You can't be serious." He poured champagne into two flutes and put one on the dressing table for her; then he settled himself onto the little sofa at her left, propped his legs on the coffee table, and crossed his feet at the ankles. "In case you haven't noticed, your husband thinks a five-star restaurant is just a badly lit conference room with forks. He thinks a briefcase is an indispensable fashion accessory, and he depreciates his golf clubs."

"Stop picking on Logan," she told him. "He's a brilliant businessman."

"He's a brilliant bore," Jason retorted, clearly enjoying the rare opportunity to joke about someone he actually admired and even envied. "If you wanted playfulness and spontaneity in a man, you should have had an affair with me instead of turning to this orchid guy for those traits."

She flashed him an amused, affectionate look and ignored his reference to the orchids. "You're gay, Jason."

"Well, yes," he agreed with a grin. "I suppose that could have been an impediment to our affair."

"How's Eric?" Leigh asked, deliberately changing the subject. Eric had been Jason's "significant other" for over six months-which almost set a longevity record where Jason was concerned. "I didn't see him out front tonight."

"He was there," Jason said indifferently. He shifted his foot from side to side, studying his shiny black tuxedo loafers. "Eric is becoming a bit of a bore, too, to tell you the truth."

"You are very easily bored," Leigh said with a knowing look.

"You're right."

"If you want my opinion-"

"Which, of course, I don't," Jason interrupted.

"And which, of course, I'm going to give anyway-If you want my opinion, maybe you should try to find someone who isn't so much like you that he seems predictable and boring. Try going with someone who depreciates his golf clubs for a change."

"Someone who is so gorgeous that I could overlook his boring traits? As a matter of fact, I do know someone like that!"

He was being so agreeable that Leigh shot him a suspicious look before she tossed a tissue into the wastebasket and began putting on her regular makeup.

"You do?"

"Yes, indeed," Jason said with a wicked grin. "He has thick light brown hair streaked blond from the summer sun, beautiful eyes, and a great physique. He's a little too preppy-looking for my tastes, but he's thirty-five, and that's a good age for me. He's from an old aristocratic New York family that ran out of money long before he was born, so it was up to him to restore the family fortune, which he's managed to do single-handedly..."

Leigh finally realized he was describing Logan, and her shoulders began to shake with laughter. "You're a lunatic."

Jason's short attention span led him from romance to business without a pause between. "What a night!" he sighed, leaning his head back against the sofa. "I was right to change your lines in the last scene of the second act. Did you notice how strongly the audience reacted? One minute everyone was laughing; then they realized what you were actually going to do and they ended up crying. In the s.p.a.ce of a few lines, they went from mirth to tears. Now that, my darling, is brilliant writing-and brilliant acting, of course." He paused for a sip of champagne and, after a moment of thoughtful silence, added, "After I see the matinee tomorrow, I may want to change a little of the dialogue between you and Jane in the third act. I haven't decided."

Leigh said nothing as she quickly applied the rest of her makeup, brushed her hair, and then disappeared behind the screen to change into the dress she'd brought to the theater. Outside the dressing room, the noise level had risen dramatically as actors, crew members, and people with enough influence to obtain backstage pa.s.ses all began leaving the theater by the rear door, laughing and talking as they headed off to celebrate the night's triumph with friends and families. Ordinarily, Jason and she would be doing the same thing, but today was Leigh's thirty-fifth birthday, and Logan was determined that it not take second place to the play's opening night.

She emerged from behind the screen wearing a deceptively simple red silk sheath with tiny beaded straps at the shoulders, matching high heels, and a jeweled Judith Leiber evening bag that dangled from her fingers by a narrow chain.

"Red?" Jason said, grinning as he slowly stood up. "I've never seen you wear red before."

"Logan specifically asked me to wear something fed to the party tonight."

"Really, why?"

"Probably because he's being playful," Leigh said smugly; then uncertainty replaced her jaunty expression. "Do I look all right in this?"

