a talk with Lieutenant Ingram.

"I think my department might be of some help to you in this case," Nick said. "We have some interesting background information on George Mellis. I know this is out of our jurisdiction, but if you were to ask for our cooperation, we'd be happy to give it to you, Lieutenant."

In the twenty years Lieutenant Ingram had been with the Waldo County Sheriff's Department, the only real excitement he had seen was when a drunken tourist shot a moose head off the wall of a local curio shop. The George Mellis murder was front-page news, and Lieutenant Ingram sensed a chance to make a name for himself. With a little luck, it could lead to a job as a detective in the New York City Police Department, where the action was. And so now he looked at Nick Pappas and murmured, "I don't know ..."

As though reading his mind, Nick Pappas said, "We're not looking for credit. There's gonna be a hell of a lot of pressure on this one, and it would make life easier for us if we could wrap it up fast. I could start by filling you in on George Mellis's background."

Lieutenant Ingram decided he had nothing to lose. "OK, you've got a deal."

Alexandra was in bed, heavily sedated. Her mind stubbornly refused to accept the fact that George had been murdered. How could he have been? There was no reason in the world for anyone to kill him. The police had talked of a knife wound, but they were wrong about that. It had to be some kind of accident.

No one would want to kill him___No one would want to kill him-----The opiate Dr. Harley gave her finally took hold.

She slept.

Eve had been stunned at the news that George's body had been found. But perhaps it's a good thing, Eve thought. Alexandra will be the one under suspicion. She was there, on the island.

Kate was seated next to Eve on the couch in the drawing room. The news had been a tremendous shock to Kate.

"Why would anyone want to murder George?" she asked.

Eve sighed. "I don't know, Gran. I just don't know. My heart breaks for poor Alex."

Lieutenant Philip Ingram was questioning the attendant on the Lincolnville-Islesboro ferry. "Are you positive neither Mr. or Mrs. Mellis came over on the ferry Friday afternoon?"

"They didn't come over on my shift, Phil, and I checked with the morning man, and he didn't see 'em neither. They had to have come in by plane."

"One more question, Lew. Did any strangers take the ferry  across on Friday?"

"Hell," the attendant said, "you know we don't get no strangers goin' to the island this time of year. There might be a few tourists in the summer—but in November! She-e-e-it!"

Lieutenant Ingram went to talk to the manager of the Isles-boro airport. "George Mellis sure didn't fly in that evening, Phil. He musta come over to the island by ferry."

"Lew said he didn't see him."

"Well, hell, he couldn't a swum over, now could he?"

"What about Mrs. Mellis?"

"Yep. She come in here in her Beechcraft about ten o'clock. I had my son, Charley, run her over to Cedar Hill from the airport."

"What kind of mood did Mrs. Mellis seem to be in?"

"Funny you should ask. She was as nervous as spit on a hot kettle. Even my boy noticed it. Usually she's calm, always has a

pleasant word for everybody. But that night she was in a tearin' hurry."

"One more question. Did any strangers fly in that afternoon or evening? Any unfamiliar faces?"

He shook his head. "Nope. Just the regulars."

An hour later, Lieutenant Ingram was on the phone talking to Nick Pappas. "What I've got so far," he told the New York detective, "is damned confusing. Friday night Mrs. Mellis arrived by private plane at the Islesboro airport around ten o'clock, but her husband wasn't with her, and he didn't come in by plane or ferry. In fact, there's nothin' to show he was on the island at all that night."

"Except the tide."

"Yeah."

"Whoever killed him probably threw him overboard from a boat, figuring the tide would carry him out to sea. Did you check the Corsair?"

"I looked it over. No sign of violence, no bloodstains."

"I'd like to bring a forensics expert up there. Would you mind?"

"Not as long as you remember our little deal."

"I'll remember. See you tomorrow."

Nick Pappas and a team of experts arrived the following morning. Lieutenant Ingram escorted them to the Blackwell dock, where the Corsair was tied up. Two hours later, the foren-sics expert said, "Looks like we hit the jackpot, Nick. There are some bloodstains on the underside of the lee rail."

That afternoon, the police laboratory verified that the stains matched George Mellis's blood type.

Manhattan's "silk stocking" police precinct was busier than usual. A series of all-night drug busts had filled the prisoners' cage to capacity, and the holding cells were crowded with prostitutes, drunks and sex offenders. The noise and the stench competed for Peter Templeton's attention, as he was escorted through the din to Lieutenant Detective Pappas's office.

