Carolyn Blaine and Hetty Lang arrived nearly simultaneously, and Manolo brought them out to the pool, where Stone and Dino, freshly scrubbed, awaited them. Manolo took their drinks orders, then returned and served them.

“Thank you, Manolo,” Stone said.

“What a lovely place,” Carolyn said. “Whose house is it?”

“Vance Calder’s,” Stone said.

“Gosh, I was his complete fan,” Carolyn said. She looked around at the gardens. “There seems to be quite a lot of property.”

“Fourteen acres,” Stone replied, “and an option to buy another four.” He turned to Hetty. “Are you working on a film now, Hetty?”

“Yes, on a thriller that the studio seems to be very excited about. It should be good for my career.”

“An option for four more acres?” Carolyn asked.

Stone ignored her. “How long have you been under contract with Centurion, Hetty?”

“A year and a half,” she replied.

“Are you enjoying it?”

“Oh, yes; the other kids say it’s just like Metro in the thirties. They teach us everything.”

“Stone,” Carolyn said, “about this house . . .”

“Ah,” Stone said, “it looks like dinner is about to be served.”

Manolo was wheeling a cart to the poolside table. “In one minute, Mr. Stone,” he said.

“What classes are you taking?” Stone asked, again ignoring Carolyn.

“Acting, dancing, and fencing,” Hetty replied.

Carolyn was starting to ask again, but Manolo interrupted her. “Ladies and gentlemen, dinner is served,” he said.

They all rose and took seats at the table. Stone tasted the wine and nodded to Manolo to pour.

Carolyn was looking antsy, and throughout dinner Stone did nothing to relieve that. When they were finished and afterdinner drinks had been served, Dino asked Hetty if she’d like to see the gardens, and the two of them left Stone and Carolyn alone.

“Now,” Carolyn said, “about this property and the other four acres . . .”

Stone turned and looked at her. “Who are you?” he asked. She froze for a moment. “Didn’t I give you my card?” she asked.

“Your card and a brief bio,” Stone replied. “Why do I have the very strong feeling that, if I investigated, I’d find that everything you told me was a lie?”

Carolyn tried not to look flustered. She took a sip of her brandy and a deep breath.

“That’s a very odd thing to say to a dinner guest,” she said.

“Forgive my rudeness. Again, who are you?”

“Perhaps you’d be more comfortable if I left,” she said.

“I wouldn’t be more comfortable,” he said, “but you might.

If you wish to leave, then, by all means, do so. But if we should meet again, my first question would still be, who are you?”

She stared into her brandy glass. “All right,” she said, “I fudged my résumé to get my job. Is that so terrible?”

“You did a great deal more than fudge your résumé,” Stone said. “Everything you told me—and, no doubt, Terrence Prince—was a bald-faced lie. You made yourself up out of whole cloth.”