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home. I have a few calls to make.'

'You mean I can have the run of the place?'

He looked over his shoulder. Overt delight beamed from Kirstie's face, but the sparkle in

her eyes was too sharp for his liking.

He frowned. 'Of course. If you'll excuse me.'

Kirstie wandered through the spacious apartment and grew more and more troubled. In

addition to the living-room there were four bedrooms, two with en suite bathrooms, and

a study. The kitchen would be a chef's dream, and she'd bet there was a separate dining-

room or at the very least a breakfast-nook.

To Kirstie the place was rather like a trip to Disneyland, but Francis hadn't given any of

it a second glance. He took it so much for granted that he didn't even show any pride of

possession. The whole situation, already tangled past unravelling, had taken another

slide away from her. It was beyond all understanding.

After about twenty minutes, Kirstie poked her head around the corner of the kitchen.

Francis leaned against the counter and scribbled into a black diary, a phone receiver

pinned between his left shoulder and ear. His black hair fell into his eyes and he swiped

it back impatiently. He was tousled, casually, attired in another of Paul's outfits from the

cabin, but nevertheless looked part of the picture. He darted her a quick glance and held

up a finger.

'. . .Right. That's fine. Thanks a lot, Mrs Callihan. I probably won't see you tomorrow as

I'll be working late, but I'll leave a grocery list on the counter.'

Kirstie said as he hung up, 'An IBM computer in the study, an Austrian crystal chess-set

on an ivory and mahogany board, televisions and videos in each of the bedrooms—did

you know that you have over fifty of those handmade suits hanging in your closet? And

that's some jacuzzi in your bathroom. Can I try it before I leave?'

Francis stared at her very hard, eyes narrowed. 'That's some inventory check you've

conducted. Get to the point.'

Her brow wrinkled as she lifted herself to a sitting position on the counter opposite him

and idly swung her legs. 'You see, Francis, the more I look around, the more things don't

add up.'

'You know about my position at Amalgamated Trust.' He folded his arms and tilted his

head back. 'Do you have any idea what that job entails?'

'Simplistically, you make money make money.' She hunched her shoulders. 'I knew you

were successful, but after looking at this, my estimate is that you have to be on a seven-

figure income.'

'My kind of expertise is well paid for. As it happens, the apartment is rented by the

corporation, but the furnishings are mine and in any case I could afford to pay the rent if

I had to. Why doesn't that add up?'

'It's not in the possessions, but what they imply. We've got a bit of money in the family,

but a lot of it is sunk into the aircraft and radar equipment. We're lucky; the business is

solvent, we have good contracts for regional shipping, and the tourist sideline that I

handle brings in a tidy amount of change. I suppose it's rather despotic to say we're well

capable of providing for our own. But we're nowhere near your league.'

Francis considered her as if he'd never seen her before. 'I didn't realise you were so

materialistic.'

'I'm not!' she said impatiently. 'You're not getting the point. Look at yourself objectively.

You move among the cream of New York. A lot of your associates are probably old

money. You could and probably have dated world-class models, debutantes, women

novelists, even English aristocracy. Like all of us, Louise has had her chance at a good

education and the choice of whether or not to help out in the business, but she teaches

high-school chemistry, for God's sake. Francis, why her after all these years?'

'I'm no sexual athlete, Kirstie,' he told her quietly. 'A seventy-to eighty-hour working

week is not conducive to the kind of life you're building up in your mind.'

She made a quick gesture with one hand. 'You wouldn't have to be. Louise is lovely, but,

if you don't mind my saying so, you're one hell of a catch. All I'm getting at is that you

must have your pick of dozens of attractive women if you're that way inclined. Are you

in love with my sister? It can't be simple sexuality. I just don't understand, that's all.'

'Yet you were the one who shed the most honest light on the situation, however

flippantly you meant it,' he replied. Her gaze was locked with his. Those green eyes of

his were most beautiful with expression. 'Perhaps when I looked her up I did want to

make a trip down memory lane. Life tasted different with a little suspense. We didn't

know what the future would hold for us, but we were eager to find out. Tedium played

no part in our dreams. I wanted to remember what spring was like again.'

'But spring comes every year. It shouldn't be just a memory,' she said, and for the first

time since he had known her there was uncomplicated compassion in Kirstie's

expression. He saw it and smiled. She came down off her counter perch, and without

thinking reached for both of his hands. 'Francis, could you have made some mistake?

Could you have somehow pressurised Louise without realising it?'

She was begging for some kind of explanation to ease her nagging doubt; she knew it

and didn't care. His eyes darkened as he looked down at her upturned face. He cupped

her cheek in what looked like sorrow, and gave her own words back to her. 'I can't,

Kirstie. It's too much to ask of me.'

She bent her head and turned away.

Francis stirred and became brisk. 'Are you hungry? I'm starving.'

It was a deliberate move on his part, another extension of the olive-branch, and with an

effort she took the distraction he offered. 'I could eat. What have you got?'

'Probably nothing edible after five days away.' He picked up a Yellow Pages directory

that was by the phone. 'Why don't I get a pizza delivered?'

'Fine, anything.'

She was staring at the floor. She didn't see his sympathetic glance. 'You can raid my

wine-rack if you like.' With one finger on the page, he picked up the receiver.

Kirstie shook off her worries, opened the refrigerator door and stuck her head inside.

'Got any beer?'

They ate the pizza straight from the box outside on the balcony, washing it down with

Miller Lite. By some strange miracle they managed to preserve the companionable

atmosphere begun so briefly in Vermont.

Francis had changed into some of his own clothes, casual steel-grey trousers and a pale

pink shirt. Kirstie decided that pink suited him. His black hair looked more glossy, his

eyes even more vivid. After all that wood-chopping, his face had acquired a brown tan

which also suited him.

