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Henry?”
    “Several times a year,” Evan answered for his father, when Henry didn’t reply. “I’m going down there for the first time myself in three weeks. I wanted to go in November, but I couldn’t get reservations at the Island Club until the first of February. It’s almost impossible to stay there if you aren’t a regular guest. Are you staying at the Island Club while you’re there?”
    “No.” To prevent Olivia from informing them that he was building his own home on Anguilla, which he sensed she was dying to do, Mitchell added quickly, “A friend of mine has a boat down there. I’m going to stay on board.”
    “I hope I don’t end up canceling my trip,” Evan said. “A client of ours died suddenly, and his daughter is understandably upset. She may not—” He paused, glanced at his watch, and frowned. “Speaking of our client’s death, I have to go to his wake tonight, and I’m going to be very late.” He said good-bye to his father and Mitchell, then he pressed a brief kiss on Olivia’s cheek and began wending his way through the crowded room toward the front door.
    Olivia took advantage of his departure and drew Mitchell away from Henry after a cool nod.
    “Now let’s see where Matthew Farrell is,” she said,craning her neck. “Oh, look, he’s coming to us. I think he’s very anxious to meet you.”
    “What makes you think that?” Mitchell replied, enjoying the puzzled grin on his friend’s face.
    “Look for yourself—he’s smiling at you.”
    “He probably thinks I’m a dreamboat,” Mitchell joked as anticipation drove off the irritation and boredom of the last few minutes.

Chapter Four
    S URROUNDED BY A PRIVATE GARDEN FILLED WITH THE scent of blooming jasmine and frangipani, Kate Donovan stood on the terrace of the villa that Evan had reserved for them at the Island Club and gazed at a scene that looked very much like a slice of paradise.
    Beneath a dazzling blue sky with puffy white clouds, graceful sailboats and gleaming yachts glided through the sparkling waters of Maundays Bay. Nearby, sunbathers relaxed on a crescent-shaped beach with sand as white as granulated sugar while attentive hotel employees hovered in the background in case someone raised a little flag, indicating they that wanted a chilled towel or a drink or something to eat.
    A couple that was trying to paddle a kayak near the shore gave up and waded out of the water, laughing and dragging the kayak behind them. Kate smiled with vicarious enjoyment before a fresh wave of isolation swept over her and drowned it out.
    The island of Anguilla was breathtakingly beautiful, and the hotel was a fairy-tale Moorish palace, with domes and turrets and fabulous gardens, but she was completely alone. Instead of distracting her from her grief over her father’s death, being alone in this alien tropical paradise was compounding the unreality and isolation she’d felt since his funeral.
    The telephone rang, and she rushed in from the terrace, hoping it would be Evan.
    “Kate, it’s Holly. Hold on a second—” Her best friend’s cheerful voice was a balm to Kate’s spirits, as was the familiar sound of barking dogs in the background. Holly was a vet who took in “rescued” dogs while she looked for homes for them. It was almost impossible to have a conversation with her that wasn’t accompanied by a chorus of barking canines. “Sorry about the noise,” Holly said a little breathlessly. “I just took in a rescued Doberman, and he’s stirring up trouble. So, how’s Anguilla?”
    “It’s a beautiful island, very pristine.”
    “How are you feeling? Have you had any more headaches?”
    “Not since the one I had four days ago on the plane from Chicago. It was so bad that when we landed in St. Maarten, Evan made our cabdriver take us to a doctor. The driver took us to his own doctor, a nice old man whose office was in his house and who spoke only French. The cabdriver spoke some English, so he had to act as