She’d remembered how it had been, back in 1907. He’d nearly gone under during the panic then, and hadn’t been able to tell her. So when things started to get bad in the markets this time, she’d reckoned it would be the same. Month after month she’d waited. It was so obvious he was distressed—she knew him so well—but he couldn’t bring himself to tell her.

This time, anyway, she’d taken precautions. She couldn’t do much, but at least it was something. And he hadn’t suspected a thing.

The only question was, when should she tell him?

Not yet. Better wait until the dust had settled and the debts were paid. Strictly speaking, of course, if she concealed money from his creditors, it would be illegal. But she’d take that fence when she came to it. With luck he’d come out with something left. The main thing was, she’d been able to remove a chunk of money from him before he could lose it all in the brokerage.

Six hundred thousand dollars, to be precise. She had it safely stashed away, in five different bank accounts, in her own name. Not a cent of it spent.

It was fortunate really that he wasn’t that passionate about Newport. If he’d insisted on going up there, he’d have discovered at once that, apart from a few tarpaulins carefully pulled over bits of the house, there was nothing going on there at all. No architects, no builders, no marble. Nothing. She’d had workmen come from time to time, to give the appearance that something was going on, and the place was well screened by hedges. That, and a lot of talking, had been all that was needed.

Six hundred thousand. They’d be able to rent quite a decent apartment on Park Avenue. They had some beautiful things. They had friends, social debts to call in. While plenty of people with huge losses were vanishing from the social scene entirely, their own case would be different.

After all, they might be poor, but they were still old money.

Brooklyn

1953

THE FIRST THING one noticed about Sarah Adler was the pair of big tortoiseshell glasses on her narrow face. Charlie had also noticed, when she leaned forward, the little Jewish star pendant on a necklace that rested between the tops of her breasts. But now as he looked into those glasses, he saw that her eyes were not only intense, but a magical brown and flecked with wondrous lights.

Sarah Adler was twenty-four. And right now, as those brown eyes stared at Charlie Master across the table in the elegant St. Regis, she was wondering: How old is he? Fifty maybe? Twice her age, anyway. But he looked in pretty good shape.

And you had to admit, older men were much more interesting.