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He smiled. It had a familiar ring. “There's some truth to what you say, Mel. At my house, it's mostly Matt and Pam. Mark is pretty independent by now.”

“How old is he?”

“Almost eighteen.” And then he suddenly had an idea. He looked at Melanie with a small smile as they stood in the parking lot. It was six fifteen. “How about coming home with me now? You could have a quick swim, and eat dinner with us.”

“I couldn't do that.” But she was touched by the thought.

“Why not? It's no fun going back to a hotel room, Mel. Why not come home? We don't eat dinner late, and you could be home by nine o'clock.”

She wasn't sure why, but she was tempted by the idea. “Don't you think your kids would rather have you to themselves?”

“No. I think they'd be very excited to meet you.”

“Don't overestimate that.” But suddenly, the idea really appealed to her. “You're really not too tired?”

“Not at all. Come on, Mel, it would be fun.”

“It would for me.” She smiled. “Shall I follow you in my car?”

“Why not just leave it here.”

“Then you'll have to drive me back. Or I could take a cab.”

“I'll drive you. Then I can have another look at Pattie Lou.”

“Don't you ever stop?” She smiled as she slid into his car, pleased to be going home with him.

“Nope. And neither do you.” He looked as pleased as she as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Bel-Air.

Melanie leaned back against the seat with a sigh as they drove through the huge black wrought-iron gates leading into Bel-Air.

“It's so pleasant here.” It was like driving around in the country as the road swooped and turned, giving glimpses of secluded but palatial homes.

“That's why I like it here. I don't know how you can stand New York.”

“The excitement makes it all worthwhile.” She grinned.

“Do you really like it, Mel?”

“I love it. I love my house, my job, the city, my friends. I'm sold on the place, and I really don't think I could live anyplace else.” And as she said the words, she suddenly realized that it wouldn't be so bad after all to go home the next day. New York was where she belonged, however much she liked L. A. and admired him. And when he glanced at her again, he saw that she looked more relaxed, and with that he made one final left turn, into a well-manicured drive, which led to a large, beautiful French-style house, surrounded by neatly trimmed trees and flower beds. It looked like something on a French postcard and Melanie looked around in surprise. It wasn't at all what she'd expected of him. Somehow she had thought he would live in something more rustic, or a ranch house. But this was actually very elegant, she noticed as he stopped the car.

“It's beautiful, Peter.” She looked up at the mansard roof, and waited to see children but there were none in sight.

“You look surprised.” He laughed.

“No.” She blushed. “It just doesn't look like you.”

And then he smiled again. “It wasn't at first. The design was Anne's. We built it just before Matthew was born.”

“It's really a magnificent house, Peter.” It was, and now she was seeing a whole other side of him.

“Well, come on.” He opened his door and looked over his shoulder for one last instant. “Let's go in, I'll introduce you to the kids. They're probably all around the pool with fourteen friends. Brace yourself.” And with that they both stepped out of the car, and Melanie looked around. It was so totally different from her town house in New York, but it was fun to see how he lived. She followed him inside, with only a slight feeling of trepidation about meeting his children, wondering if they too would be terribly different from her twins.

CHAPTER 6

Peter unlocked the front door and stepped into a front hall whose floor was inlaid with black and white marble in a formal French diamond pattern, with crystal sconces on the wall. There was a black marble console table with gold Louis XVI legs and on it was set a magnificent crystal bowl filled with freshly cut flowers that sent a spring fragrance into the air as Melanie looked around. It was somehow so totally different from what she had expected. He seemed so relaxed and so unassuming in his ways, that she had never imagined him in a home furnished in elaborate French antiques. But indeed this was. Not in a vulgar, opulent way, but in an obviously expensive way, and as she glimpsed the living room, she saw that there, too, was more of the same, the fabrics on the delicate fauteuils were mostly cream-colored brocades. The walls were beautifully done in several shades of cream, with the moldings done in lighter shades and the detailing on the ceiling intricately highlighted in beige and white and a soft creamy gray. There was still a look of surprise on her face as she looked around and Peter led her into his study and invited her to sit down. Here, everything was in deep rich reds, with antique English chairs, a long leather couch, and hunting scenes on the walls, all handsomely framed.

“You look so surprised, Mel.” He was amused and she laughed and shook her head.

“No, I just saw you in something very different than this. But it's a magnificent home.”

“Anne went to the Sorbonne for two years, and then stayed on in France for two years after that. I think it made a permanent impression on her taste.” He looked around, as though seeing her again. “But I can't complain. The house is less formal upstairs. I'll give you a tour in a little while.” He sat down at his desk, checked the messages on the pad, spun around to face her, and then clapped a hand to his head. “Damn. I forgot to have you stop at your hotel to pick up a bathing suit.” And then he squinted as he looked at her. “Maybe Pam can help out. Would you like to swim?” It was amazing. They had spent the whole day at the hospital and in the interview, he had operated on Pattie Lou, and suddenly they were talking about taking a swim, as though they'd done nothing else all day. It was mind boggling, and yet somehow everything seemed normal here. Maybe that was the way he survived it all, she thought.

Peter stood up and led the way outside to an enormous stone patio surrounding a large oval pool, and here Mel felt more at home. There were at least a dozen teen-agers and one little boy running around, dripping wet, shrieking at the top of their lungs. Remarkably, she hadn't been aware of the noise before but she was now, and she began to laugh as she watched their antics and the boys showed off, pushing each other in, playing water polo at one end, riding on each others' shoulders and falling in. Several well-endowed young girls watched. Peter stood to one side, getting splashed as he clapped his hands, but no one heard, and suddenly the little boy ran up and threw his arms around Peter's legs, leaving his wet imprint where his arms had been, as Peter looked down at him with a grin.

