"Here's the thing. Peter gets ragingly jealous. We can't let him know I went to this bloke's workshop by myself while he was gone, and I can't leave here now. We could go tonight."

"Tonight would be fine. I'm free." I gave her my number and the name of the guesthouse, and then we took turns using the facilities.

We hung around a bit more, and then Helen offered to run me back into town. At the guesthouse I got online but Becky wasn't around. I ended up taking a nap.

My dreams weren't exactly hard to interpret. I was Snow White, and my prince was put in a charmed sleep under glass. The only thing I had to smash the glass, though, was an apple. I brought it down as hard as I could, cutting my hand on the glass as it shattered, and thumping him hard on the chest with my fist. I woke suddenly, clutching my hand. No glass here.

When Linae came to get me later, after dinner, she pulled up in front of an old university building where there was a driveway, around the corner from the guesthouse. I was surprised to see Helen in the car, too. "Well, hello."

"I thought I'd come along for the ride," she said. She was wearing a dress, and so was Linae, who looked much more refined when she wasn't wearing a heavy leather apron and covered in soot.

"Peter gets much less suspicious of me if I bring a girlfriend along," Linae added. "He thinks we're going out drinking."

I got into the backseat and buckled myself in, glad that I was wearing something relatively nice, too. In case we did find James I didn't want to look like a slob. As we were headed out of town, the houses dropping away and the countryside taking up both sides of the road, Linae asked, "So, tell us more about this fellow."

"He's a recluse," I said. "Used to work in upstate New York mostly. I'm not sure why he's in England now."

"A mystery man! And what's his art like?"

"Abstract mostly, but with some odd representational pieces. One of them looked a lot like a house, but made of glass. I guess it was a whole 'glass houses' concept."

"Where did you see that?"

"A gallery in New York City. They had a bunch of his smaller works, too. And they installed a piece in the art history department building at my university last semester."

"Oh, are you at university? I thought you older," Linae said.

"Graduate school."

"Ah, that explains it. And now you're at the Tate."

"Yes."

"So what name was he working under when you knew him in the States?"

"J. B. Lester," I said. I didn't see how I could get around telling them that.

"Oho, the infamous. Now I know who you mean. But this fellow looks nothing like the photographs of Lester I've seen."

"He uses an actor to play him so that he can hang back and observe the audience at his installations," I said.

"Ahh, clever, clever lad. So sneaky!"

"Oh, we don't know any sneaky artists," Helen said with a snort.

"No, none," Linae agreed, giggling a little.

They didn't let me in on the joke, but I took it to mean they had some shared secret.

We drove for a while. The sun was setting, and I didn't have a sense of how far we had gone. We turned off the road onto another small highway, then another. Linae and Helen debated where we should try if this didn't turn out to be the right road.

"No, wait, there it is," Linae said. As we cleared the trees coming down the side of a hill, we could see a lone house on the next hillside. Maybe house wasn't the right word. It wasn't big enough to be a mansion, really, but it was pretty grand looking, with another building off to the side that looked to be a barn or carriage house or something. We could see several parked cars in the circular driveway.

"Is it his?" I asked.

"I don't think so. I was under the impression he was merely staying there," Linae said. "He set up the workshop in the carriage house and mentioned some wealthy couple from Romania or somewhere. I think they own the place, but they weren't there at the time."

"Looks like they're having a party," Helen mentioned.

"So it does. Think we should come back later, Karina?"

"No. Let's go in and see." Maybe if it was a party we could have a look around. "Let's act like we belong, eh? If anyone asks, we're neighbors, right?"

"Sounds good," Linae said. "After all, we did help that fellow out."

We parked at the end of the line of cars and then walked up the rest of the drive.

Where the driveway met the walkway to the front door, a butler stood in full livery, despite the summer warmth. He had a red silk cravat tied around his throat, black tails, and very shiny shoes. The only thing that looked modern about him was the piercing in his ear. As we approached, he looked at us somewhat curiously. "Good evening, ladies?" he asked cautiously, as if not wanting to offend us by challenging our presence there, but not sure if we were invited.

