"About your last-but-one column." d.i.c.kie sipped his beer. "I've had a complaint."

"What was it this time? Innuendo? I was genuinely genuinely talking about the Charleston, you know." talking about the Charleston, you know."

"Female suffrage, actually. You expressed sympathy for women under thirty because they don't have the vote."

"No, I didn't. Not exactly. I said I would would sympathize if it wasn't for the fact that they're so fearfully young and lovely." sympathize if it wasn't for the fact that they're so fearfully young and lovely."

d.i.c.kie's expression was reproving. "Exactly how old are you?"

"Thirty. You know that."

He dispatched the last of his borscht. "The Piccadilly Herald Piccadilly Herald doesn't have a stated position on the extension of the franchise. doesn't have a stated position on the extension of the franchise. You You know that." know that."

"I don't care about the paper's position, stated or unstated. That's your problem. I'll write what I like. It's up to you whether or not to print it."

"You infuriating b.l.o.o.d.y woman." He dropped his spoon into his empty dish with a clatter. But then he smiled. "On another subject, when do I get the much-vaunted Hampstead supper? I haven't seen Nancy in ages. And as to the children-they'll be grown up by the time you ladies get around to inviting me over again."

"Seize the Moment with Stewards'." Grace couldn't help but think of the time Cato-Ferguson had tried to "seize the moment" with her. It was at an after-work do-she couldn't remember which one, now-and he'd come staggering around the corner as she emerged from the ladies' room. He was half cut, and tripped over his own feet. She'd reached out to help him regain his balance, and in seconds he had hold of her and was grabbing her all over with his long hands. She'd slapped him hard in the face and he hadn't come near her since.

"The image," said Grace, "is of a man and a woman about to kiss. Their eyes are closed. They are entirely lost in the moment."

"Thinking of putting yourself in the photograph again, are you?" Ferguson's smile was contemptuous. "Fancy yourself as a romantic heroine?"

"Get your feet off my desk, Cato."

They don't come much nicer than you, Grace thought, as she and d.i.c.kie tucked into a shared plate of dumplings.

d.i.c.kie was one of the rare sort who just might take her whole family on board if she let him. And he'd loved her, really loved her, not so long ago. How many other men had genuinely loved her? Perhaps only one. The good-looking boys she'd flirted with years ago were all taken now, by other women-or else were long dead in the trenches. Those who were still available were the Cato-Fergusons of the world. Opportunists, liars, lounge lizards.

If only she could feel more for d.i.c.kie. If only she could feel that that for him. for him.

"I've got something for you." d.i.c.kie tossed an envelope across the table. "It came this morning. I'm not in the habit of opening your mail, but for some reason it was sent care of my office."

Trouble was, Grace could remember how it was, being with d.i.c.kie. Why she'd ended it. There's nothing more lonely than being with the wrong man There's nothing more lonely than being with the wrong man.

She reached for the envelope.

Savoy Hotel London WC2 April 15, 1927 Miss Diamond Sharp Piccadilly Herald Dear Miss Sharp, Would you kindly pa.s.s on the following message to your charming sister?

I should be most honored if Miss Sapphire Sharp would consent to step out tomorrow evening from the no-doubt tricky little jewel box in which you sisters reside, to have a drink with me at 7:00 p.m. in the American Bar at the Savoy.

Do entreat Miss Sharp to accept my invitation, as I too am utterly smitten. Tell her that in the event she declines, I shall have to dine alone, once again, on overcooked steak at a dreary London grill, and possibly end my solo evening at the much garlanded Silvestra's where, for lack of anything better to do, I shall sit and admire the small turquoise birds.

I do hope her bruised foot is now completely healed.

Most sincerely, Your Devil-in-a-Dinner-Suit "You seem to have hooked your fish." d.i.c.kie's voice had a forced casual note. "Will you be writing the date up in your next column?"

It was as Grace moved through the revolving doors and into the Strand foyer, her reflection jumping out at her from gleaming gla.s.s and bra.s.s, that the panic set in. Her insides started churning and her breath caught in her throat so that she skittered through the great front hall beneath opulent chandeliers, to retreat to the nearest ladies' room and fuss about at the mirror with hair and lipstick; her hands aflutter to the extent that the lipstick dropped through her fingers into the sink and snapped in two.

What if he didn't turn up?

