“We’ll explore together,” Stone said. “This is the first time I’ve been inside, except for the central hallway. I’m staying on the yacht, out back.”

“Then follow me,” Arrington said, taking his hand and starting out. She led him among handsome couples of various ages, beautifully dressed and coiffed. They walked across the central hall and into a large, two-story library, stocked with matched sets of books, some of them, apparently, quite old.

They found the dining room, which had been set up for a buffet, then climbed the central stairs to the second floor.

“Where are we going?” Stone asked.

“Just exploring,” Arrington replied, towing him along. “That must be the master suite,” she said, pointing at a large set of doors. They walked on farther. “Let’s see what a bedroom looks like,” she said, suddenly opening a door, tugging him inside and closing it behind her.

They were in a large, sumptuously furnished room with a huge, canopied bed, elaborate draperies and antique furniture. Stone saw a stack of luggage in a corner, and as they walked toward the windows, he saw the initials ACC stamped on the cases. “This is your room?” he asked.

“Oh, look, there’s the yacht,” she said, standing at the window. The moon was coming up and a streak of its light fell on the vessel. In the foreground, the gardens were lit with Japanese lanterns. She turned, took Stone’s face in her hands and kissed him again.

Stone felt her against him, the familiar curves of her body, the cool tips of her fingers against his skin, and he responded appropriately.

“Oh, I can feel you,” she whispered, moving her hips forward. She tugged at his bow tie, and it came undone.

Suddenly, Stone was uncomfortable, and he held her away. “I can’t do this,” he said, “not with the way things have been between us.”

“I’d like for things to be as they were,” she said.

“A lot has happened since then.”

“Most of it to me,” she said.

“I’m aware of that. But every time something happens to you, it seems to happen to me, too.”

“Poor baby,” she cooed.

“Which brings up the matter of Peter,” Stone said.

She stepped back from him. “Do we have to talk about that now?”

“Now is as good a time as any, and better than most.”

“Why do you have to be certain who Peter’s father is?” she asked. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“I don’t understand that, but I’m sure you can understand why I want to know,” Stone said. “If you put your mind to it.”

She turned away from him. “Men!”

“Do you find it so odd that a man would want to know if he had a son?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said. “Let’s go back downstairs.” She headed for the door.