"Hey, Peter. Nice of you to drop by."

On the phone Pappas had said, "You're holdin' out on me, chum. Be at my office before six o'clock, or I'll send a fuckin' SWAT team to bring you in."

When his escort left the office, Peter asked, "What's this all about, Nick? What's bothering you?"

'I'll tell you what's botherin' me. Someone's being clever. Do you know what we've got? A dead man who vanished from an island he never went to."

"That doesn't make sense."

"Tell me about it, pal. The ferryboat operator and the guy who runs the airport swear they never saw George Mellis on the night he disappeared. The only other way he could have gotten to Dark Harbor was by motorboat. We checked all the boat operators in the area. Zilch."

"Perhaps he wasn't at Dark Harbor that night."

"The forensic lab says different. They found evidence that Mellis was at the house and changed from a business suit into the sailing clothes he was wearin' when his body was found."

"Was he killed at the house?"

"On the Blackwell yacht. His body was dumped overboard. Whoever did it figured the current would carry the body to China."

"How did—?"

Nick Pappas raised a beefy hand. "My turn. Mellis was your patient. He must have talked to you about his wife."

"What does she have to do with this?"

"Everything. She's my first, second and third choice."

"You're crazy."

"Hey, I thought shrinks never used words like crazy."

"Nick, what makes you think Alexandra Mellis killed her husband?"

"She was there, and she had a motive. She arrived at the island late that night with some cockamamy excuse about being delayed because she was waitin' at the wrong airport to meet her sister."

"What does her sister say?"

"Give me a break. What the hell would you expect her to say?

They're twins. We know George Mellis was at the house that night, but his wife swears she never saw him. It's a big house, Peter, but it's not that big. Next, Mrs. M gave all the servants the weekend of. When I asked her why, she said it was George's idea. George's lips, of course, are sealed."

Peter sat there, deep in thought. "You said she had a motive. What?"

"You have a short memory span. You're the one who put me on the track. The lady was married to a psycho who got his kicks sexually abusing everything he could lay his fists on. He was probably slapping her around pretty good. Let's say she decided she didn't want to play anymore. She asked for a divorce. He wouldn't give it to her. Why should he? He had it made. She wouldn't dare take him to court—it would touch off too juicy a scandal. She had no choice. She had to kill him." He leaned back in his chair.

"What do you want from me?" Peter asked.

"Information. You had lunch with Mellis's wife ten days ago." He pressed the button on a tape recorder on the desk. "We're going on the record now, Peter. Tell me about that lunch. How did Alexandra Mellis behave? Was she tense? Angry? Hysterical?"

"Nick, I've never seen a more relaxed, happily married lady."

Nick Pappas glared at him and snapped off the tape recorder. "Don't shaft me, my friend. I went to see Dr. John Harley this morning. He's been giving Alexandra Mellis medication to stop her from committing suicide, for Christ's sake!"

Dr. John Harley had been greatly disturbed by his meeting with Lieutenant Pappas. The detective had gotten right to the point. "Has Mrs. Mellis consulted you professionally recently?"

"I'm sorry," Dr. Harley said. "I'm not at liberty to discuss my patients. I'm afraid I can't help you."

"All right, Doc. I understand. You're old friends. You'd like to keep the whole thing quiet. That's okay with me." He rose to his feet. "This is a homicide case. I'll be back in an hour with a

warrant for your appointment records. When I find out what I want to know, I'm going to feed it to the newspapers."

Dr. Harley was studying him.

"We can handle it that way, or you can tell me now what I want to know, and I'll do what I can to keep it quiet. Well?"

"Sit down," Dr. Harley said. Nick Pappas sat. "Alexandra has been having some emotional problems lately."

"What kind of emotional problems?"

"She's been in a severe depression. She was talking about committing suicide."

"Did she mention using a knife?"

"No. She said she had a recurrent dream about drowning. I gave her Wellbutrin. She came back and told me it didn't seem to be helping, and I prescribed Nomifensine. I—I don't know whether it helped or not."

Nick Pappas sat there, putting things together in his mind. Finally he looked up. "Anything else?"

"That's everything, Lieutenant."

But there was more, and John Harley's conscience was bothering him. He had deliberately refrained from mentioning the brutal attack George Mellis had made on Eve Blackwell. Part of his concern was that he should have reported it to the police at the time it happened, but mainly Dr. Harley wanted to protect the Blackwell family. He had no way of knowing whether there was a connection between the attack on Eve and George Mellis's murder, but his instincts told him that it was better not to bring up the subject. He intended to do everything possible to protect Kate Blackwell.

