“Yes. But that’s not the reason. I hope it’s not the reason…”

“So give me a few others.”

“He’s intelligent—very. I think he’s kind. He’s amusing. He has an edge to him.”

“Very good. And the main reason?”

“Oh, all right. He’s been hurt. Something’s happened to him, and I don’t know what it is, but I can sense it. He needs love. He deserves love. He needs the right woman, Markov, the right partner.”

“Don’t we all?”

Markov glanced down at his watch; Quest, late now, if she was ever coming, had still not appeared.

“So why shouldn’t you be the right partner?” Markov removed his dark glasses and met her eyes. He gave her one of his quick, squirrelly looks, then replaced the glasses. “You’re smart. You’re kind. I like the way you look. Plenty of people like the way you look. You look—boyish, peppy, you’ve got these really honest eyes. You’re funny—you make me laugh. You’ve got this sunny nature, you don’t sulk, you don’t have moods, you give a lift to the day. You’re interested in other people, you’re not some fucking egomaniac like most people I know. You’re generous, Lindsay, you’re not tight, you’re not mean—and I’m not talking about money, right? You give. I remember. You gave a whole lot to me two years ago.”

Lindsay was touched by this. She took the hand Markov held out to her and squeezed it. “Thanks, Markov. That’s the nicest testimonial anyone’s ever given me. Maybe you should pass it on to McGuire.”

“If he’s what you say he is, he wouldn’t need a testimonial. He’d just have to use his eyes.”

“No.” Lindsay shook her head and looked away. “I wish that were true, but I’m afraid it isn’t, Markov. Things don’t work that way. And anyway, I’m not right for him.”

“Why not? And don’t mention stretch marks again.”

“Because I’m not—oh—difficult enough, maybe. If he had me, he’d always be chasing something more. He’d want—something I could never provide.”

“I see.” Markov sighed, and raised his eyes to the ceiling. “You mean he’s that type?”

“I told you he had an edge, Markov. Think, dark side of the moon.”

“Sexually?” Markov said.

“Almost certainly. Emotionally as well. Intellectually too. Forget it, Markov. I’ve had time to think about this. I’ve been thinking about it for most of the day. Rowland and I—it would be like mixing wine and milk.”

“It might be fun…” Markov gave another of his sad, flickering smiles. “With that kind, it might be a whole lot of fun for a while.”

“Excitement, sure. Also heartbreak. I don’t want to know, Markov. I’ve been down that road once or twice.”

“Me too.”

“And he’d take me too far. Those would be his terms. Either that, or I’d get dropped off at the first turn. I’m nearly thirty-nine, Markov. Approaching forty! I don’t want that now. I want—” She broke off, then smiled. “Peace. Security. Tranquillity. Harmony, if you like…”

“And McGuire wouldn’t provide those?”