She'd be sitting in the American Bar, alone, with her cigarettes and her c.o.c.ktail and her disappointment, and a waiter would come across, with sympathy in his face, perhaps suggesting ingratiatingly that the gentleman-whoever he was-must be mad to stand up such a beautiful woman. And she'd find herself admitting that she didn't actually know know who he was-the gentleman in question-though she believed him to be a guest at the hotel. And the waiter would look confused and a little disapproving-and she'd decide that perhaps it was time to leave and take the bus back to Hampstead. who he was-the gentleman in question-though she believed him to be a guest at the hotel. And the waiter would look confused and a little disapproving-and she'd decide that perhaps it was time to leave and take the bus back to Hampstead.

What if he did did turn up? turn up?

As she entered the bar, fifteen minutes late (frankly this was early early, by Grace's standards), she made herself close her eyes, holding on to the moment that comes before you look and know. And then she braced herself, opened her eyes and looked around.

She'd forgotten how masculine this place was. Dark wood and model ships. She felt herself rendered girlie and insubstantial by it. There were plenty of people in, this evening, and most of the tables were taken-none of them by him.

A broad-shouldered man with fair hair in a good suit was sitting up at the bar on a high stool, smoking, his back to her. She felt the smile light up on her face and was about to slip across to tap him on the shoulder when she caught the sound of his voice over the general hubbub-and it was thin and English-and glimpsed his face in profile...And the nose and chin were all wrong.

Fifteen minutes late. No right-thinking man would be fifteen minutes late to meet a girl like her. He wasn't coming. Something must have come up-some piece of inconsequential business-just significant enough to ruin her evening and dash all her hopes. Or maybe he hadn't intended to meet her at all. Perhaps he'd never set foot in the Savoy and was even now in some other bar, scrutinizing the women and laughing a little at the thought of her sitting alone, waiting and watching for him.

And suddenly there was a hand on her her shoulder, and the familiar American voice that sounded slightly as though he might be laughing somewhere beneath it all, was saying, "So, shall I call you Diamond or Sapphire? Which is it to be tonight?" shoulder, and the familiar American voice that sounded slightly as though he might be laughing somewhere beneath it all, was saying, "So, shall I call you Diamond or Sapphire? Which is it to be tonight?"

Grace's smile-suitably pleased to see him but not too too excited, not excited, not too too relieved-was already carefully in place as she turned around and said, "You can call me what you like, so long as you get me a drink." relieved-was already carefully in place as she turned around and said, "You can call me what you like, so long as you get me a drink."

A corner table had come free. The waiter brought their drinks over-White Ladies for both of them. Served with ice, American-style, this was the latest of the many c.o.c.ktail innovations of Harry Craddock, the Savoy's famous head barman, who was himself specially imported from America.

They eyed each other over the c.o.c.ktails. He was both less and more than she remembered. Less perfect, but somehow more real. It was as though she'd come to know him since last seeing him, even though she knew nothing whatever about him. Tonight that seemed an enjoyable contradiction-the not-knowing and the knowing. He was toying with his gla.s.s. She was toying with hers.

"So, tell me about your column," he said.

"What is there to say? It's an insider's view of the West End. I tell people where to eat, dance, buy their clothes. And I tell them where not to go."

His finger ran around the rim of his gla.s.s, dipped into the c.o.c.ktail. He licked it. "Come on. I don't read your column every week to find out whether I should buy my shirts at Selfridges or Liberty, whether the house orchestra is better at Ciro's or the Salamander."

"You read my column every week?"

"It's more personal than you're letting on. It's the story of an unusual woman leading a very new London life. A life that would only be possible now now-this year, today."

"Ah. So you think I'm all parties and champagne and perfectly bobbed hair."

"Well, the bob looks pretty sharp from where I'm sitting."

She smiled down into her gla.s.s. "So, what's your your life like? What are you doing in London?" life like? What are you doing in London?"

"Me?" He shrugged. "I have an interest in people. That's why I'm here."

"People?"

"I like to watch them. Think about what makes them tick. What makes them individual...special. You might say I'm a collector."

"How so? Are you going to cram a load of interesting specimens into your suitcase to take back home with you?"

"In a manner of speaking." He took out a packet of Baker's Lights and offered them across. His hands, as he reached over to light her cigarette, were absolutely steady.

"Take a look at the woman in the gray dress just over there." He inclined his head subtly, and Grace glanced across. The woman was about forty or so. Attractive but too thin. Nervy-looking.

"She's married, but not to her companion in the tall hat," he continued. "He doesn't know she's married and she doesn't want him to know."

"How did you divine all that?"

"She had rings when she first sat down. When he went to the bar, she slipped them off and put them in her purse. She looks a little nervous, don't you think? Just as one should when there's a lot at stake."

"So do you think she's in love with the man in the hat?"