“Hi, Dad. Come on in.”

“Hi, Matt. Can I change first?”

“Sure.” The two exchanged a warm look that passed only between them. He was an adorable impish-looking child, with fair hair bleached by the sun, and no front teeth.

“I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine.” He turned to Mel, and she approached. The little boy looked just like him, and when he smiled, she saw that he had lost both front teeth. He was the cutest child she had ever seen. “Matthew, this is my friend, Melanie Adams. Mel, this is Matt.” The child frowned and Peter grinned. “Excuse me, Matthew Hallam.”

“How do you do.” He proffered a wet hand, and she formally shook his, remembering briefly when the twins were that age. It had been ten years before, but there were times when it seemed only a moment ago.

“Where's your sister, Matt?” Peter looked around. There seemed to be only Mark's friends around the pool, but he had been unable to catch the attention of his eldest son, who was throwing two girls in at once, and then dunking another friend. They were having a grand time as Mel watched.

“She's in her room.” A look of disgust crossed Matthew's face. “Probably on the phone.”

“On a day like this?” Peter looked surprised. “Has she been inside all day?”

“Pretty much.” He rolled his eyes then, and looked at both his father and Mel. “She's so dumb.” He had a rough time with Pam, as Peter knew. At times they all did, but she was going through a difficult stage, particularly in a family made up entirely—except for her—of men.

“I'll go inside and see what she's up to.” Peter looked down at him. “You be careful out here, please.”

“I'm okay.”

“Where's Mrs. Hahn?”

“She just went inside, but I'm okay, Dad. Honest.” And as though to illustrate the point, he took a running leap into the pool, splashing them both from head to foot, as Melanie jumped back with a burst of laughter, and Peter looked at her apologetically as Matthew surfaced again.

“Matthew, will you please not …” But the little head disappeared beneath the surface of the pool and he swam like a little fish underwater to where the others were, just as Mark caught sight of them and gave a shout and a wave. He had exactly his father's build, his height and grace and long limbs.

“Hi, Dad!” Peter pointed to his youngest son, swimming toward where Mark was, and the older boy gave an understanding nod, and caught the child in his arms as he surfaced and said something to him, sending him toward the edge of the game, to where he wouldn't get hurt. And with that, Peter decided that all was well, and they walked back into the house, as he turned to Mel.

“Are you soaking wet?” She was, but she didn't mind. It was a relief from the seriousness of the earlier part of the day.

“I'll dry off.”

“Sometimes I'm sorry as hell that I put in that pool. Half the neighborhood spends their weekends here.”

“It must be great for the kids.”

He nodded. “It is. But I don't very often get a quiet swim, except when they're in school. I come home for lunch once in a while, when I have time.”

“And when's that?” She was teasing him now. It suddenly felt as though everyone was in a lighthearted mood as he laughed.

“About once a year.”

“That's what I thought.” And then she remembered Matt and the toothless smile. “I think I'm in love with your little boy.”

“He's a good kid.” Peter looked pleased, and then thought of his older boy. “So is Mark. He's so responsible, it's frightening sometimes.”

“I have one like that, too. Jessica, the oldest twin.”

“Which one's that?” Peter looked intrigued. “The one that looks like you?”

“How did you remember that?” Mel was surprised.

“I remember everything, Mel. It's important in my field. A little forgotten detail, a hint, a clue. It helps when you're constantly balancing life against death. I can't afford to forget anything.” It was his first open admission to his extraordinary skill, and Mel watched him with interest again as she followed him into the house, into a large sunny room filled with large white wicker chairs, wicker couches, a stereo, an enormous TV, and ten-foot palms that swept the ceiling with their fronds. It looked like a nice room to hang out in on a sunny day. And here suddenly, Melanie saw half a dozen pictures of Anne scattered around in silver frames, playing tennis, with Peter in a photograph in front of the Louvre, with a tiny baby, and one with all the children in front of the Christmas tree. It was as though all at once everything stopped, and Melanie found herself mesmerized by her face, her blond hair, her big blue eyes. She was an attractive woman, with a long, lanky athletic frame. And in some ways she and Peter looked alike. In the photographs, she seemed like the perfect mate for him. And Melanie realized suddenly that Peter was standing at her side, looking down at one of the photographs, too.

“It's hard to believe she's gone.” His voice was soft.

“It must be.” Melanie wasn't sure what to say. “But in some ways, she lives on. In your heart, in your mind, through the children she left.” They both knew that wasn't the same thing, but it was all that was left of her. That and this house, which was so much to her taste. Melanie looked around the room again. It was an interesting contrast to the formal living room and study that she had seen when she came in. “What do you use this room for, Peter?” Melanie was curious. It was so much a woman's room.

“The kids use it to hang around in, even though it's mostly white, there isn't too much damage they can do in here.” Melanie noticed a wicker desk then, looking out at the pool. “She used to use this a lot. I spend most of my time at home in my den, or upstairs.” And then he gestured toward the hall. “Come on, I'll show you around. We'll see if we can find Pam.”

Upstairs everything was formal and French again. The hall floors were done in a pale beige travertine, with matching console tables at either end, and a beautiful French brass chandelier. And here there was another smaller but equally formal sitting room done in soft blues. There were velvets and silks, and a marble fireplace, and wall sconces and a crystal chandelier, pale blue silk drapes with pale yellow and blue trim, tied back with narrow brass arms that allowed one a view of the pool. Beyond it was a little office done in dusty pinks, but Peter frowned as they passed that room and Melanie instantly sensed that it was unused. Not only that, but that it had been Anne's.