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you like it.”
    “What?”
    “I’m sorry, it’s ridiculous, isn’t it, me thinking of what to cook for dinner and—”
    “Eight thirty will be about right,” he said.
    “Eight thirty it is, then,” Christina said softly. “Had you seen David since Royal Ascot?”
    “It must be a couple months since we’ve spoken,” he told her. “I wanted to sell off some shares.”
    “How did he sound then?” she asked.
    “I don’t know. He was . . .” De Jersey frowned.
    “He was what?”
    “I don’t know . . . a bit short with me.”
    In his office, de Jersey poured himself a small whiskey, added soda and ice, then sat down at his computer. He decided to start with the documents and tackle the disks later. He perched his half-moon glasses on his nose and peered at the first wad of papers. It was six thirty-five.
    Two hours later he was still flicking through the documents. His wife popped her head in the door. “You almost done, darling?”
    He swiveled round in his leather chair. “Almost.”
    “Dinner’s ready and I’ve lit a fire.”
    “Good. Just let me close down my computer.”
    “Did you find out what David’s problems were?”
    “He’d got himself into rather deep financial trouble—not worth topping himself for, though.”
    “Too late to do anything about it now,” she said sadly.
    “I’ll be right with you.”
    David had actually been in deeper water than de Jersey said, and it looked as if de Jersey was about to plunge into it too. An Internet company in which they had both invested had gone bankrupt, and David had lost all of his savings. All he had ever implied to de Jersey was that there were “problems” with the Web site. He had said, “Just leave it to me,” and foolishly, that was exactly what de Jersey had done. Arranging for the horses to race abroad during the winter had forced him to leave London for weeks on end.
    David’s suggestion to invest in the Internet company had come at the right time. The stables and stud farm were in trouble, and with just over 2 million pounds left in various accounts, de Jersey had taken a risk and released that money to David to invest. Within six months de Jersey was worth 32 million on paper. His shares continued to rise faster in value than either man had anticipated, so eager to make more, de Jersey had remortgaged the stud farm and invested another 40 million. Now he was about to lose everything. No wonder David had attached the garden hose to his new Mercedes’ exhaust pipe and rammed it through the window.
    Christina placed a large platter of crisp lamb on the candlelit table. The air was permeated with the scent of rosemary. De Jersey sat down as she poured him a glass of California red wine. He sipped and let it roll around his mouth before he swallowed. “Oh, it’s so good.”
    “Especially with the lamb.” Christina handed him his plate. He leaned back, flipping his starched white napkin across his knee.
    Christina raised her glass. “I want to make a toast,” she said. “To David.”
    “To David, God rest him.”
    There was a moment’s silence as they began to eat.
    “Is everything all right?” she asked.
    “Perfect.” He felt the warmth of the fire on his back as he broke off a piece of bread and buttered it.
    “I wasn’t referring to the dinner. Tell me about David’s financial troubles.”
    “He’s made some foolish investments. Not sure exactly how much he’s frittered away of mine.”
    “Yours? What do you mean?” Christina asked anxiously.
    “Oh, nothing I can’t take care of. Don’t worry about it.”
    “But is it going to be a worry for you? Did Helen know anything about this?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “Was he already in trouble when he came to Ascot?”
    “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to review all the records yet.” He was two people: one quietly enjoying his meal with his beloved wife, the other white with rage. He had trusted David and his judgment. He was not prepared to lose