"She'd like to be. But actually she hardly knows him."

She looked up, wanting to study his face while he was still focused on the married woman and her companion-but now his pale eyes were turned on hers.

"Have you ever been in love?" he asked, without blinking.

In her head she saw a young man in uniform with red hair. She blinked the image away. "No," she said. "Not really. How about you?"

"I loved a woman who died."

"I'm sorry." She looked away, gulped from her c.o.c.ktail.

"Don't be. She wasn't."

It was such an odd thing to say that it made her wonder if he'd made it up to shock her.

"It was a long time ago."

"And has there been anyone since?" He seemed to invite this kind of talk-flirtatious in its frankness.

"Of course. I'm perpetually in love. It's a grand way to be. You should try it some time. You might like it."

Grace shook her head. "You talk about love the way other people talk about ice cream."

He shrugged. "One is hot, the other cold. Both taste good."

"Love isn't something you can just choose to try."

"Tell that to her." Again he indicated the woman in gray. Her face wore an expression that was exquisitely sad. The man in the hat had hold of her hand.

"She doesn't look like she's having a 'grand' time of it," said Grace. "I'm not sure that people do when they're in love."

"Maybe not. But it's love that splits you open, lays bare all that soft, raw stuff that's inside. And that's something you just have to do if you don't want to dry up. Love reminds you that you're alive, Miss Sharp."

"That is, if it doesn't kill you."

"Indeed."

"Excuse me, sir..." It was their waiter, with someone clerical-looking in a suit, perhaps from the hotel reception.

"What is it?" He looked them up and down.

"There's a gentleman, sir-out at reception." This from the clerk.

"What of it?" His tone was curt, irritable. "I have company, as you can see."

The clerk nodded at Grace. "Begging your pardon, madam. Sir, he says he's here to speak to you."

"What's his name, this gentleman gentleman? Did he give you his card?"

"No, sir." The clerk looked embarra.s.sed. "I did ask for his name, of course, but he declined to tell me."

"For G.o.d's sake." The American rolled his eyes. "Go tell him I'm otherwise engaged. Or that I'm not here-you couldn't find me. Tell him what the h.e.l.l you like. Just get rid of him." His volume had risen. People at neighboring tables were looking round at them. Grace dipped her head a little and swallowed some White Lady.

"Very good, sir." The clerk looked as though he was about to say something further but seemingly changed his mind, bit his lower lip. Then he turned and walked away, followed by the waiter.

The American took out another cigarette.

"What was all that about?" asked Grace.

"I'm not sure, though I have my suspicions." He lit up. "I just hope that's the end of it. Now, where shall we dine? I can get us a table in the restaurant here. Or is there someplace else you'd like to take me?"

"I don't know." Grace had noticed the woman in gray was still looking at them. She had bent her head to whisper to the man in the top hat. "I'm not so very hungry. Don't you think that was a bit strange?"

The pale eyes had turned cold. "Nothing surprises me, Miss Sharp. Not anymore. I think we should finish our drinks and get out of here."

"Yes, perhaps so. But..."

"I'm sorry, sir." He was back-the clerk-and looking distinctly uncomfortable. "The gentleman is refusing to leave. He says he needs to speak to you urgently. He says you know who he is."

He pushed back his chair and got to his feet. He was a good six inches taller than the clerk. "I've told you, I'm otherwise engaged and I don't wish to speak to this man. Don't you have security in this place?"

"Well, sir-"

"Have your doormen throw him out!"

The clerk took a step back and seemed to gather his confidence before speaking again. "We would prefer to avoid any unnecessary unpleasantness, sir, if at all possible. The management would greatly appreciate it if you would step out to reception and speak to the gentleman. It appears to us that this is a personal matter that has nothing whatever to do with this establishment."

The American sighed and rubbed at his forehead. "Oh, it's that all right. Have him wait out front, will you?" He tipped the retreating clerk and forced his face into an expression that was almost a smile but not quite.

"So?" Grace drained her gla.s.s.

"I'm sorry." He rubbed again at his forehead and whispered, "d.a.m.n it," under his breath. "This could take some time, I'm afraid."

"Well, that's it, then." Her disappointment was out of proportion to what was happening. This was more than merely the curtailing of a pleasant evening. It was as though someone had just sucked all the color out of her world.

"No, that's not it it." He took her hand, raised it to his lips and kissed it. "Not by a very long way. How shall I reach you again?"

"At the Herald Herald." She felt shaky. "You can send me another note."

"All right. If that's what you want, that's what I'll do. So long, Diamond. Until we meet again."