Already he was working the cork between his thumbs. I tried to peer over his knees to see what else lay hidden in the sand, but his legs were too long, and I didn’t have the strength to sit back up. The cork came free in a pop and a sigh of vapor. I watched his hands as he produced a coupe and poured the champagne at a precise right angle, so there was almost no foam at all, just pure gold. When he handed the glass to me, I discovered how cold it was, how inviting, but I waited for him to pour another for himself. When his glass was full, and my glass was full, we touched them together and drank at last.

“Oh, I needed that,” I gasped.

Thorpe had not taken his gaze from my face. He lifted his index finger and touched the earring at my right ear. “Exquisite,” he said.

“A gift from an admirer.” When he raised his eyebrows, I laid my finger against my lips and whispered, “Not that kind of admirer.”

“I see. Acquired this afternoon, perhaps?”

“Bought and paid for.”

Thorpe settled back on his elbow, facing me. “All that in exchange for nothing more than a little good publicity?”

I went to drink again, but the glass was inexplicably empty. Thorpe dragged it from my fingers, refilled it, handed it back.

“No, there’s more,” I said.

“How much more?”

“Loyalty.”

“That’s a very big word.”

“Covers a vast territory.” I finished the champagne. Thorpe glanced at the empty coupe and made no comment, though he didn’t rush to fill the void, either. Maybe he saw the dizziness in my eyes.

“How vast, exactly?” he asked softly.

I flung out my arm. “Everything! Not only am I to create this fiction but I’m to believe in it too. That’s the thing about fairy tales. You hear this beautiful story told in beautiful words, you see these beautiful pictures, and you know it’s not true. You know it’s just a story somebody wrote to lull you to sleep. But you want to believe it so badly, you want to sleep so badly, perchance even to dream, yes, that’s it, to dream it’s you in the middle of that fairy tale . . .”

“My dear Mrs. Randolph.”

“Call me Lulu,” I sobbed, holding out the glass. He rose from his elbow and filled the bowl for me. By the time I had it back between my fingers, I’d regained control of my throat and my eyes. I apologized for the lapse.

“There’s no need.”

“Believe it or not, I was once a girl of ideals. Tremendous ones.”

“I believe it.”

“Now I’m delivering grubby envelopes for grubby people—”

“I beg your pardon?”