"He burnt his mouth on the tail pipe."

He liked that one and slid the Plexiglas divider open and told it to Lenny and Vinnie, who laughed, though I could tell they didn't get it.

We rode in silence for a while, and I reflected on the present state of affairs. Despite the unspoken and unresolved issues between Frank Bellarosa and me, I was still his lawyer, and if I took him at his word, his friend. I could believe that if it weren't for the fact that I was also his alibi, and he was protecting his interest in me, which sort of colored things.

Actually I didn't want to be his lawyer anymore, or his friend or his alibi. I could have told him that a few days ago, but since his arraignment it had become vastly more complicated for me to cut my ties to him. As a lawyer, and therefore an officer of the court, what I had said in court was perjury, even though I hadn't been under oath. And as a lawyer, if I recanted what I'd said, I'd probably be facing disbarment, not to mention a bullet in the head. There was, of course, this other side to being made an honorary Italian. It wasn't all wine and rigatoni, it was also omerta omerta-silence-and it was us against them, and it was some sort of unspoken oath of loyalty that I must have taken, accepting Frank Bellarosa as my don. Mamma mia Mamma mia, this shouldn't happen to a High Episcopalian.

Bellarosa impaled a hunk of cheese on the point of the knife and held it under my nose. "Here. You make me nervous when you watch me eat. Mangia Mangia."

I took the cheese and bit into it. It wasn't bad, but it stunk.

Bellarosa watched me with satisfaction. "Good?"

"Molto bene.'' Not only were we partners in crime, but we were beginning to talk and smell the same. Not only were we partners in crime, but we were beginning to talk and smell the same.

After a few minutes of silence, he said to me, "Hey, I know you're pissed about some things, you know, things that you think I did to you, like the Melzer thing. But like I told you once, sometimes you can't get even. Sometimes you got to take the hit and be happy you're still on your feet. Then the next time you're a little tougher and a little smarter."

"Thank you, Frank. I didn't realize all you've done for me."

"Yeah, you did."

"Don't do me any more favors. Okay?"

"Okay. But here's some more free advice. Don't do me those kinds of favors, either. You don't talk to people like that reporter broad, and you don't even think about ways to even up the score. I'm telling you that for your own good. Because I like you, and I don't want to see nothing happen to you."

"Look, Frank, I'm not into vendetta like you are. I took the hit and I learned my lesson as you said. But if I was into revenge for the Melzer thing and for those other things, I guarantee you, you wouldn't even see it coming. So we let bygones be bygones, and we finish out our business, and we part friends. Capisce? Capisce?"

He looked at me a long time, then said, "Yeah, you're smart enough to take a shot at me, but you ain't tough enough."

"Fuck me again and we'll find out."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

I could tell he wasn't real happy with me, but he thought about it and said, "Well, I'm not going to fuck you again, so we'll never find out. Okay?"

"Sure."

He put out his hand and I took it. We shook, but I wasn't sure what we were shaking on, and I don't think he knew either. Neither did he believe me that I wasn't looking for revenge, and I didn't believe that he wouldn't screw me again the first time it was in his interest to do so.

Anyway, as we approached the expressway exit to Lattingtown, Bellarosa said in a tone of conciliation, "Hey, come on over for dinner tonight. We got lots of food. Anna invited a bunch of people over. All relatives. No businesspeople."

"Are we related?"

"No, but it's an honor to be invited to a family thing."

"Thank you,'' I said noncommittally.

"Good. Susan, too. I think Anna talked to her already.'' He added, "Hey, I got an idea. Let's make this the picture party. Everybody's going to be there who I want to see the picture. Let's do that."

I had the distinct impression everybody knew about this already. In polite suburban society, this would be a sort of friendly ruse to get a couple back together again. But Frank Bellarosa had all sorts of other angles as usual.

He said, "Your wife will be the guest of honor. That okay with you?"

Well, the prospect of spending an evening at an Italian family homecoming party for a Mafia don with my estranged wife as the guest of honor was not that appealing, as you may conclude.

"Okay? See you about six."

Vinnie suddenly burst out laughing and slid back the Plexiglas. He looked at me. "Burned his mouth on the tail pipe. I get it."

I should have taken the train home.

Thirty-three.

The convoy turned into Stanhope Hall and proceeded up the gravel drive of Bellarosa's newly acquired fiefdom until we reached the little enclave of Susan Stanhope, where I bid my felonious friends good-day and carried my suitcase up to the front door.

Susan's Jaguar was out front, but with horse people that doesn't necessarily mean anyone is at home, and as I entered the house, it had that empty feeling about it. So the joyful reunion was postponed.

I went to my den and erased twenty-six messages on my answering machine, then took a stack of faxes and burned them in the fireplace unread. I did go through my mail because I respect handwritten letters. There was only one of those, however, a letter from Emily, which I put aside. Everything else turned out to be business mail, bills, ads, and assorted junk, which I also burned.

