“Hi.”

“Milagro, this is my assistant, Nettie Matthews,” AG said. “She was acquainted with your friend, Wilcox Spiggott.”

“You knew Wilcox?” I asked. “Gosh, I’ve been wanting to talk to someone who could tell me about him.”

AG said, “You girls go and chat while I look this over.”

I said, “Let’s have lemonade on the terrace.”

Nettie followed me into the kitchen and stood silent as I poured two glasses of pink lemonade. I led her onto the terrace and we sat down.

After she took a few sips of her drink, she said, “Mr. Grant told me that you have amnesia. You really don’t remember me?”

“I’m sorry.”

She gazed at me and smiled sadly. “I wanted to come see you earlier, but the Grants said I should wait. We met when you were on holiday in London.”

“Did we? Honestly, it’s awful that I forgot that trip.”

“You and I wrestled in bikinis in a nightclub.”

“You’re kidding! That’s great. In mud, or Jell-O?”

Her smile widened. “In a vat of red liquid.”

I laughed and said, “I can’t wait to remember that.”

“When we first met, I wasn’t aware that you were Milagro de Los Santos.”

“It’s not like I’m anyone important. I’m so sorry about Wilcox. How did you know him?”

“My family has been employed by the Spiggott family for generations. Wil and I always knew each other and … he was a lovely lad,” she said. “I was shocked when my father told me he’d disappeared and then the Grants reported that he had been …” She shook her head, distraught.

“I wish I could tell you something about what happened to him. I don’t even remember him. All I know is that I liked him and that he surfed.”

“That was one of his passions,” Nettie said. “His other was passion. He loved to party and laugh and shag and talk. I thought he would always be in my life.” Her eyes glistened with tears.

I put down my lemonade and wrapped my arms around her.

After a few minutes, Nettie pulled away and wiped at her tears. “I’m not supposed to upset you in your condition.”

“Nettie, I’m supposed to stay here until I remember things. You’re welcome to come and visit whenever you want.”

She gave me a tight smile. “Thank you, but my father, who worked for Wil, is visiting and I want to spend time with him. Mr. Grant has leased me a sweet house in town with a purple gate and big yellow and pink roses. I hate leaving my father there, worrying about Wil. Besides, my father’s not fond of employees and employers consorting.”

“Consorting sounds like we’re sex partners or criminals. We’ll just be cocktailing.”

“I’ll try,” she said, but I could tell she was being polite.