Fifteen minutes after he made that decision, his nurse said, "Dr. Keith Webster is on line two, Doctor."

It was as if his conscience was prodding him.

Keith Webster said, "John, I'd like to stop by this afternoon and see you. Are you free?"

"I'll make myself free. What time?"

"How's five o'clock?"

"Fine, Keith. I'll see you then."

So, the matter was not going to be laid to rest so easily.

At five o'clock, Dr. Harley ushered Keith Webster into his office. "Would you like a drink?"

"No, thank you, John. I don't drink. Forgive me for barging in on you like this."

It seemed to John Harley that every time he saw him, Keith Webster was apologizing about something. He was such a mild, little man, so inoffensive and eager to please—a puppy waiting to be patted on the head. It was incredible to John Harley that within that pale, colorless persona there lurked such a brilliant surgeon.

"What can I do for you, Keith?"

Keith Webster drew a deep breath. "It's about that—you know—that beating George Mellis gave Eve Blackwell."

"What about it?"

"You're aware she almost died?"

"Yes."

"Well, it was never reported to the police. In view of what's happened—Mellis's murder and everything—I was wondering if maybe I shouldn't tell the police about it."

So there it was. There seemed no way to escape the problem.

"You have to do whatever you think best, Keith."

Keith Webster said gloomily, "I know. It's just that I'd hate to do anything that might hurt Eve Blackwell. She's a very special person."

Dr. Harley was watching him cautiously. "Yes, she is."

Keith Webster sighed. "The only thing is, John, if I do keep quiet about it now and the police find out later, it's going to look bad for me."

For both of us, John Harley thought. He saw a possible out. He said casually, "It's not very likely the police would find out, is it? Eve certainly would never mention it, and you fixed her up perfectly. Except for that little scar, you'd never know she'd been disfigured."

Keith Webster blinked. "What little scar?"

"The red scar on her forehead. She told me you said you were going to remove it in a month or two."

Dr. Webster was blinking faster now. It was some kind of nervous tic, Dr. Harley decided.

"I don't re— When did you last see Eve?"

"She came in about ten days ago to talk about a problem involving her sister. As a matter of fact, the scar was the only way I could tell it was Eve instead of Alexandra. They're identical twins, you know."

Keith Webster nodded slowly. "Yes. I've seen photographs of Eve's sister in the newspapers. There's an amazing likeness. And you say the only way you could tell them apart was by the scar on Eve's forehead from the operation I performed?"

'That's right."

Dr. Webster sat there, silent, chewing on his lower lip. Finally he said, "Perhaps I shouldn't go to the police just yet. I'd like to think about this a little more."

"Frankly, I think that's wise, Keith. They're both lovely young women. The newspapers are hinting that the police think Alexandra killed George. That's impossible. I remember when they were little girls ..."

Dr. Webster was no longer listening.

When he left Dr. Harley, Keith Webster was lost in thought. He had certainly not left even the trace of a scar on that beautiful face. Yet, John Harley had seen it. It was possible that Eve could have gotten a scar afterward in another accident, but then why had she lied? It made no sense.

He examined it from every angle, going over all the different possibilities, and when he had come to a conclusion, he thought, If I'm right, this is going to change my whole life....

Early the following morning, Keith Webster called Dr. Harley. "John," he began, "excuse me for disturbing you. You said that Eve Blackwell came in to talk to you about her sister, Alexandra?"

"That's right."

"After Eve's visit, did Alexandra happen to come in to see you?"

"Yes. As a matter of fact, she came to my office the following day. Why?"

"Just curious. Can you tell me what Eve's sister came to see you about?"

"Alexandra was in a deep depression. Eve was trying to help her."

Eve had been beaten and almost killed by Alexandra's husband. And now the man had been murdered and it was Alexandra who was being blamed.

Keith Webster had always known he was not brilliant. In school he had had to work very hard in order to achieve barely passing grades. He was the perennial butt of his classmates' jokes. He was neither an athlete nor a scholar, and he was socially inept. He was as close as one could come to being a nonentity. No one was more surprised than his own family when Keith Webster was admitted to medical school. When he elected to become a surgeon, neither his peers nor his teachers expected him to become a competent one, let alone a great one. But he had surprised them all. There was a talent deep inside him that was nothing short of genius. He was like some exquisite sculptor working his magic with living flesh instead of clay, and in a short time Keith Webster's reputation spread. In spite of his success, however, he was never able to overcome the trauma of his childhood. Inside he was still the little boy who bored everyone, the one atwhom the girls laughed.