'By the way,' he told her, propping his feet in an empty chair, 'you're kidnapped until

Louise gets here at nine.'

She was silent for a moment, brooding. So this was the way it would be handled, then? A

myriad emotions swirled inside like dustdevils raised by a storm, every one of them

aching. There would be no winner in the confrontation, but all she said was, 'At least I

can get a ride home with her.'

The night sky was purple while below them the street lights glowed. The concrete floor

of the balcony still retained much of the daytime heat, contrasting with gusts of cooling

breeze.

'You have a most atypical attitude towards all this. I don't know why it should surprise

me,' he said abruptly.

Kirstie saw no reason why she shouldn't be honest with him. 'What other way is there to

be? I haven't so much as a wooden nickel in these jeans, so unless you provided either

transportation or let me use your phone I didn't have a great deal of choice, did I?'

'Didn't you mind being kidnapped and forced into this against your will?'

'Didn't I deserve it?' Their gazes clashed. She asked, deliberately indifferent, 'Are you

still sore about yours?'

'Oh, no,' he said comfortably. 'I'm still miffed about that middle-class crack, though.'

'You're not,' she said, and laughed. She couldn't help herself.

'I am.' He sent her a level look and the skin along Kirstie's upper arms tingled. 'You don't

know me at all, do you?'

Her smile faded. Unbidden, an electric image of the gully burned her retina. 'Should I?'

she whispered.

Through the open glass door, they both heard the buzz of the intercom from across the

living-room. Francis rose to his feet leisurely. 'That will be Louise downstairs.'

He went inside, and Kirstie's mind threw her into rollercoaster loops. What was it she

didn't understand about Francis? Which man did she believe in? Of course he was

charming, but the devil himself was said to be a gentleman. Yes, indeed he knew how to

fit himself to one's mood, which could be as comforting as a well-loved slipper. But

wasn't that in itself a manipulation?

It was a rocky ride she was on. If she went any faster or was thrown on any more loops,

she felt as if she might crash off the beaten track, and there was a hell of a drop to the

ground.

It didn't bear thinking about. She was tearing herself into pieces. Kirstie slammed the

cardboard lid back on the left-over pizza savagely.

Francis had waited by the front door. She twisted in her seat when she heard a light,

impatient knock. What had he said to her sister in order to make her come? She saw

Francis hesitate and look towards the balcony. He opened the door. And Kirstie saw

Louise step inside and throw her arms around his neck.

This was the loop in the ride.

The blood left Kirstie's face. She couldn't breathe. She rose very carefully. Put one foot

in front of another. Touched the door-handle to see if it was real. She looked down at her

hand. Force the fingers apart. Let go, Kirstie.

'—and your secretary just kept putting me off,' her sister was saying. Abundant golden

hair tumbled down her back, unlike Kirstie's untidy wisps. Louise raised a hand to

Francis's face—he hadn't moved since opening the door. 'Why didn't you call if you

couldn't make our date on Friday? I've been half out of my mind.'

And Kirstie went too fast on that ride.

'Louise,' said Francis. He put both hands to her upper arms and gently pushed her away.

And Kirstie went over the edge, and fell.

'Hello, Louise,' she said quietly. Francis looked at her. With a startled gasp, the other

woman whirled. 'I cancelled the date for you after we talked on Thursday night. I see I

don't know what is going on after all.'

'Oh, God,' said Louise, too high and much too fast. 'What are you doing here? You're

supposed to be on a business trip! Do you two know each other? How do you two know

each other? Kirstie, you must believe me, it isn't what you think. Damn you, I told you

to stay away!'

'I see,' she said. She took a seat at one end of the couch. Francis had never seen Kirstie's

face so blank, her eyes such a bottomless black.

'I think you don't,' said Francis.

Louise was as slight as Kirstie, with velvet blue eyes and a heart-shaped face. She

looked nowhere near her age at the best of times. Now she seemed no more than a

wretched child as she twisted her fingers through the strap of her bag. Though there was

nine years' difference between them, Kirstie felt ancient at the sight of her.

'Did you honestly think I could stay away, after your superbly heartwrenching cry for

help?' she asked, her voice a harsh scrape of sound. 'Why, Louise? I've never known you

to lie to me before.'

'I don't know. I didn't mean to, but you were so close to finding out. It's just—I'm thirty-

five years old. Seeing him made me feel as if I were twenty again. I never wanted to hurt

anyone, or cause so much trouble. It's just that I'm so confused,' Louise whispered. Her

blue eyes clung to Kirstie and begged.

Kirstie looked down at the knees of her jeans. She smoothed slow fingers over the

material. She thought of last Friday, and Francis's anger. She thought of the helicopter

and the cabin, and fresh-water trout. She thought of Louise staring at herself in a mirror,

being frightened of the wrinkles she saw beginning to line her face. A new pain hit her

hard in the chest.

At first it was difficult to speak. She asked, 'Are you going to marry Neil on Saturday?'

For a long moment Louise's gaze darted back and forth between her younger sister and

Francis. All his attention was on Kirstie and he was silent. 'I—I don't ' Louise said.

'Are you, or aren't you, Louise?' Francis asked. His face was hard, a closed book, giving

nothing to either of them.

Louise searched his face, but he looked almost bored, and her lips tightened until she

was an ugly sight. 'Yes,' she said, and the single uttered word was cold.

Patience fought the pain and disillusionment inside Kirstie and won. She stood, walked

over to Louise and put one arm around her. 'Then we should be finished with this

business. It's gone too far. Let's go home.'

Louise bowed her head and nodded. Kirstie walked with her to the door, then turned

back to look at Francis. From a statuesque stillness, he had come to life with the most

strange expression. How odd it must be for him to say goodbye a second time to his