Jason pa.s.sed a slow, appraising glance over her gleaming, shoulder-length auburn hair, large aquamarine eyes, and high cheekbones; then he let it drop to her narrow waist, and down her long legs. She was pretty, but certainly not gorgeous, and not even beautiful, he observed. And yet in a roomful of women who were, Leigh Kendall would have drawn notice and attracted attention the moment she moved or spoke. In an attempt to define her powerful presence onstage, critics likened her to a young Katharine Hepburn or a young Ethel Barrymore, but Jason knew they were wrong. Onstage, she had Hepburn's incomparable glow and she had Barrymore's legendary depth, but she had something else, too, something infinitely more appealing and uniquely her own -a mesmerizing charisma that was as potent when she was standing in her dressing room, waiting for his opinion about her attire, as when she was onstage.

She was the most even-tempered, cooperative actress he'd ever known; and yet there was a mystery about her, a barrier, that no one was allowed to cross. She took her work seriously, but she did not take herself seriously, and at times her humility and sense of humor made him feel like a towering, temperamental egotist.

"I'm starting to wish I had a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt on," she joked, reminding him that she was waiting for an opinion.

"Okay," he said, "here it is-the unvarnished truth: Although you aren't nearly as gorgeous as your husband, you are remarkably attractive for a woman."

"In the unlikely event that that was meant to be a big compliment," Leigh said, laughing as she opened the closet door and removed her coat, "thanks a lot."

Jason was truly stunned by her lack of perspective. "Of course it was a compliment, Leigh, but why would you care how you look right now? What matters is that an hour ago, you convinced four hundred people that you are actually a thirty-year-old blind woman who unknowingly holds the key to solving an unspeakable murder. You had every member of that audience squirming in his seat with terror!" Jason threw up his hands in bewildered disgust. "My G.o.d, why would a woman who can do all that give a d.a.m.n how she looks in a c.o.c.ktail dress?"

Leigh opened her mouth to reply; then she smiled and shook her head. "It's a girl thing," she said dryly, glancing at her watch.

"I see." He swept the dressing room door open and stepped aside in an exaggerated gesture of gallantry. "After you," he said; then he offered her his arm and she took it, but as they started down the back hall, he sobered. "When we get to the party, I'm going to ask Logan if he sent you those orchids."

"I'd rather you didn't worry yourself or Logan about that tonight," Leigh said, keeping her tone light. "Even if Logan didn't send them, it doesn't really matter.

We've taken precautions-I have a chauffeur-bodyguard now. Matt and Meredith Farrell lent him to me for six months while they're away. He's like a member of their family when they're home in Chicago. I'm very well protected."

Despite Leigh's rea.s.suring words, she couldn't completely suppress a tremor of anxiety about the orchids. Recently, she'd received some anonymous gifts, all of them expensive and several with blatant s.e.xual overtones, like a black lace garter belt and bra from Neiman Marcus and a sheer, extremely seductive nightgown from Bergdorf Goodman. The small, white cards that accompanied the gifts bore short, cryptic messages like, "Wear this for me" and "I want to see you in this."

She'd received a phone call at home the day after the first gift was delivered to the theater. "Are you wearing your present, Leigh?" a man's soft, cajoling voice had asked on the answering machine.

Last week, Leigh had visited Saks, where she'd purchased a robe for Logan and a little enamel pin for herself, which she'd tucked into her coat pocket. She had been about to step off the curb at Fifth and Fifty-first Street with a crowd of other pedestrians when a man's hand reached forward from behind her, holding a small Saks bag. "You dropped this," he said politely. Startled, Leigh automatically took the bag and dropped it into the larger one containing Logan's robe, but when she looked around to thank him, either he'd retreated farther back into the crowd of pedestrians or he was the man she saw walking swiftly down the street, his overcoat turned up to his ears, head bent against the wind.

When she got home with her purchases, Leigh realized her own small bag from Saks was still in her coat pocket, where she'd originally put it. The bag the man had handed her on the street contained a narrow silver band, like a wedding ring. The card said "You're mine."

Despite all that, she was certain the orchids in her dressing room were from Logan. He knew they were her favorite flower.

IN the alley behind the theater, Leigh's new chauffeur-bodyguard was standing beside the open door of a limousine. "The show was a big hit, Mrs. Manning, and you were terrific!"

"Thank you, Joe."

Jason settled into the luxurious automobile and nodded with satisfaction.

"Everyone should have his very own bodyguard-chauffeur."

