'No, but during the past year he went away a lot. Just a week here or there, though he'd never take Cindy. Maybe Kendall went I've no idea. But you're not much of an investigator if you haven't checked his passport surely that'll tell you where he was sliding off to.'

'It doesn't. As he used so many aliases to open the bank accounts we've traced so far, we can only presume he also had a number of passports in different names.'

'Well, that's quite possible. Harry had picked up a few unsavoury friends along the way I kept my distance from them.'

'Can you think of anyone in the art world who might have been working with him in the last few months before he died? Not Kendall, someone else.'

'No, I can't.'

'Thank you very much,' Lorraine said.

It was a moment before Vallance realized that she was saying the ten minutes were up. His jaw slackened. 'Oh was that of any use?'

'Maybe. If you could give me an address where I could contact you, I'll let you know if I make headway.'

He swung his keys round a finger. 'I'm between residences at the moment.'

'What about your agent?'

The keys swivelled faster. 'Let's say I'm between agents too. Why don't I contact you, say in a couple of weeks? Just to see how you're progressing.'

Lorraine passed him her card, and he slipped it into his pocket without looking at it and walked out. Lorraine called Feinstein, who hadn't arrived at his office. She spoke to his secretary, listing what she would need on her return. 'One, can you find a recent address for Nathan's brother, Nick, plus his mother. Two, see if any passports have been issued in any of the other names Nathan used. There may be more than one. Three, will you run by Mr Feinstein that if I were to get assistance from someone, which led to either the money or the art works being recovered, it would help if I could hint at a few bucks going their way, okay?'

'Yes, Mrs Page. I will pass on those messages to Mr Feinstein as soon as he comes in,' the exquisite Pamela answered.

'Thank you.' Lorraine hung up, then went down to Reception to check out. It was now almost lunchtime. She realized she would now have to catch the three-fifteen Jitney, and might as well get lunch in East Hampton before she left. Somehow she couldn't face eating in the hotel with Vallance and his friend, so left her bag at Reception and walked out to a small seafood place down the street. She installed herself in a corner booth with the doom-laden New York Times and a platter of shrimp and crab, thinking of the dinner Jake had cooked for her at his apartment. It would be Thanksgiving soon, she thought. She would have him, Rosie and Rooney round for dinner at her apartment she had never had more to be thankful for as this had turned out to be the best year of her life.

She got up, paid her bill, tossed the unread paper into a trash can and walked back to the hotel, her thoughts drifting again to the future and to images of where she and Jake would live. Her place was too small, though she loved being near the ocean, and neither of them was crazy about his apartment. They must have a proper engagement party too, she thought, suddenly wanting to do things right, to feel the warmth of tradition and ritual around her, wondering if maybe Mike and Sissy and the girls would come. She thought about her daughters every day, and it had never been lack of feeling that had kept her away from them for so long. She had been so afraid that the craziness and chaos that surrounded her would somehow enter their lives. She focused again on the idea of introducing Jake to them. She wanted him to meet them, and for them to see their mother happy and relaxed, supported and loved.

Lorraine turned into the Maidstone's driveway. A paramedics van, lights flashing, was parked in the hotel car park, with two patrol cars and a pale blue Rolls-Royce Corniche. She continued into the hotel reception, but halfway across the lobby she was stopped by an officer, who asked if she was a guest, and only allowed her to go and collect her overnight bag when she confirmed that she was. Then she saw the pretty receptionist weeping hysterically, being comforted by the barman. The blowsy blonde woman, whom she had seen earlier with Vallance, was sitting in one of the Queen Anne chairs. She screamed, sobbed and hyperventilated, and wailed the same words again and again. 'Why? Oh, dear God, why?'

Lorraine looked around more carefully. The police were keeping everyone from going upstairs, and preventing non-residents from entering the hotel. She was just about to ask one of the officers what had happened, when she overheard the pretty girl say, 'I just can't believe it, he was talking to me earlier. I got his autograph for my mother, and I served him lunch, and . . .'

Lorraine was about to go over to her, when the manager appeared. 'I'm so sorry about this, Mrs Page.'

'What happened?' she asked.

The manager's fingers were shaking as he touched his collar. 'Mr Vallance . . . Raymond Vallance committed suicide.'