I sat down and read Emily's letter: Dear John,Where in the name of God did you get that horrid tie? I kept adjusting the color on my TV, but the tie didn't go with the suit unless your face was green. And I see you still don't carry a pocket comb. I saw that Spanish woman-Alvarez, I think-on the affiliate station here, and she hates you or loves you. Find out which. Gary and I are fine. Come on down. Soon!Love, Sis I put the letter in my desk drawer and went into the kitchen. We have a family message center, formerly known as a bulletin board, but the only message on it said, Zanzibar, vet, Tuesday Zanzibar, vet, Tuesday A A.M. Fuck Zanzibar. He can't even read, and he's not allowed in the kitchen anyway. Fuck Zanzibar. He can't even read, and he's not allowed in the kitchen anyway.

I carried my suitcase upstairs and entered the former master bedroom, now called the mistress bedroom, and threw my suitcase in the corner. I changed into jeans, Docksides, and T-shirt and went into the bathroom. My mouth still smelled of that cheese, so I gargled with mint mouthwash, but it didn't do any good. The stuff was in my blood.

I left the house and got into my Bronco, which I had trouble starting after it had sat idle for a while. George Allard was indeed dead. The engine finally turned over, and I headed down the driveway. I was on my way to go see my boat, but as I approached the gatehouse, Ethel stepped out of the door and stood in the drive, wearing her Sunday flower dress. I stopped the Bronco and got out. "Hello, Ethel."

"Hello, Mr. Sutter."

"How are you?"

"I'm fine,'' she replied.

"You look well.'' Actually she didn't, but I'm pretty easy on recent widows, orphans, and the severely handicapped.

She said to me, "It's not my place to say this, Mr. Sutter, but I think the press is treating you unfairly."

Was this Ethel Allard? Did she use that George-ism "it's not my place to say this''? Obviously this woman was possessed by the ghost of her husband. I replied, "That's very good of you to think so, Mrs. Allard."

"This must be very trying for you, sir."

I think my eyes moved heavenward to see if George was up there smiling. I said to Ethel, "I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused you regarding unwanted visitors."

"That's all right, sir. That's my job."

Really? "Nevertheless, I do appreciate your patience. I'm afraid this might go on for some time."

She nodded, actually sort of bowed her head the way George used to do to show he'd heard and understood. This was a little spooky, so I said, "Well, you take care of yourself.'' I moved back toward the Bronco.

She informed me, "Mrs. Sutter and I went to church this morning."

"How nice."

"She said you might be coming home today."

"Yes."

"She asked me to tell you if I saw you that she will be on the property this afternoon. She may be tending her garden or riding or at the stables. She asked that you look for her.'' Ethel added hesitantly, "She hasn't seemed herself the last few days."

Neither have you, Ethel. Neither has anyone else around here. Just then, I would have given anything to go back to April when the world was safe and dull. Anyway, I really didn't want to see Susan; I wanted to see my boat, but I couldn't very well ignore Ethel's message, so I said, "Thank you. I'll take a look around.'' I got back into the Bronco, turned around, and headed back up the long drive.

I drove to the stable and looked inside, but Susan wasn't there, though both horses were. I put the Bronco into four-wheel drive and drove across the property to Stanhope Hall, but I didn't see her tending her vegetables in the terrace gardens. I drove past the gazebo and the hedge maze, but there was no sign of her.

I was aware, as I drove over the acreage, that this was no longer Stanhope property, but Bellarosa property, and in fact even my access to Grace Lane was by way of the long driveway that was now Bellarosa's, though I assumed that whoever had handled the sale for William was bright enough to put an easement clause into the contract. Actually, since I didn't own the guesthouse, what did I care? Susan and Frank could work out an easement arrangement. How's that for whiny self-pity? But put yourself in my position: landless, moneyless, powerless, jobless, and cuckolded. But I was also free. And I could stay that way unless I was foolish enough to get myself land, money, power, a job, and my wife back. As I skirted around the plum orchard, however, I noticed a straw sun hat on a stone bench at the edge of the grove, and I stopped the Bronco. I got out and saw that beside the hat was a bouquet of wildflowers, their stems tied together with a ribbon from the hat.

I hesitated, then went into the grove. The plum trees were planted far apart, and despite the fact that they had grown wild over the years, there was still an openness inside the grove.

I saw her walking some distance away wearing a white cotton dress and carrying a wicker basket. She was gathering plums, which were few and far between in this dying orchard. I watched her awhile, and though I couldn't see her face clearly at that distance in the dappled sunlight, she seemed to me downcast. If this whole scene seems to you a bit too set, I assure you the same thought occurred to me. I mean, she told Ethel to have me look for her. On the other hand, Susan is not manipulative, not prone to using feminine wiles, or any of that. So if she had gone through the trouble of setting this up, that in itself said something. I mean, if I'd found her tending the vegetables that Bellarosa had given us, then that, too, would have said something. Right? Well, enough horticultural psychology. She seemed to sense she wasn't alone, and she looked up at me and smiled tentatively.

