“And they took all my jewelry, the ring big Mario gave me when Mario Junior was born, they took cash and silver ...” She shook her head. “But I still say if Roz hadn’t made us stay . . . The car actually started to turn over and stopped. Mario was going to try it again. But Roz said, ’If it dies on the highway in this rain, you could have an accident.’ She didn’t want us to go back. And I think she saved our lives. Terrible, terrible. Did you know that one out of every four people in the United States will be the victim of a crime in their lifetime?”

Regan had been about to blurt out the correct statistics, if only to stem the flow of Immaculata’s narrative, but clamped her lips just in time. On this voyage Regan thought it best to avoid talking about her occupation.

The sommelier was at the table. “Would anyone care for a cordial or a liqueur?”

With one voice, Kenneth, Dale, Sylvie, Cameron and Gavin said no, almost knocking their chairs over as they jumped up. Veronica agreed to join the Buttacavolas for a créme de menthe.

Regan wondered how many miles they were from the Hudson River.

Chapter 17

AFTER DINNER CAMERON Hardwick fled onto the deck. He’d had about all he could stand of Mario and Immaculata oohing and aahing over every bite of food or violin selection. He’d also had enough of Lady Exner waving that cigarette holder past his face. The ashes had landed in both his salad and soup before she’d finally put it down and attacked her own dinner.

He hoped that when the moment came to get rid of her, she’d have that holder and those butts in her pocket and they’d disappear with her.

The night breeze was strong. A few people were walking arm in arm on the deck, but most women, Cameron noticed, turned back immediately when they felt the chilling draft. Don’t want to get their hair mussed, he thought contemptuously as he paused to fold his arms over the railing and study the dark water with the churning foam slapping the side of the ship. Then from his left he heard a now familiar voice.

“And Regan, dear, no matter how brisk, on land or at sea, I never miss getting in my daily walk. Inhale that wonderful pungent scent. It bespeaks millenniums of tides, rising and falling. I have always loved that poem, ’I Must Go Down to the Sea Again.’ “

“Veronica, I like to walk too. But let’s run upstairs and get you a jacket.”

“Look, look. Here is dear Cameron Hardwick. Regan, if you insist, go get my jacket. I’ll wait with Cameron and we can chat.”