Lorraine looked upstairs, and the manager clasped her elbow, lowering his voice. 'No, it didn't happen in the hotel, but in that poor woman's car.'

Lorraine glanced at Vallance's companion, whose thickly applied make-up had now smeared over her face. 'How did he do it?' she asked quietly.

'He shot himself,' the manager answered.

He had shown no suicidal intentions when she had seen him earlier. It seemed too much to believe that he had killed himself, particularly as he had been talking of going to see a woman who had said she would shoot him. Lorraine had seen Vallance just before he went downstairs, and the waitress said she had served him lunch. How could Sonja have driven into town, caused Vallance to get up from the lunch table and go and sit in someone else's car so that she could shoot him, unobserved by anyone and then drive back to the Springs: Hadn't Arthur said he was going straight back to the house? She would have to call them and make some more enquiries in the hotel too, Lorraine thought, but she was determined not to get too far drawn into the Nathan murder again. She was going back to Jake and LA that evening. But she had time, she figured. She'd just have to catch the later bus.

CHAPTER 16.

SONJA WAS sitting quietly, looking out over the bay, the telephone still on her lap, when she heard a car draw up outside. Arthur, she thought, with a pang of conscience. She would have to apologize to him for the scenes of the night before. He did his best, but he only irritated her with his childish insistence that the world was really good and beautiful, that things could change. It was like talking to a six-year-old, she thought, and, anyway, it was pointless for anyone to talk to her when she got into a dark state. She was the only one who could deliver herself from it. But it was gone now, she had acted to discharge it: she would teach Vallance a lesson he would never forget. She felt as peaceful as the sheet of blue water in front of her, if a little tired . . .

To her surprise she heard someone knock loudly on the front door. Arthur must have forgotten his keys it was possible, in view of the frame of mind in which he had left the house. Glancing out of the window on her way to the door, however, she saw not the jeep but a police car. Her limbs weakened and trembled and her throat constricted.

Outside was Officer Vern Muller, an old friend: she had known him since she moved to the Hamptons, seven years ago.

'Mrs Nathan,' he said, 'I have some bad news for you, I'm afraid.' His expression was grim. Oh, God, she thought, not Arthur . . . 'Can I come in?' Muller asked.

'Certainly,' she said, standing back to let the thick-set policeman walk past her into the hall. She followed him, her stomach turning over. Arthur, oh, Arthur, she cried silently, images of his lifeless, mangled body, mingling with those of Nathan's dead body. Everything she touched she killed, she thought.

'Do you want a drink?' she said to the policeman as they reached the kitchen, wanting to put off the moment when he told her and a new phase of her life really had begun.

'No but maybe have one yourself,' Muller said. He waited, saying nothing, while she poured herself out a measure of whisky and sat down.

'Mrs Nathan, I have something to tell you which I didn't want you to hear on the news,' he began. 'I just heard it myself from the station and I came right up. Raymond Vallance is dead. He shot himself in town. I know you were friends for many years.'

'Vallance is dead?' Sonja repeated.

She knew she sounded stupid and the police officer gave her a strange look.

'Yes, Raymond Vallance. He was staying at the Maidstone Arms with some woman, and . . . they're not exactly sure what happened. He just walked outside and shot himself.'

Relief raced through Sonja like a rip-tide: she felt giddy with happiness and had to fight to keep it from blossoming in her face.

'When was this?' she managed to ask, a second realization dawning, hard on the heels of the first.

'Just minutes ago. I heard it as I was driving past the gate and I thought I'd turn in.'

God, she thought. When she had called Vallance to tell him that, if he was so keen on reliving old times, he should be delighted to hear that she intended releasing the real record of those old times Harry Nathan's videotapes to the press, she had not anticipated what he would do. Had he killed himself out of shame at the prospect of his own humiliation being made public, or of Harry Nathan being seen at last for what he was? She would not have been surprised if it was the latter, and it gave her a certain, almost aesthetic, pleasure to think that the sick hero-worship that had dominated Vallance's life had finally killed him.

'You're sure you don't want a drink?' she said. She didn't feel a flicker of remorse at Vallance's death but she did her best to seem saddened and shaken by what Muller had just told her. He detected, though, that the news was less of a blow to her than he had thought it would be.

Well,' he said, 'perhaps just a small one.'

