She tossed her blond hair and strolled away in her three-inch heels, leaving him alone. With nothing else to do, Cab headed for the balcony to drink up the evening sun, put his long arms around Lala’s waist, and offer Peach a job.

EPILOGUE

Caprice Dean sat on a bench in the gardens of the Bok Sanctuary, under a sprawling ash tree that dripped with Spanish moss. Florida had never seen a more perfect December day. The air was dry. A noon sun was warm but not hot. The tower was at her back, its carillon playing a Shaker hymn that competed with the chatter of the birds. Her briefcase sat on the ground beside her. There was plenty to do, but she left it alone for now, so that she could enjoy the view across the green lawn and down the slopes into the orange groves.

She checked her watch. He was late.

She’d prepared carefully for the meeting with him. You had to approach every negotiation as a war, and all your weapons were on the table. Women were the hardest, because she’d always found them to be inherently untrustworthy around other women. You couldn’t believe anything they said to your face. Men were easy, because they were creatures of desire. Senators or accountants, they were all the same. Undo a button, they were yours. He was no different.

The Shaker hymn ended. Another song began on the bells. It took a few notes, and then she recognized it. That song. That was the one. She stood up automatically. She didn’t need to hear him to know he was behind her. She swung around, and he was watching her. Tall. Handsome. Ironic smile. Knee bent, hands in his pockets. She erased the memory of the song, even though every clang of the bells pounded in her brain, and she gave him a casual smile.

‘Hello, Cab.’

‘Caprice,’ he said. He cupped an ear and cocked his head. ‘Pretty, isn’t it? I told them you had a special request.’

‘Interesting choice.’

He came and sat down on the bench beside her. She sat down again, too. His arms draped around the back of the iron railing; she could sense his hand behind her shoulder. His legs jutted out, ridiculously long.

‘I checked the concert program from the Labor Day event,’ he said. ‘This is the last song they played.’

‘You’ve been busy.’

He listened to the music in silence. ‘You know, Tarla’s right. This sounds a lot like Supertramp.’

‘It’s not,’ Caprice said. ‘I picked it.’

‘Yes, I know.’ He smiled at her. ‘You look gorgeous, by the way. Not that that’s a surprise, you always do. They say politics ages people, but you seem to get younger.’

Normally, she would have flirted back. This time she didn’t. He had her off her game, and she didn’t like it. ‘I appreciate your meeting me,’ she said.