"Hold on," she instructed the waiter before he could move away. "Your health, Mr. Field." She upended her gla.s.s and, as she had with the champagne, drank it in one go. He hesitated for a moment and then, before she could reprimand him, followed suit. "That's better," she said.

Penelope replaced the gla.s.ses on the tray and took two more.

"How long does this go on?"

She shrugged. "As long as we feel like."

"We?"

Her gla.s.s dropped a fraction. "You don't like me, do you, Richard?"

"You've both been charming to me-more than I could have expected."

"Why more than you could have expected?"

"I'm sure you know the answer to that."

"Oh, all that stuff about your mother marrying beneath herself . . . it doesn't mean a thing."

"It matters at home."

"Not to me it doesn't." She lifted her gla.s.s and again drained its contents.

He followed suit again. "Geoffrey said I should persuade you not to drink too much."

"So you're my keeper?"

"No, of course-"

"There could be worse keepers."

He flushed. She took his gla.s.s, summoned the waiter back, and took two more. "So what are are your vices, Richard?" your vices, Richard?"

Field hadn't eaten tonight and he was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol again. He sighed. "My vices?"

"You don't have any."

"I have vices."

"So what are they?"

"Self-doubt. Is that a vice?"

"No. In moderation, it's a virtue."

"Well-"

"Hold on." She raised her gla.s.s.

"You know-"

"No. You've got to keep me company, that's your job."

He frowned. "My job?"

"You're my keeper."

"Penelope . . ."

"Drink." She tossed back another and Field did the same, shaking his head afterward. It was burning his stomach now. She gave the gla.s.ses back to the waiter and took two more.

"That's enough."

"Now, d.i.c.kie, you mustn't-"

"I'll-"

"No you won't."

"Just give me a few minutes. Can we slow down at least?"

She smiled, her face softening. "All right, Mr. Field. Let's start with the traditional sins. Greed?"

He shrugged. "Would I like to be rich, never to have to worry, to afford . . ." He gestured with his hand at the men and women inside the ballroom. "If that is greed, then yes."

"Envy?"

He hesitated. "Envy, yes. Sometimes, yes."

"Sloth?"

"No."

"Avarice?"

"I think I answered that with greed."

She took a sip of her whiskey and looked at him, a hint of amus.e.m.e.nt at the corners of her mouth. "l.u.s.t?" she asked quietly.

Field didn't answer, but she drained her gla.s.s and exhorted him to follow with her hand. "One more," she said when he hesitated. He drank.

"I've never met a woman who drank whiskey."

"How sheltered your life has been."

"In some ways."

"In what ways has it not been sheltered?"

Field smiled. "What about you?" he asked.

"Have I been sheltered?"

He shook his head. "Which of the sins do you fall prey to?"

"All of them, probably. Most people seem to think I'm wicked."

"Greed?"

She sighed. "For happiness, yes."

"That doesn't count as greed."

"Some people think it does."

"Penelope . . ." A man stood at her shoulder. He wore thick gla.s.ses and had wavy hair and a neatly trimmed beard, both shot through with gray.

"Stirling," she said, her voice starting to sound slurred. "Stirling Blackman, may I introduce d.i.c.kie Field, my . . . cousin, or . . ."

"Nephew," Field corrected.

Blackman offered his hand and they shook. "Richard," Field said.

"Stirling."

"You two should talk. Stirling is a reporter for the New York Times. New York Times. We were talking about you, Stirling, only last night, or was it the night before? I can't remember." We were talking about you, Stirling, only last night, or was it the night before? I can't remember."

"Not taking my name in vain, I hope."

"Oh, Geoffrey was, but you know how hard he finds it when people won't see the big picture. d.i.c.kie is in the Special Branch."

Blackman tilted his head to one side. "Always interested to-"

"You should talk, but not now. I need to go home. Come on, d.i.c.kie."

"I'm not sure . . ."

"Please. Be a gentleman."

Field nodded at the reporter and followed Penelope. "Perhaps we could have lunch," Blackman said.

Field wanted to tell the reporter to back off, but Penelope had already gone through the doors into the ballroom and was weaving her way through the crowd inside.

He followed her, skirting the edge of the dance floor. A drunken woman lost her balance and crashed into him. Field picked her up and took her arms from around his neck. He lifted his head and froze.

They were standing at the top of the staircase.

Lu had the same bodyguards in tow. Charlie Lewis and Hayek were part of the group that surrounded them. So was Natasha, though she managed to remain remote, staring into the middle distance.

Field took a pace toward them as she turned. Her eyes locked on his for a split second. Her face was frightened and hostile and her eyes flashed a warning. Charlie Lewis raised his head and gazed idly in Field's direction. Field thought he was laughing at him, and had been all along.

Lu gesticulated slowly with his hand. Hayek listened intently. Lewis straightened, put his hands in his pockets, and turned to talk to Natasha, almost obscuring Field's view of her.

Field knew he had to move. The Chinese had not acknowledged him, but Field sensed that was deliberate.

Lu edged forward, and the group moved with him. Natasha was now directly in front of Field. She wore a long silver dress, and as he watched, she raised her arm and pulled her hair back from her neck, gathering it to one side and letting it fall again. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and then back again. Her shoes were thin and elegant, a single strap above the ankle.

Lu shook his head curtly, as if dismissing something that Hayek had said, and broke away. Natasha stayed by his side. Field watched as Lu raised his arm to allow her to place her own within it. She was so much taller than him that the effect was both ridiculous and grotesque.

Field fought back a wave of revulsion. He wiped his forehead and forced himself to walk slowly down the stairs.

Penelope waited at the bottom, fumbling in her purse for some cigarettes. She took one out and offered him the lighter. "You want one?" she asked as he lit it for her.

"No thanks."

She was drunk now, but so was he. Drunk and disoriented and angry.

A car pulled up and she led the way out to it. As he climbed in after her, Field could not help looking up toward the Happy Times block. There was still a light on in Natasha's apartment. Would Lu go up there later?

Penelope placed a hand on his leg. "Be a dear and open your window."

Field sat up straighter, trying to prompt her to take away her hand, before leaning forward to do as she had asked.

She slipped off her shoes, swept her feet around and placed them on his lap. She smiled at him. "Be a love. They get so sore dancing."

Field found himself taking two of her toes between his fingers and ma.s.saging them gently before moving down to the base of her foot. The skin was soft, her nails neatly painted. She leaned back and groaned. "Dancing in those shoes is b.l.o.o.d.y agony."

Penelope's head was on the armrest beneath the window, her eyes shut, as she slid her other foot against his groin. Field tried to push himself farther back into the seat.

As they pulled up outside the house in Crane Road, Penelope picked up her shoes. "Come on."

"I'm bushed. I think I'll-"

"Don't be silly. Geoffrey will be very disappointed not to see you."

Field hesitated for a second before stepping out after her. The number one boy opened the door as they climbed the steps of the veranda.

"Let me take your jacket," she said.

"No, I'm . . ."

"Come on, Richard. You've been boiling all night."

Field handed it to Penelope, who gave it to the servant. "Is the master in?" she asked, but he shook his head.

Penelope was already walking through to the sitting room, but Field hesitated again, looking first at the front door, which had been shut, and then at his jacket, which was being taken through to the cloakroom.

"Penelope."