The whole thing was perfect, Sonja thought, as she got out a glass for him. She knew that both Arthur, and possibly Lorraine Page, might suspect that she had had something to do with Vallance's death and she had a perfect alibi, a large, solid, unimpeachable policeman sitting right here in her kitchen within minutes of it.

'He was more my ex-husband's friend than mine,' Sonja said she needed to offer some explanation for her lack of distress at Vallance's death. 'I hadn't seen him since my divorce.'

'Yeah, I was sorry to hear about . . . your ex-husband.' Muller took the glass, looking at her, Sonja thought, just a touch too intently. Surely he could not connect her with a murder on the other side of the country. 'It was all over the papers and everything. I guess Vallance will be too he was a pretty big star at one time.'

'At one time,' Sonja repeated. 'Poor Raymond, he hadn't worked in anything you could take seriously for years.'

'The boys are wondering whether that might have been why he shot himself he'd been bragging all over the hotel that he had some big movie or something coming up, and apparently he got some call or other while he was eating, got up to take it, then walked out back and . . . Goodbye, cruel world.'

'He must have lost the deal, I imagine,' Sonja said, lying effortlessly, a skill she was not proud of but had had all her life.

'You can't think of anyone around here could have called him?' Muller asked.

'I'm sorry,' Sonja said, 'I can't help you. I haven't had any contact with that whole world in years.'

'Well,' Muller said, draining his glass, 'I'd better not keep you.'

'I'm sorry if I seemed a little . . . strange when you came in,' Sonja said with a charming smile. 'It's just that Arthur and I had a slight disagreement last night and I just got the idea that something might have happened to him.'

'Arthur!' the officer said, with a laugh. 'He's asleep in the jeep a mile up the road. I drove past him, but I didn't have the heart to wake him up.'

The hotel was full of a mixture of shock and excitement, as people sat at tables or in the bar, discussing Raymond Vallance's career as though they had known him, waiting for the press to arrive and, Lorraine thought, secretly as thrilled as children to be caught up in events that would make news. The East Hampton Star had already sent a reporter, and people were talking eagerly to him. Police officers were interviewing staff in one of the conference rooms, and Reception was presently unattended. It was the manager himself who appeared and signalled to Lorraine as she stood at the door of the bar. 'Mrs Page, there's a call for you.' Lorraine was surprised, and followed him to the desk. 'You can take it here if you like. I almost said you'd checked out, but then I saw you.'

'Thank you.' She took the phone, and he backed away politely, leaving her alone. 'Lorraine Page,' she said into the receiver.

'Feinstein here.' Her heart sank. 'I got your messages,' he continued. 'You know I tried to call you earlier?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'I've located three passports we've sent copies to your office. The brother's a bit of a fruitcake, so I've put in a call to Abigail Nathan, the mother, and she'll be calling me back. Now, about this other thing, if you get any information about missing funds or the paintings themselves, by all means agree to some payment, but discuss it with me first. Any further developments?' he demanded.

Lorraine held the phone cupped to her shoulder, as she sat on the edge of the desk and took out her cigarettes. 'Yes, Raymond Vallance showed up here, then shot himself.'

'Good God, not at Sonja's?' Feinstein said, stunned.

'No, in the car park of this hotel.'

'I can't say I'm sorry I never liked the man.' Feinstein was silent for a moment, then asked if Lorraine had seen Sonja. She said she had.

'How is she?' the lawyer asked.

Lorraine drew an ashtray across the desk. 'Weird. On the edge.'

'Well, she made it to the finishing tape at least. She's got the estate in her pocket now. Did you talk to her about the paintings?'

'She says she doesn't know anything about them. I don't think she gives much of a damn about the whole thing it's her money missing as much as yours, but she just doesn't seem to care.'

'Yeah, well, if she doesn't, I do. Haven't you come up with anything else?' Feinstein pressed.

'Well, there's one other thing you might check out the accounts of the film studio, in case that soaked the money up.'

'Jesus Christ, don't mention them. I've never seen anything like it. The company wasn't really my department I handled Harry's personal affairs but there was a corporate accountant, total fucking crook,' Feinstein said loftily, as though his own integrity was beyond question. 'Plus a show-business lawyer that Nathan used sometimes. We've got an auditor in. It's a mess, but I'll look into it. Did Sonja tip you off to this other movie scenario?'

'No, the guy she lives with suggested it.'

