“Then it was very loose of her. May I suggest that you not pass that information on to anyone else of any gender?”

“You may.”

“Consider it suggested.”

She took a deep draught of her scotch. “She scared the shit out of me. At first I thought the bomb might have been near my cottage.”

“It was not, and it was quickly discovered, disarmed, and removed. The person responsible was arrested nearby.”

“Karen didn’t bother to tell me all that.”

“I should have thought that, having breached the board’s rule of confidentiality, she would have been kind enough to put your mind at rest.”

“You would think that, wouldn’t you?”

“I suggest that, in the future, you not reveal anything to Ms. Miles that you would not like to see at the supermarket checkout counter.”

“Has she a history of that sort of indiscretion?”

“I don’t know, but I’d like to find out. How well do you know her?”

“I met her at lunch with friends in New York a couple of months ago. I’ve seen her twice since, in similar settings.”

“It would be interesting to know if, after those three occasions, anything discussed there ended up in the tabloids.”

“Funny you should mention that. One of my friends at the last lunch, a well-known actress, confessed to me that she had decided to divorce her husband, a well-known actor. While that comment was not addressed to Karen, she was certainly within earshot. I heard from my friend the next day that she had gone grocery shopping and had seen her face on the cover of a tabloid. She accused her husband of the leak, and he denied it vehemently. Perhaps he was innocent.”

“Husbands are occasionally innocent,” Stone replied.

Jinx laughed. “I suppose they are.”

“How did you spend your afternoon?”

“Napping.”

“And are you now feeling refreshed?”

“I am.”

“So am I. I’ve felt that way since we met.”

“Perhaps the circumstances may have something to do with that feeling?”

“More than perhaps,” Stone said. “And your blouse reinforces the effect.”

She smiled. “I suppose that, when choosing my clothes for the evening, I thought that I had nothing more to hide from you.”

“A pleasant thought.”

“Or you to hide from me.”

“Touché.”

The butler brought canapés and set them on the coffee table in front of them.

“I suppose you’ll be working tomorrow?”

“Yes,” she said. “It’s my intention to supervise the erecting of my set by lunchtime, then spend the remainder of the day dressing it, then I’ll fly back to New York the following day. What are your plans?”

“I plan to visit my son, who is a film director based at Centurion Studios, and see how he’s doing.”

“Ah, that must be Peter Barrington.”

“It is.”

“I had been told he was the son of Vance Calder.”