Now picture us running toward each other through the sacred grove, in slow motion, the boughs parting, the wicker basket thrown aside, shafts of sunlight beaming on our smiling faces, our arms outstretched. Picture that.

Cut to John Sutter, his hands in the pockets of his jeans regarding his wife with cool detachment. Close-up of Susan's tentative smile getting more tentative.

Anyway, she moved toward me and called out, "Hello, John."

"Hello."

She kept coming, the basket swinging slightly by her side. She looked more tan than when I'd seen her five days before, and her freckles were all out. I noticed that she was barefoot and her sandals were in her basket. She looked about nineteen years old at that moment, and I felt my heart thumping as she got to within a few feet of me. She took a plum out of the basket and held it toward me. "Want one?"

I had an ancestor who once accepted a piece of fruit from a woman in a garden, and it got him into deep trouble, so I said, "No, thanks."

So we stood a few feet apart, and finally I said, "Ethel told me you wanted to speak to me."

"Yes, I wanted to say welcome home."

"Thank you, but I'm not home."

"You are, John."

"Look, Susan, one of the first things those of us who were not born in a manor learn is that you can't have your cake and eat it, too. There is a price to pay for indulging yourself. You made your choices, Susan, and you have to accept responsibility for your actions."

"Thank you for that Protestant, middle-class sermon. You're right that I was brought up differently, but I've made my adjustments to the new realities far better than you have. I've been a good wife to you, John, and I deserve better treatment than this."

"Do you? Does that mean you deny any sexual involvement with Bellarosa?"

"Yes, I deny it."

"Well, I don't believe you."

Her face flushed red. "Then why don't you ask him?"

"I don't have to, Susan, since you told him what I said to you. Am I supposed to believe you or him when it's obvious that you're both in cahoots? Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"No, you're a sharp lawyer. But you've become overly suspicious and cynical.'' She paused and looked at me. "I'll tell you something, though. Frank and I have become good friends, and yes, we talk, and we talk about you and about things, and I suppose that has the appearance of impropriety. I apologize for that."

I looked into her eyes and I wanted to believe her, but I had too much circumstantial evidence to the contrary. I said to her, "Susan, tell me you are having an affair with him and I will forgive you. I mean that unconditionally, and we'll never speak of it again. You have my word on that. But you must tell me now, this minute, with no more lies.'' I added, "This is a onetime offer."

She replied, "I told you the extent of our relationship. It was close, but not sexual. Perhaps it was too close, and I will deal with that. Again, I apologize for confiding in him, and if you're angry, I understand. You are all the man I need.'' She added, "I missed you."

"And I missed you.'' Which was true. What was not true was her confession to a lesser crime. It's an old trick. I could see this was going nowhere. Susan is a cool customer, and if she were on a witness stand for eight straight hours and I were a savage lawyer, I could still not shake her. She'd made her decision to lie, or more accurately, Bellarosa had made it for her, for his own reasons. I felt that if it were anyone else but him, she'd stand up and tell me the truth. But this man had such a hold over her that she could look me in the eye and lie, though it was against everything in her nature and breeding to do so.

I felt worse at that moment than if she had just said, "Yes, I've been screwing him for three months.'' Actually, I was frightened for her because she was less able to handle Mr. Bellarosa and his corruption than I was. I knew instinctively that this was not the time to push her and continue the confrontation. I said, "All right, Susan. I understand that you were seduced by him in another way. And yes, I am angry and jealous of your relationship with him, even if it's not sexual. I wish it were simply physical and not metaphysical.'' This was not true, of course, because I'm a man first, and a sensitive, intellectual, modern husband second, or third, or maybe even fourth or lower. But it sounded like the right response to her confession of emotional infidelity.

She said to me, "You were seduced by him, too, John."

"Yes, that's right."

"Well, can we be friends?"

"We can work on it. But I'm still angry about a lot of things. Maybe you are, too."

"Yes, I'm angry that you've accused me of adultery and that you've been emotionally withdrawn for months."

"Well,'' I said, "maybe we should separate for a while."

She seemed to mull that over, then replied, "I'd prefer it if we could work out our problems while living together. We don't have to sleep together, but I'd like you to live at home."

"Your home."

"I've instructed my attorneys to amend the deed in both our names."

Life is one surprise after another, isn't it? I said to her, "Instruct them not to."

"Why?"

"I don't want assets if I have tax problems. And I don't want your assets under any circumstances. But thank you for the gesture."

"All right.'' She asked, "Well, will you be staying?"

"Let me think about it. I'm going to spend a few days out on the boat. I'm afraid I won't be able to come to your unveiling this evening."

She replied, "If you'd like, I'll tell ... Anna to call it off."