"You may not think so a moment from now," Leigh warned him with a rueful smile as the chauffeur slid behind the steering wheel and put the car into gear.

"He drives like a-" The car suddenly rocketed forward, throwing them back against their seats and barging into heavy oncoming traffic.

" Maniac!" Jason swore, grabbing for the armrest with one hand and Leigh's wrist with the other.

CHAPTER 3.

Leigh and Logan's apartment occupied the entire twenty-fourth floor. It had a private elevator lobby that functioned as an exterior "foyer" for their apartment, and Leigh inserted her key into the elevator lock so that the doors would open on her floor. As soon as the elevator opened, the sounds of a large party in full swing greeted them from beyond her apartment's front door. "Sounds like a good party," Jason remarked, helping her out of her coat and handing it to Leigh's housekeeper, who materialized in the outer foyer to take their coats. "Happy birthday, Mrs. Manning," Hilda said.

"Thank you, Hilda."

Together, Jason and Leigh stepped into the apartment onto a raised marble foyer that offered a clear view of rooms overflowing with animated, elegantly dressed, beautiful people who were laughing, drinking, and nibbling canapes from trays being pa.s.sed around by a battalion of waiters in dinner jackets. Jason instantly spotted people he knew and headed down the steps, but Leigh remained where she was, struck suddenly by the beauty of the setting, its portrayal of the success and prosperity that Logan and she had achieved together in their individual careers. Someone spotted her then and started a loud chorus of "Happy Birthday to You!"

Logan arrived at her side with a drink that he placed in her hand and a kiss that he placed on her mouth. "You were fantastic tonight. Happy birthday, darling," he said. While their guests watched, he reached into his tuxedo jacket pocket and produced a Tiffany box tied with silk ribbon. "Go ahead and open it,"

he prodded.

Leigh looked at him uncertainly. "Now?" Normally Logan preferred privacy for sentimental moments, but he was in a boyishly carefree mood tonight.

"Now," he agreed, his eyes smiling into hers. "Absolutely, now."

It was either a ring or earrings, Leigh guessed, judging from the size and shape of the cream leather box that slid out of the robin's egg blue outer box.

Inside was a spectacular ruby-and-diamond pendant in the shape of a heart. Now she understood why he'd wanted her to wear something red. "It's magnificent,"

she said, incredibly touched that he had spent so much money on her. No matter how much money Logan made, he felt almost guilty about spending it on anything that wasn't likely to become a profit-making a.s.set or at least a tax deduction.

"I'll help you fasten the chain," he said, lifting the glittering pendant from its case. "Turn around." When he finished, he turned her back around so that their guests could see the magnificent pendant, lying just below her throat. The gift earned a round of applause and cries of approval.

"Thank you," Leigh said softly, her eyes shining.

He looped his arm around her shoulders and laughingly said, "I'll expect a more appropriate thank-you later, when we're alone. That bauble cost two hundred and fifty thousand dollars."

Stunned and amused, Leigh whispered back, "I'm not sure I know how to express a quarter of a million dollars' worth of grat.i.tude."

"It won't be easy, but I'll make some helpful suggestions and recommendations, later tonight."

"I'd appreciate that," she teased, watching his gaze turn warm and s.e.xy.

He sighed and put his hand under her elbow, guiding her down the marble steps to the living room. "Unfortunately, before we can take care of that very important matter, we have a few hours of obligatory socializing to perform." On the bottom step, he paused and looked around. "There's someone here I want you to meet."

As they wended their way slowly through the noisy, crowded rooms, greeting their guests, Leigh was struck anew by the almost comic contrast between Logan's friends and business acquaintances and her own. Most of Logan's friends were members of New York's oldest and most influential families; they were bankers and philanthropists, judges and senators, all of them with "old"

money. Quiet money. They were expensively but conservatively attired and impeccably behaved, with wives who matched them perfectly.

In comparison to them, Leigh's friends seemed absolutely flamboyant; they were artists, actors, musicians, and writers-people who equated "fitting in"

with being overlooked, and that was anathema to them. The two groups didn't avoid each other, but neither did they mingle. While Leigh's friend Theta Berenson expounded on the merits of a new art exhibit to her group, the huge yellow feathers on her hat continually brushed against the ear of the investment banker behind her. The banker, who was a friend of Logan's, irritably brushed the feathers aside while he continued discussing a new strategy for portfolio reallocations with Sheila Winters, a highly respected therapist. Leigh and Logan had met with Sheila a few times to smooth out conflicts in their relationship a couple of years earlier; in the intervening time she had become a dear friend.