When he finally reached Eve, Keith's hands were slippery with sweat. She answered the phone on the first ring. "Rory?" Her voice was low and sultry.

"No. This is Keith Webster."

"Oh. Hello."

He heard the change in her voice. "How've you been?" he asked.

"Fine."

He could sense her impatience. "I—I'd like to see you."

"I'm not seeing anyone. If you read the papers, you'll know my brother-in-law was murdered. I'm in mourning."

He wiped his hands on his trousers. "That's what I want to see you about, Eve. I have some information you should know about."

"What kind of information?"

"I would prefer not to discuss it on the telephone." He could almost hear Eve's mind working.

"Very well. When?"

"Now, if it's convenient."

When he arrived at Eve's apartment thirty minutes later, Eve opened the door for him. "I'm very busy. What did you want to see me about?"

"About this," Keith Webster said apologetically. He opened a manila envelope he was clutching, took out a photograph and diffidently handed it to Eve. It was a photograph of herself.

She looked at it, puzzled. "Well?"

"It's a picture of you."

"I can see that," she said curtly. "What about it?"

"It was taken after your operation."

"So?"

"There's no scar on your forehead, Eve."

He watched the change that came over her face.

"Sit down, Keith."

He sat opposite her, on the edge of the couch, and he could not keep from staring at her. He had seen many beautiful women in his practice, but Eve Blackwell totally bewitched him. He had never known anyone like her.

"I think you'd better tell me what this is all about."

He started at the beginning. He told her about his visit to Dr. Harley and about the mysterious scar, and as Keith Webster talked, he watched Eve's eyes. They were expressionless.

When Keith Webster finished, Eve said, "I don't know what you're thinking, but whatever it is, you're wasting my time. As for the scar, I was playing a little joke on my sister. It's as simple as that Now, if you've quite finished, I have a great deal to do."

He remained seated. "I'm sorry to have bothered you. I just thought I should talk to you before I went to the police." He could see that he really had her attention now.

"Why on earth would you go to the police?"

"Fm obliged to report the attack George Mellis made on you. Then there's that business about you and the scar. I don't understand it, but Fm sure you can explain it to them."

Eve felt the first stab of fear. This stupid, dreary little man in front of her had no idea what had really happened, but he knew enough to start the police asking questions.

George Mellis had been a frequent visitor to the apartment The police could probably find witnesses who had seen him. She had lied about being in Washington the night of George's murder. She had no real alibi. She had never thought she would need one. If the police learned that George had almost killed her, it would give them a motive. The whole scheme would begin to unravel. She had to silence this man.

"What is it you want? Money?"

"No!"

She saw the indignation on his face. "What then?"

Dr. Webster looked down at the rug, his face red with embarrassment. "I—I like you so much, Eve. I would hate it if anything bad happened to you."

She forced a smile. "Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Keith. I haven't done anything wrong. Believe me, none of this has anything to do with George Mellts's murder." She reached out and took his hand. "I would really appreciate it very much if you would forget about this. All right?"

He covered her hand and squeezed it "I'd like to, Eve. I really would. But they're holding the coroner's inquest Saturday. I'm a doctor. I'm afraid it's my duty to testify at that inquest and tell them everything I know."

He saw the alarm that appeared in her eyes.

"You don't have to do that!"

He stroked her hand. "Yes, I do, Eve. It's my sworn obligation. There's only one thing that could prevent me from doing it" He watched her leap to the bait of his words.

"What is that?"

His voice was very gentle. "A husband can't be forced to testify against his wife."

The wedding took place two days before the coroner's inquest. They were married by a judge in his private chambers. The mere idea of being married to Keith Webster made Eve's skin crawl, but she had no choice. The fool thinks I'm going to stay married to him. As soon as the inquest was over, she would get an annulment and that would be the end of it.

Detective Lieutenant Nick Pappas had a problem. He was sure he knew who the murderer of George Mellis was, but he could not prove it. He was confronted by a conspiracy of silence around the Blackwell family that he could not break through. He discussed the problem with his superior, Captain Harold Cohn, a street-wise cop who had worked his way up from the ranks.

Cohn quietly listened to Pappas and said, "It's all smoke, Nick. You haven't got a fucking bit of evidence. They'd laugh us out of court."

"I know," Lieutenant Pappas sighed. "But I'm right." He sat there a moment, thinking. "Would you mind if I talked to Kate Blackwell?"

