She was lying on the cedarwood pooldeck in back of the house, stretched out on an airbed. A light breeze rustled in the trees, and the sunlight danced in dazzling spots on the surface of the water. She felt soothed, and relaxed, and calm. All the tensions of Kansas had eased their way out of her mind, until there was nothing inside her consciousness at all but summer heat, and fragrant wind, and peace.

She knew it would take far more than a couple of days sunbathing to replace the tensions that she had lost, but for the time being the peace was enough.

Carl and Vee had taken Sally to Universal this morning for the studio tour. Season had preferred to stay behind. She had lingered over her breakfast, drinking four cups of black coffee. Then she had undressed and sat naked on the edge of the pool, slowly kicking her legs in the water and smoking a joint. The glittering ripples had cross-hatched her imagination with bright reflections, and she had meditated for almost a half-hour, feeling one with the sun and the water and the trees.

Now, shiny with Coppertone, aromatic as a pina colada, she was lying with her eyes closed getting an all-over tan.

A little after eleven, she heard a knocking at the french doors which gave out on to the pool deck. She was almost asleep, and she stretched herself like a cat.

‘Vee?’ she called. ‘Is that you?’

There was an awkward throat-clearing noise. ‘Mrs Hardesty? Season? Am I interrupting you?’

Season reached across for her beach-wrap, and covered herself. Then she pushed her wide pink-tinted sunglasses on to the end of her slippery nose, and peered towards the house. It was too shadowy inside to see who was there.

‘Who is this?’ she said.

‘It’s me. Granger Hughes. I just stopped by to see how you were. But if it’s inconvenient—’

‘Oh, Granger. Not at all. Did Marie let you in? Come on out here, and I’ll have her fix us some drinks. It’s good to see you.’

Granger stepped out through the french doors into the sunlight. He was dressed in white today – a crisp cotton suit and white shoes. He wore aviator sunglasses, and his blond hair looked spiky, as if he had been swimming. The sun momentarily caught his huge crucifix, a flash of religious light.

‘How are you?’ said Season. ‘I won’t shake your hand. I’m smothered in suncream.’

Granger drew up one of the white wrought-iron chairs, and sat beside her. ‘I’m very well,’ he said. ‘And I’m pleased to see that you’re still here in LA.’

‘I think I’ll be staying for quite a while.’

‘You’re going to need some time, huh?’