And again: that dimissive noise, like a whiplash. “He’s ridiculous, if nothing else. And he’s old enough … He must be forty, at least.”

Sophia licked her lips. “Is that what’s bothering you?”

“Are you playing some kind of game with me?”

“Well, what is all this? He says you threatened him.”

“I’ll do more than threaten him …” He came closer. She could see him more clearly. The quivering, pasty folds of skin, the skeletal outlines of his cheeks, the too-bright eyes. The sight made her faintly nauseous.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t understand what’s wrong. Why are you acting this way?”

“Sophia,” he said. This was gentler, a tone she remembered, a voice she remembered. Her father’s tone, his voice. The gesture he made with his hand was one she knew. But he seemed a different person. “I’m sure there are dozens of men who are interested in you,” he went on, “who want to be with you. Half our clients are in love with you. That’s not the point. The sad fact is, this … person is using you.”

“Using me?”

“To get at me.”

“Why on earth …?”

“All right, if you’re going to be purposely obtuse: to get at the Rhinehart.”

“But you don’t have the Rhinehart.”

“Now you are being purposely obtuse.”

“I’m not. I simply don’t understand.”

He shook his head at her sternly.

Sophia let go of the sofa back. She rubbed her hands fretfully together. Her mouth was dry and her stomach fluttery. “Daddy,” she said. “Daddy, don’t talk in riddles anymore. Tell me what’s happening.”

“What do you mean? I just don’t like my daughter being taken advantage of …”

“I mean all this about the Rhinehart,” she said. “Why are you so upset about the Rhinehart? Whatever it is, if you explain it to me …”

Sir Michael eyed her as from a height. Through the window, under the gathering clouds, distant, she saw Storm pause before a low crypt. She wished he would come in.

“Did he tell you to ask me that?” Sir Michael said.

“What? Well … No. No, of course not, I—”

“What makes you think I’m upset?”

She laughed unhappily. “Look at you. You look awful.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.”

“You look positively ill. What is going on? Why are you acting all paranoid? What’s frightening you?”

He reared—and Sophia quailed. There was another rumble from the rushing clouds. And then a soft patter on the tall pane between the drapes. It was beginning to rain. In another moment the water was washing hard against the glass. Sophia could see Storm moving away from the ruin, moving across the field out of sight, towards the house. She was desperate for him to come to her.

“Are you cross-questioning me?” Sir Michael said.