"Jesus! What for?"

"It'll be a little fishing expedition. She runs that family. She might have some information she doesn't even know she has."

"You'll have to watch your step."

"I will."

"And go easy with her, Nick. Remember, she's an old lady."

"That's what I'm counting on," Detective Pappas said.

The meeting took place that afternoon in Kate Blackwell's office. Nick Pappas guessed that Kate was somewhere in her eighties, but she carried her age remarkably well. She showed little of the strain the detective knew she must be feeling. She was a very private person, and she had been forced to watch the Blackwell name become a source of public speculation and scandal.

"My secretary said you wished to see me about a matter of some urgency, Lieutenant."

"Yes, ma'am. There's a coroner's inquest tomorrow on the death of George Mellis. I have reason to think your granddaughter is involved in his murder."

Kate went absolutely rigid. "I don't believe it."

"Please hear me out, Mrs. Blackwell. Every police investigation begins with the question of motive. George Mellis was a fortune hunter and a vicious sadist." He saw the reaction on her face, but he pressed on. "He married your granddaughter and suddenly found himself with his hands on a large fortune. I figured he beat up Alexandra once too often and when she asked for a divorce, he refused. Her only way to get rid of him was to kill him."

Kate was staring at him, her face pale.

"I began looking around for evidence to back up my theory. We knew George Mellis was at Cedar Hill House before he disappeared. There are only two ways to get to Dark Harbor from the mainland—plane or ferryboat. According to the local sheriffs office, George Mellis didn't use either. I don't believe in miracles, and I figured Mellis wasn't the kind of man who could walk on water. The only possibility left was that he took a boat from somewhere else along the coast. I started checking out boat-rental places, and I struck pay dirt at Gilkey Harbor. At four p.m. on the afternoon of the day George Mellis was murdered, a woman rented a motor launch there and said a friend would be picking it up later. She paid cash, but she had to sign the rental slip. She used the name Solange Dunas. Does that ring a bell?"

"Yes. She—she was the governess who took care of the twins when they were children. She returned to France years ago."

Pappas nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. "A little farther up the coast, the same woman rented a second boat. She took it out and returned it three hours later. She signed her name Solange Dunas again. I showed both attendants a photograph of Alexandra. They were pretty sure it was her, but they couldn't be positive, because the woman who rented the boats was a brunet."

"Then what makes you think—?"

"She wore a wig."

Kate said stiffly, "I don't believe Alexandra killed her husband."

"I don't either, Mrs. Blackwell," Lieutenant Pappas told her. "It was her sister, Eve."

Kate Blackwell was as still as stone.

"Alexandra couldn't have done it. I checked on her movements the day of the murder. She spent the early part of the day in New York with a friend, then she flew directly from New York up to the island. There's no way she could have rented those two motorboats." He leaned forward. "So I was left with Alexandra's look-alike, who signed the name Solange Dunas. It had to be Eve. I started looking around for her motive. I showed a photograph of George Mellis to the tenants of the apartment house Eve lives in, and it turned out that Mellis was a frequent visitor there. The superintendent of the building told me that one night when Mellis was there, Eve was almost beaten to death. Did you know that?"

"No." Kate's voice was a whisper.

"Mellis did it. It fits his pattern. And that was Eve's motive— vengeance. She lured him out to Dark Harbor and murdered him." He looked at Kate, and felt a pang of guilt at taking advantage of this old woman. "Eve's alibi is that she was in  Washington, D.C., that day. She gave the cab driver who took her to the airport a hundred-dollar bill so he would be sure to remember her, and she made a big fuss about missing the Washington shuttle. But I don't think she went to Washington. I believe she put on a dark wig and took a commercial plane to Maine, where she rented those boats. She killed Mellis, dumped his body overboard, then docked the yacht and towed the extra motorboat back to the rental dock, which was closed by then."

Kate looked at him a long moment. Then she said, slowly, "All the evidence you have is circumstantial, isn't it?"

"Yes." He was ready to move in for the kill. "I need concrete evidence for the coroner's inquest. You know your granddaughter better than anyone in the world, Mrs. Blackwell. I want you to tell me anything you can that might be helpful."

She sat there quietly, making up her mind. Finally she said, "I think I can give you some information for the inquest."

And Nick Pappas's heart began to beat faster. He had taken a long shot, and it had paid off. The old lady had come through. He unconsciously leaned forward. "Yes, Mrs. Blackwell?"