I was about to go into the "neighbor" explanation when I realized his earring wasn't just a hoop. It was a flattened silver loop with a smaller loop hanging from it, like a miniature slave collar. If I hadn't seen people wearing collars of that type before, I wouldn't have made the connection. Was this one of those kinds of parties? "Good evening. We seem to have...lost our gloves," I said.

"Oh, indeed?" His smile grew wide. "I might have seen them."

"If they matched your tie, then I'm sure you did," I said coyly. I had the urge to wink but thought that might be overdoing it.

"They indeed did," he said, and bowed. "Please proceed inside and have a lovely evening."

The other two hurried after me as I went up the walkway between towering hedge trees. When we were out of sight of the butler I whispered to them, "Okay, gals, you want to know what that was all about?"

"You bet I do," Helen said.

"This party, it's not like a regular hoity-toity garden party," I said, trying to think of how to explain it. "It's kind of like an orgy."

"Oh my goodness!" Linae's eyes lit up. She looked far from distressed by this news. "Karina, you are full of surprises."

"Well, keep your cool, okay? I'm still trying to find this guy."

They nodded in agreement.

"And don't do anything. You know. These people are very big on rules. So if you say don't touch, they won't touch you."

"All right," Helen said.

"That doesn't sound like any fun." Linae wrinkled her nose. "But all right. We'll try not to get in trouble."

Another butler opened the front door for us but didn't challenge us in the slightest. My heart began to hammer as we went into the parlor, where a buffet was laid out, as if I might run into James at any moment. But no one was in there except a pair of servants, one of whom offered us crystalline glasses of fruity punch. We took the glasses and then followed the sound of voices through the back of the house and into the garden.

There was a sudden cheer as we appeared, and it took me a moment to be sure it had nothing to do with us, but as I looked around it became apparent what the commotion was. They were running races, human pony races. The riders were all done up in these sort of fox-hunty outfits, and the ponies were people-mostly naked, with leather tack on them like for horses, except clearly made for humans. They raced by pulling their rider in a kind of buggy or rickshaw. Racing lanes had been mowed into the grass between the patio and the ornamental hedges.

With everyone watching the racing, no one paid us much attention, and I got a good look at everyone there.

None of them were James. I wondered if he could be in the house, or down at the workshop building. I told Linae and Helen that I was going to sneak down there. They stayed put.

There was a stone walkway from the house down to the other building. The sun was down now, and the staff was lighting lanterns and torches for the pony racing, but I made my way in the dim twilight.

The door was not locked. It opened easily. The entryway was dark. I felt for a light and managed to hit one. British light switches tended to be large and easily hit with the hand. I was in a sort of mudroom, with hooks for coats and shelves for shoes. I passed through from there into a large central room. The scent of turpentine and burned wax filled the air.

It took a bit longer to find the switch for the lights in there, but when I did, I found myself looking at a studio full of art. The worktable was covered with sketches, some of them technical, some of them figure studies. My breath caught as I realized one had to be me, in rope bondage, a pose he had tied me into at the party. Once I had seen that, I saw another, this one the way I had been tied that time at the hotel, the time with the string of pearls. The pearls were even in the picture, the suggestion of them anyway, a series of shaded curves off to one side. I still had that necklace. I'd nearly sold it to get the plane fare for this trip, but I was glad I hadn't.

Under a drop cloth stood a canvas with a painting in progress. It was reminiscent to me of Degas's ballerinas, except this was a woman in a blue ball gown and a glass tiara. Bits of glass had been affixed to the canvas, yet it remained unfinished.

In the center of the room I saw what James had photographed and sent. The glass slippers. They were mounted on a platform over which loomed a much larger glass sculpture. It looked like Hokusai's breaking wave, except instead of blue and white, this was white and deep red, and the spiky forms of glass towering overhead resembled a giant mouth of teeth about to eat the shoes. Parts of the sculpture were suspended by near-invisible wires to look as if splashes were ricocheting away from the negative space. One "splash" rose up from the center of the breaking wave like a tongue.

Or a phallus.

Deep red, it was the only part of the wave's underside that was rounded and liquid-shaped rather than spiky and harsh. It had a pattern on it. I looked more closely and saw it wasn't a pattern but words etched into the glass. The etchings were on an interior layer so when I ran my fingers over it, I felt only smoothness.

