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as if toasting some private triumph. “How many calls have you fielded in the last two weeks, Nina, from worried luminaries?”
    Nina let out a sigh. “Dozens.”
    “Exactly.” Pleased, Eve sat back. In the candlelight, her eyes glittered like the jewels at her ears and around her throat. “It’s tremendously satisfying to be the one throwing the shit at the fan. And you, Drake, as my press agent, what do you think about my project?”
    “That you’re going to make a lot of enemies. And a lot of money.”
    “I’ve spent fifty years doing both of those things already. How about you, Ms. Summers, what do you hope to get out of this?”
    Julia set her glass aside. “A good book.” She caught Paul’s look of derision and stiffened. She would have preferred to empty her water goblet into his lap, but relied on dignity. “Of course, I’ve gotten used to people considering celebrity biographies a long step below literature.” Her gaze shifted to meet his. “Just as many people consider popular fiction a bastard form of writing.”
    Eve threw back her head and laughed; Paul picked up his fork to toy with the remnants of his trout. His clear blue eyes had darkened, but his voice was mild as he asked, “What do you consider your work, Ms. Summers?”
    “Entertainment,” she said without hesitation. “What do you consider yours?”
    He ignored the question and leapt on her answer. “So you believe it’s entertaining to exploit the name and the life of a public figure?”
    She no longer felt like biting her nails, but pushing up her sleeves. “I doubt Sandburg thought so when he wrote of Lincoln. And I certainly don’t believe an
authorized
biography is exploitative of its subject!”
    “You’re not comparing your work to Sandburg’s?”
    “Yours has been compared to Steinbeck’s.” She moved her shoulders carelessly, though her temper was heating fast. “You tell a story based on imagination—or lies. I tell one based on facts and memories. The result of both techniques is that the finished work is read and enjoyed.”
    “I’ve certainly read and enjoyed works by both of you,” Nina said, stepping in as peacemaker. “I’ve always been in awe of writers. All I do is compose business correspondence. Of course, Drake has those punchy press releases.”
    “Which are a mix of truth and lies,” he said. He turned to Julia with a smile. “I suppose you’ll be interviewing people other than Eve, for a rounded picture.”
    “That’s the usual procedure.” “I’m available. Anytime.”
    “It looks like Darla’s ready for dessert,” Eve said dryly and rang for the last course. “The cook made raspberry trifle. You’ll take some back to Brandon.”
    “Oh, yes, your little boy.” Satisfied the conversation had cooled, Nina poured more wine. “We were hoping to meet him tonight.”
    “He was exhausted.” Julia snuck a peek at her watch. It succeeded only in reminding her that her body insisted it was past midnight. “I imagine he’ll be wide awake by four A.M. and wondering why the sun hasn’t come up.”
    “He’s ten?” Nina asked. “You look much too young to have a ten-year-old.”
    Julia’s polite smile was her only comment. She turned to Eve as the last dessert dish was served. “I wanted to ask you what portions of the estate are off limits.”
    “The boy can have the run of the place. He swims?”
    “Yes. Very well.”
    “Then we won’t worry about the pool. Nina will let you know whenever I plan to entertain.”
    Knowing her duty, Julia forced herself to stay alert until after the meal was finished. Even the single glass of dinner wine had been a mistake, she realized. Desperate for bed, she excused herself, thanking her hostess. It didn’t please her at all that Paul insisted on walking her back.
    “I know the way.”
    “There’s not much of a moon tonight.” He took her elbow and steered her onto the terrace. “It’s easy to get turned around in the dark. Or you