Kate spoke slowly and distinctly. "On the day George Mellis was murdered, Lieutenant, my granddaughter Eve and I were in Washington, D.C., together."

She saw the surprised expression on his face. You fool, Kate Blackwell thought. Did you really think I would offer up a Black-well as a sacrifice to you? That I would let the press have a Roman holiday with the Blackwell name? No. I will punish Eve in my own way.

The verdict from the coroner's jury was death at the hands of an unknown assailant or assailants.

To Alexandra's surprise and gratitude, Peter Templeton was at the inquest at the county courthouse.

"Just here to lend moral support," he told her. Peter thought Alexandra was holding up remarkably well, but the strain showed in her face and in her eyes. During a recess, he took her to lunch at the Lobster Pound, a little restaurant facing the bay in Lincolnville.

"When this is over," Peter said, "I think it would be good for you to take a trip, get away for a while."

"Yes. Eve has asked me to go away with her." Alexandra's eyes were filled with pain. "I still can't believe George is dead. I know it has happened, but it—it still seems unreal."

"It's nature's way of cushioning the shock until the pain becomes bearable."

"It's so senseless. He was such a fine man." She looked up at Peter. "You spent time with him. He talked to you. Wasn't he a wonderful person?"

"Yes," Peter said slowly. "Yes, he was."

Eve said, "I want an annulment, Keith."

Keith Webster blinked at his wife in surprise. "Why on earth would you want an annulment?"

"Oh, come on, Keith. You didn't really think I was going to stay married to you, did you?"

"Of course. You're my wife, Eve."

"What are you after? The Blackwell money?"

"I don't need money, darling. I make an excellent living. I can give you anything you want."

"I told you what I want. An annulment."

He shook his head regretfully. "I'm afraid I can't give you that."

"Then I'm going to file for divorce."

"I don't think that would be advisable. You see, nothing has really changed, Eve. The police haven't found out who killed your brother-in-law, so the case is still open. There's no statute of limitations on murder. If you divorced me, I'd be forced to ..." He raised bis hands helplessly.

"You're talking as though / killed him."

"You did, Eve."

Her voice was scornful. "How the hell do you know?"

"It's the only reason you would have married me."

She looked at him, filled with loathing. "You bastard! How can you do this to me?"

"It's very simple. I love you."

"I hate you. Do you understand that? I despise you!"

He smiled sadly. "I love you so much."

The trip with Alexandra was called off. "I'm going to Barbados on my honeymoon," Eve told her.

Barbados was Keith's idea.

"I won't go," Eve told him flatly. The idea of a honeymoon with him was disgusting.

"It will look strange if we don't have a honeymoon," he said shyly. "And we don't want people asking a lot of awkward questions, do we, dear?"

Alexandra began to see Peter Templeton for lunch once a week. In the beginning, it was because she wanted to talk about George, and there was no one else she could discuss him with. But after several months, Alexandra admitted to herself that she enjoyed Peter Templeton's company immensely. There was a dependability about him that she desperately needed. He was sensitive to her moods, and he was intelligent and entertaining.

"When I was an intern," he told Alexandra, "I went out on my first house call in the dead of winter. The patient was a frail old man in bed with a terrible cough. I was going to examine his chest with my stethoscope, but I didn't want to shock him, so I decided to warm it first. I put it on the radiator while I examined his throat and his eyes. Then I got my stethoscope and put it to his chest. The old man leaped out of bed like a scalded cat. His cough went away, but it took two weeks for the burn to heal."

Alexandra laughed. It was the first time she had laughed in a long time.

"Can we do this again next week?" Peter asked.

"Yes, please."

Eve's honeymoon turned out much better than she had anticipated. Because of Keith's pale, sensitive skin, he was afraid to go out in the sun, so Eve went down to the beach alone every day. She was never alone for long. She was surrounded by amorous lifeguards, beach bums, tycoons and playboys. It was like feasting at a wonderful smorgasbord, and Eve chose a different dish each day. She enjoyed her sexual escapades twice as much because she knew her husband was upstairs in their suite waiting for her. He could not do enough for her. He fetched and carried for her like a little lapdog, and waited on her hand and foot. If Eve expressed a wish, it was instantly gratified. She did everything she could think of to insult him, anger him, to turn him against her so that he would let her go, but his love was unshakable. The idea of letting Keith make love to her sickened Eve, and she was grateful that he had a weak libido.

The years are beginning to catch up with me, Kate Blackwell thought. There were so many of them, and they had been so full and rich.

