She ordered her cocktail and a Cobb salad, moaning dramatically when Evan selected shrimp scampi. “Oh, I hate you for your metabolism. You never gain an ounce. I’m going to have a bite of yours, then curse you when I’m tortured tomorrow by my personal trainer.”

“A little more discipline, Barbara, and you’d keep your figure without paying someone to make you sweat.”

“Believe me, she’s worth every penny. The sadist.” With a contented sigh, she sat back, careful to keep her face out of the sun. “Tell me, darling, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“I’m going to give a party, at the Monterey house. It’s time to . . .”

“Yes.” She leaned forward again to cover his hand with hers, squeezed. “Yes, it is time. I’m so glad to see you looking well again, Evan, to hear you making plans. You went through such a horrible time.”

Tears welled, and her affection for him was such that she blinked them back thinking not of her mascara but of his sensibilities.

He detested public scenes.

“You’ve begun to move on in the past few months. That’s healthy. Helen would have wanted that.”

“You’re right, of course.” He eased his hand away as their drinks were served.

He didn’t like being touched. Casually, of course, was one thing. In the business world, hugs and kisses were just another tool. But he detested being touched with intensity.

“I haven’t entertained, not really, since it happened. Business affairs, of course, but . . . Helen and I planned every detail of our parties together. She handled so much of it—the invitations, the menu—all subject to my approval, of course. I was hoping I could impose on you to help me.”

“Of course I will. You just tell me what you have in mind, and when. I went to a party just last week, very lavish and fun. I’ll steal some ideas. It was Pamela and Donald. Pamela’s often a pain in the neck, but she does know how to throw a party. Speaking of her, I feel I should tell you—and I hope it doesn’t upset you. I’m afraid you’ll hear it from someone else.”

“What is it?”

“Pamela’s been nattering, you know how she is.”

Evan could barely picture the woman. “About what?”

“She and Donald took a holiday out east a couple of weeks ago. Cape Cod, primarily, though she talked him into driving about and staying at a few bed-and-breakfasts like nomads. She claims while they were out there, sightseeing in some little village or other, she saw a woman who looked just like Helen.”

Evan’s hand vised on his glass. “What do you mean?”