“God, I need a drink,” she said, breathless. A waiter materialized at her elbow. “A large Johnnie Walker Black,” she said to him, “on ice.” The waiter vanished and returned with the drink.

“Take a few deep breaths,” Stone said.

“It didn’t work, going out the back way,” she said, pulling at the drink. “I had planned to get a taxi, but they were laying for me in the mews, and I had to duck into the garage and drive my car. I went twice around Belgrave Square at high speed, with them on my tail, and I finally lost them at Hyde Park Corner, when some traffic cut them off. God, these people are awful!”

“I’m glad you finally evaded them,” Stone said. Then, near the restaurant’s door, a flashgun went off. Some people in the restaurant turned and looked in the direction of the photographer, but Stone noted that others hid behind their menus or napkins. Apparently, not all the couples in the restaurant were married, at least, not to each other.

The flashgun went off again, but two waiters were grappling with the photographer, pushing him into the hallway. He was complaining loudly about freedom of the press and making as big a fuss as possible, but gradually his voice faded as they got him into the lobby, then out the door. Stone saw the man outside a window, jumping up and down, trying to spot his prey, then a police officer appeared and led him away by the collar.

“Apparently, I didn’t lose them,” Sarah said. “I hope to God his pictures don’t come out.”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Stone said.

“Did you see the tabloids? They know your name. Apparently, there was a reporter at the inquest, though I didn’t see any photographers. Apparently, there aren’t any newsworthy rock stars or politicians anymore, so they’ve settled on me. I’ve never had an experience like this.” She signaled the waiter for another drink.

“Slow down,” he said. “You’ve still got to drive home, you know.” The waiter came and brought menus.

“I can’t deal with it; you order.”

Stone turned to the waiter. “Surprise us.” The waiter vanished.

“Just keep breathing deeply,” he said. “Don’t rely on the whiskey to calm you down.” He took the drink from her hand and placed it on the table. “Now, would you like to hear about my meeting with Julian Wainwright?”

“Yes, please; I’d like something else to think about.”

“Well, you’ve a lot to think about,” Stone said. “First, let me ask you some questions: Did James say anything to you about making you his beneficiary?”

“No. Well, he mentioned something in passing, like, ‘Of course I’ll have to make a new will,’ but I assumed he meant after we were married.”

“Were you aware of the day he went to sign the will?”