Kruger-Brent, Ltd., needed a strong hand at the helm. It needed someone with Blackwell blood. There's no one to carry on after I'm gone, Kate thought. All the working and planning and fighting for the company. And for what? For strangers to take over one day. Bloody hell! I can't let that happen.

A week after they returned from their honeymoon, Keith said apologetically, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to go back to work, dear. I have a lot of operations scheduled. Will you be all right during the day without me?" Eve barely managed to keep a straight face. 'Til try." Keith was up and out early every morning long before Eve awakened, and when she went into the kitchen she found he had made coffee and laid out all the breakfast things for her. He opened a generous bank account in Eve's name and kept it replenished. She spent his money recklessly. As long as she was enjoying herself, Keith was happy. Eve bought expensive jewelry for Rory, with whom she spent almost every afternoon. He worked very little.

"I can't take just any part," he complained to Eve. "It would hurt my image."

"I understand, darling."

"Do you? What the fuck do you know about show business? You were born with a silver spoon up your ass."

And Eve would buy him an extra-nice present to placate him. She paid Rory's rent and bought him clothes for interviews, and paid for his dinners at expensive restaurants so that he could be seen by important producers. She wanted to be with him twenty-four hours a day, but there was her husband. Eve would arrive home at seven or eight o'clock at night, and Keith would be in the kitchen preparing dinner for her in his "Kiss the Cook" apron. He never questioned her about where she had been.

During the following year, Alexandra and Peter Templeton saw each other more and more often. Each had become an important part of the other's life. Peter accompanied Alexandra when she went to visit her father at the asylum, and somehow the sharing made the pain easier to bear.

Peter met Kate one evening when he arrived to pick up Alexandra. "So you're a doctor, eh? I've buried a dozen doctors, and I'm still around. Do you know anything about business?"

"Not a great deal, Mrs. Blackwell."

"Are you a corporation?" Kate asked.

"No."

She snorted. "Bloody hell. You don't know anything. You need a good tax man. I'll set up an appointment for you with mine. The first thing he'll do is incorporate you and—"

"Thank you, Mrs. Blackwell. Pm getting along just fine."

"My husband was a stubborn man, too," Kate said. She turned to Alexandra. "Invite him to dinner. Maybe I can talk some sense into him."

Outside, Peter said, "Your grandmother hates me."

Alexandra laughed. "She likes you. You should hear how Gran behaves with people she hates."

"I wonder how she would feel if I told her that I want to marry you, Alex ... ?"

And she looked up at him and beamed. "We'd both feel wonderful, Peter!"

Kate had watched the progress of Alexandra's romance with Peter Templeton with a great deal of interest. She liked the young doctor, and she decided he would be a good husband for Alexandra. But she was a trader at heart. Now she sat in front of the fireplace facing the two of them.

"I must tell you," Kate lied, "that this comes as a complete surprise. I always expected Alexandra to marry an executive who would take over Kruger-Brent."

"This isn't a business proposition, Mrs. Blackwell. Alexandra and I want to get married."

"On the other hand," Kate continued, as if there had been no interruption, "you're a psychiatrist. You understand the way people's minds and emotions work. You would probably be a great negotiator. I would like you to become involved with the company. You can—"

"No," Peter said firmly. "I'm a doctor. I'm not interested in going into a business."

"This isn't 'going into a business,' " Kate snapped. "We're not talking about some corner grocery store. You'll be part of the family, and I need someone to run—"

"I'm sorry." There was a finality in Peter's tone. "I'll have nothing to do with Kruger-Brent. You'll have to find someone else for that___"

Kate turned to Alexandra. "What do you have to say to that?"

"I want whatever makes Peter happy, Gran."

"Damned ingratitude," Kate glowered. "Selfish, the both of you." She sighed. "Ah, well. Who knows? You might change your mind one day." And she added innocently, "Are you planning to have children?"

Peter laughed. "That's a private matter. I have a feeling you're a great manipulator, Mrs. Blackwell, but Alex and I are going to live our own lives, and our children—if we have children—will live their lives."

Kate smiled sweetly. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Peter. I've made it a lifelong rule never to interfere in other people's lives."

Two months later when Alexandra and Peter returned from their honeymoon, Alexandra was pregnant. When Kate heard the news, she thought, Good. It will be a boy.