PAIN OF DESIRE OF PAIN OF DESIRE OF PAIN...

The words repeated around and around the protrusion. I ran my fingers up and down it lightly; my heart caught in my throat.

Oh, James.

If I had wondered if the photographs of the glass slippers meant he was thinking of me, now I was completely sure. But the angry red and the dangerous-looking spikes made me think he wasn't thinking of me fondly.

I turned the lights back off and slipped out the door, hurrying back up to the patio. Linae and Helen were standing very close together, punch cups still in their hands. I sneaked in behind them. "I'm back."

"Jaysus, give us some warning next time," Linae said. "Well, did you find him?"

"I don't see him anywhere, but that's definitely his workshop down the hill," I said. "Let's try to come back when there isn't a party going on."

"Oh, Karina, you're no fun!" Linae said.

Helen saw the sense in us making a quick getaway before we were found out. "If you think Peter's going to be angry about us going out, what if he gets wind of this? We better get out of here, Linae."

"Oh, all right. That door guard is going to know something's up if we just waltz right back out again, though." She turned to me. "Can you sick up on command?"

"You mean vomit?"

"Yeah."

"Not that I know of."

"All right, I'll have to do it." Linae sighed and set down her punch cup on a cocktail table. "You two act like you're helping me because I can't walk straight."

She was much taller than either Helen or me, which made for a comical stagger down the walkway toward the butler.

"Everything all right, ladies?" he asked, one of his eyebrows arched in concern.

"Oh, I think I'm going to be-!" Linae threw her head into the bushes and made puking noises. When she pulled free, she had twigs and leaves in her hair. "I think I better go home."

"Um, we'll take her home," Helen said and steered her toward the car again.

When we got to the car, Helen took the keys and got into the driver's seat. Linae lay down in the back and I took the passenger seat. Helen waved to the butler as we drove past him and then turned us onto the lane toward the highway.

Once we reached it, Linae sat up, cackling. "Was that brilliant? Tell me I'm a brilliant actress!"

"You're a nutter, you are!" Helen said. "I can't believe you! And you!" She glanced at me a moment before turning her attention to the road again. "Taking us into some kind of secret sadomasochistic soiree! We need the story on this, sister. This isn't merely some artist who owes you a piece, is it?"

I sagged against the seat of the car. "No."

"He's your ex-lover!" Linae guessed.

"I hope not," I said. "I hope we're still...I mean, he dumped me, but I think it's all a mistake. I think if we could sit down and talk, he'd stop overreacting about everything! He's afraid. I get that, but come on, tons of guys are afraid of commitment!"

"That's true," Helen said. "But flying across the Atlantic is more than your usual bloke will do to avoid a talking-to, don't you think?"

"I'm not stalking him, if that's what you're thinking," I said. "If anything...he's as obsessed with me as I am with him." I told them about the sketches and the painting. "You girls have to help me. I want to talk to him. That's all. There's got to be a way to get us in a room together. You have to understand, the way he dumped me. There's been no chance to talk it over. He just disappeared."

"And came all the way to England, aye? All right," Helen said. "Say we kidnap him or trap you in a room together or what have you. What happens if he says no again?"

"If he really, truly, rationally says no, he doesn't want me, doesn't love me, then I'll cry a lot but I'll believe it's over. I'll stop chasing him."

"And then we'll go out for a right night of drinking for sure," Linae said. "We'll try at the house again tomorrow, a'right? I'll go myself, say I'm bringing him news about that new art market day we're starting. If he's there, we'll come back the three of us and block the exits while you talk to him."

"Yes!" Helen shouted. "I've got a Viking sword I can carry and everything. He won't be getting past this Valkyrie."

"Viking sword?" I asked.

"Have you not seen all the Viking stuff in town? Not yet? They pay folks to dress up as Vikings and answer questions from the tourists. Quite fun." That got her off on a tangent talking about the history of the Vikings in York and burial sites and various bloody battles that had been fought. My mind drifted a little as she spoke.

James, I thought. I'll see you tomorrow. Maybe.

But when I reached my room and was settling down to check my e-mail, a text came from Damon.

Jules is here, it read. In London. Club party Saturday night. Get on the next train you can.

Eight.