When she looked over for a moment and saw Leigh, she blew a kiss and waved.

Although Logan and Leigh stopped frequently to chat with their guests, Logan didn't allow his wife to linger long. He was searching for whoever it was that he wanted her to meet. "There he is, over there," Logan said finally, and immediately began guiding Leigh toward a tall, dark-haired man who was standing completely by himself at the far end of the living room, looking at an oil painting that was hanging on the wall. His bored expression and aloof stance made it very obvious he wasn't interested in the artwork, or in the party, for that matter.

Leigh recognized him at once, but his presence in her home was so unlikely that she couldn't believe her eyes. She stopped short, staring at Logan in horrified disbelief. "That can't be who I think it is!"

"Who do you think it is? "

"I think it's Michael Valente."

"You're right." He urged her forward, but Leigh was rooted to the floor, staring at Valente, aghast. "He wants to meet you, Leigh. He's a big fan of yours."

"Who let him in here?"

"I invited him," Logan explained patiently. "I haven't mentioned him to you before, because the deal isn't finalized, but Valente is considering putting up all the venture capital for the entire Crescent Plaza project. I've had several meetings with him. He has a genius for putting together highly lucrative business deals."

"And for avoiding prosecution afterward," Leigh retorted darkly. "Logan, he's a criminal!"

"He's only been convicted of wrongdoing once," Logan said, chuckling at her indignant reaction. "Now he's a respectable billionaire with an incredible track record for turning risky commercial projects, like Crescent Plaza, into wildly successful ones that make a fortune for everyone."

"He's a felon!"

"That was a long time ago, and it was probably a b.u.m rap."

"No it wasn't! I read that he pleaded guilty."

Instead of being annoyed, Logan gazed at her mutinous expression with amused admiration. "How have you done it?"

"Done what?"

"Maintained the same rigid, wonderful values you had when we first met?"

" 'Rigid' doesn't sound like a good thing to me."

"On you," he said softly, " 'rigid' is a wonderful thing."

Leigh scarcely heard that as she looked around the room. She spotted Judge Maxwell and Senator Hollenbeck, who were standing against the wall behind the buffet-as far as they could physically get from where Valente was standing.

"Logan, there isn't a man in this house with a reputation to safeguard who is anywhere near Michael Valente. They've gotten as far away from him as they can."

"Maxwell is no saint, and Hollenbeck's closets have barely enough room for all his skeletons," Logan said emphatically, but as he looked around, he reached the same conclusion that Leigh had reached. "It probably wasn't wise to invite Valente."

"What made you do it?"

"It was an impulse. I phoned him this afternoon to discuss some contractual details for Crescent Plaza, and I mentioned that your play was opening tonight and we were having a party afterward. He mentioned the play, and he said he was a big fan of yours. I knew there wasn't a seat to be had in the theater tonight, so I compromised and invited him to the party instead. I had so many things going on I didn't stop to consider that his being here might be awkward, particularly for Sanders and Murray. Will you do me a favor, darling?"

"Yes, of course," Leigh replied, relieved that Logan was at least acknowledging the problem.

"I've already spoken with Valente tonight. If you don't mind introducing yourself to him, I'll go over and soothe Sanders's and Murray's offended sensibilities. Valente drinks Glenlivet-no ice, no water. See that he gets a fresh drink, and play hostess for a few minutes. That's all you have to do."

"And then what? Leave him there by himself? Who can I possibly introduce him to?"

Logan's dry sense of humor made his eyes gleam as he glanced around the room, looking for possible candidates. "That's easy. Introduce your friend Claire Straight to him; she'll tell anyone who'll listen about her divorce. Jason and Eric already look ready to strangle her." At that moment, Claire, Jason, and Eric all looked up, and Logan and Leigh waved to them. "Claire-" Logan called, "don't forget to tell Jason and Eric all about your lawyer and how he sold you out. Ask them if you should sue him for malpractice."

"You are an evil man," Leigh said with a giggle.