Eve lay in bed watching Rory walk out of the bathroom naked. He had a beautiful body, lean and trim. Eve adored the way he made love to her. She could not get enough of him. She suspected he might have other bedmates, but she was afraid to ask, afraid to say anything that might upset him. Now, as he reached the bed, he ran his finger along her skin, just below the eyes, and said, "Hey, baby, you're gettin' a few wrinkles. They're cute."

Each word was a stab, a reminder of the age difference between them and the fact that she was twenty-five years old. They made love again, but for the first time Eve's mind was elsewhere.

It was almost nine o'clock when Eve arrived home. Keith was basting a roast in the oven.

He kissed her on the cheek. "Hello, dear. I've made some of your favorite dishes. We're having—"

"Keith, I want you to remove these wrinkles."

He blinked. "What wrinkles?"

She pointed to the area around her eyes. "These."

"Those are laugh lines, darling. I love them."

"I don't! I hate them!" she yelled.

"Believe me, Eve, they're not—"

"For Christ's sake, just get rid of them. That is what you do for a living, isn't it?"

"Yes, but— All right," he said placatingly, "if it will make you happy, dear."

"When?"

"In about six weeks. My schedule is full right—"

"I'm not one of your goddamned patients," Eve snapped. "I'm your wife. I want you to do it now—tomorrow."

"The clinic is closed on Saturdays."

"Then open it!" He was so stupid God, she could not wait to get rid of him. And she would. One way or another. And soon.

"Come into the other room for a moment." He took her into the dressing room.

She sat in a chair under a strong light while he carefully examined her face. In an instant he was transformed from a bumbling little milquetoast to a brilliant surgeon, and Eve could sense the transformation. She remembered the miraculous job he had done on her face. This operation might seem unnecessary to Keith, but he was wrong. It was vital. Eve could not bear the thought of losing Rory.

Keith turned off the light. "No problem," he assured her. "I'll do it in the morning."

The following morning, the two of them went to the clinic. "I usually have a nurse assist me," Keith told her, "but with something as minor as this, it won't be necessary."

"You might as well do something with this while you're at it." Eve tugged at a bit of skin at her throat.

"If you wish, dear. I'll give you something to put you to sleep so you won't feel any discomfort. I don't want my darling to have any pain."

Eve watched as he filled a hypodermic and skillfully gave her an injection. She would not have minded if there had been pain. She was doing this for Rory. Darling Rory. She thought of his rock-hard body and the look in his eyes when he was hungry for her.... She drifted off to sleep.

She woke up in a bed in the back room of the clinic. Keith was seated in a chair next to the bed.

"How did it go?" Her voice was thick with sleep.

"Beautifully," Keith smiled.

Eve nodded, and was asleep again.

Keith was there when she woke up later. "We'll leave the bandages on for a few days. I'll keep you here where you can be properly cared for."

"All right."

He checked her each day, examined her face, nodded. "Perfect."

"When can I look?"

"It should be all healed by Friday," he assured her.

She ordered the head nurse to have a private telephone installed by the bedside. The first call she made was to Rory.

"Hey, baby, where the hell are you?" he asked. "I'm horny."

"So am I, darling. Fm still tied up with his damned medical convention in Florida, but I'll be back next week."

"You'd better be."

"Have you missed me?"

"Like crazy."

Eve heard whispering in the background. "Is there someone there with you?"

"Yeah. We're havin' a little orgy." Rory loved to make jokes. "Gotta go." The line went dead.

Eve telephoned Alexandra and listened, bored, to Alexandra's excited talk about her pregnancy. "I can't wait," Eve told her. "I've always wanted to be an aunt."

Eve seldom saw her grandmother. A coolness had developed that Eve did not understand. She'll come around, Eve thought.

Kate never asked about Keith, and Eve did not blame her, for he was a nothing. Perhaps one day Eve would talk to Rory about helping her get rid of Keith. That would tie Rory to her forever. It was incredible to Eve that she could cuckold her husband every day and that he neither suspected nor cared. Well, thank God he had a talent for something. The bandages were coming off on Friday.

Eve awakened early on Friday and waited impatiently for Keith.

"It's almost noon," she complained. "Where the hell have you been?"

"I'm sorry, darling," he apologized. "I've been in surgery all morning and—"

"I don't give a damn about that. Take these bandages off. I want to see."

"Very well."

Eve sat up and was still, as he deftly cut the bandages away from her face. He stood back to study her, and she saw the satis-faction in his eyes. "Perfect."

"Give me a mirror."

He hurried out of the room and returned a moment later with a hand mirror. With a proud smile, he presented it to her.

Eve raised the mirror slowly and looked at her reflection.

And screamed.