'You don't think the two of them are covering their own tracks?'

'I don't know,' said Lorraine thoughtfully. 'I just don't know.'

'How long are you planning on staying out there?' Feinstein asked, in the-meter's-running fashion.

'I'm coming back tonight,' Lorraine said, hoping that would make him happy, and thinking again of Jake. 'I just think this Vallance thing's suspicious. Everyone connected to Harry Nathan seems to drop dead. I thought I might just call Sonja again.'

'Well, quit thinking and fucking do it,' Feinstein said. 'I've got to go.'

When Arthur returned to the house there was no sign of Sonja. His head ached as the hangover kicked in. He felt tired and disoriented, and had woken in a panic, full of the compulsion to rush back to Sonja's side, make sure she was still there, still okay. Things couldn't go on this way, he thought. Either there had to be more to their relationship than this babysitting, as she called it, or it would have to end.

Both kitchen and sitting room were empty, though he noticed that the videos had vanished.

'Sonja?' he called, as he walked upstairs.

Her voice floated back. 'I'm in the bath.' That was odd, he thought. She didn't normally bathe during the day, but then, last night had hardly been a normal night.

'May I come in?' he said. The atmosphere was warm and fragrant with the citrus scent of one of Sonja's bath essences. He could tell, even before he looked at her, that her mood had lifted. She lay in the pale green water, her long limbs floating, her hair, face and neck all smothered in a layer of some rich turquoise treatment cream. She looked wonderful, he thought, like some richly decorated Egyptian idol.

She smiled at him. 'I'm sorry about last night.' Her eyes were more cat-like than ever, heavy with an expression of deep contentment. God, he thought, she didn't need him: she had positively restored herself in his absence, seemed happier than she had in weeks. 'Where did you go?' she said.

'Into town. I met Mrs Page. She kind of sobered me up. She's leaving this afternoon.'

Sonja disappeared under the water for a moment, then sat up and began to rinse the blue cream from her hair and skin. 'I hope you didn't say too much to her.'

'No more than you did yesterday, I think,' Arthur said, with a touch of irritation.

'Oh, Arthur, let's not start again,' she said, standing up in the bath to squeeze the water out of her hair. 'She has no idea that she and I've ever met before.' She swathed herself in a thick white towel and walked into the bedroom. There was some part of Sonja that he could not reach. He had no idea why one day she would be energetic and warm, the next cold and inert. Certainly he had no idea what was responsible for this sunniness, but he decided to postpone the conversation he had meant to have with her about Nathan. How many times had he decided that? he thought wryly.

The phone rang, and Sonja pulled a face, so Arthur crossed the room and picked it up.

'I'm not in,' she said, selected a comb and headed back to the bathroom.

'Speaking. Who is this?' Arthur said, gesturing to Sonja to stay in the room. 'Ah, you didn't catch the bus then . . . She's in the bath do you want me to pass on a message?' Sonja tucked the towel more tightly around herself. 'I'm all ears.' He sat on the bed, then stood bolt upright. 'What?' Sonja moved closer, but Arthur's attention was focused on the call. 'My God, I can't believe it.' He listened for quite a while, then thanked Lorraine for calling, and replaced the phone.

'Raymond Vallance shot himself. He's dead.' He turned to face her. 'Did you hear what I said?'

Sonja started to comb her hair. 'Yes,' she said, 'I know. Vern Muller stopped by earlier and told me.'

'Why didn't you say anything?'

'I was going to but you started in on me so quickly about talking to Mrs Page. Is that why she's still here? Vallance, I mean.'

'I dunno, I suppose so. I think she wanted to speak to you, but she didn't push it.'

Well,' Sonja said, 'she's not the police. She has no power to make anybody answer questions.' That seemed an odd thing to say, Arthur thought, almost as though Sonja were hiding something . . . He rubbed his head, which was throbbing.

Sonja knelt on the bed close behind him and ran her arms around him, her skin still damp from the bath. 'Does your head hurt?' Her voice was gentle, almost seductive.

'Yes.'

Sonja kissed his neck, then rolled off the bed. 'I'll get you some aspirin.'

He tried to catch her arm, but missed. 'Vallance didn't come out here, did he?' he called after her. She was halfway out of the room and, again, he had the impression that she was avoiding any discussion of Vallance's death.