ary Dishler materialized in the hallway from a room by the stain as soon as Paris and Sloan walked past it. "Mrs. Reynolds has been asking for you," he told Paris. "She's upstairs in her room."

"Is she feeling all right?" Paris asked worriedly.

"If she's suffering from anything, it's boredom," he reassured her.

While Paris confirmed that television channels ninety through one hundred showed the images from the security cameras, Sloan studied the butler, who was nearby. Nordstrom was well over six feet tall, with blond hair, blue eyes, a ruddy complexion and a muscular physique. On the way upstairs, she confided her thoughts. "He looks more like a security guard than a butler."

"I know," Paris returned with a smile. "He's really huge."

They were still smiling as they walked into Edith Reynolds's bedroom. The old lady was seated on a fringed, maroon velvet sofa at the end of a room that was nearly the size of Sloan's entire house and filled with so much dark, very ornate furniture that Sloan felt a little claustrophobic.

Mrs. Reynolds scowled as she took off her glasses and laid her book aside. "You've been gone all day," she accused. "Well," she said to Paris. "How was Sloan's golf lesson?"

"We didn't go to the club," Paris said.

Edith's white brows snapped together, but before she could say anything Sloan spoke up. Trying to simultaneously shield Paris from the old woman's displeasure as well as improve her mood, Sloan deliberately made a joke of her refusal to play golf. "Paris tried to make me play golf, but I begged her for mercy; then I refused to get out of the car. She tried to drag me out of it, but I'm stronger than she is. She tried to clobber me with a putter; then I reminded her that you do not approve of public spectacles, and she had to give in."

"You are being impertinent," Edith declared, but she was having trouble maintaining her dark scowl.

Sloan let her amusement show. "Yes, ma'am, I know, but I just can't seem to help it."

"I told you to address me as Great-grandmother!"

"Yes, Great-grandmother," Sloan quickly amended, sensing that yielding on that point would accomplish her goal. She was right. Edith Reynolds's lips were twitching with reluctant laughter.

"You are also outrageously stubborn."

Sloan nodded meekly. "My own mother has said so."

On the brink of losing their battle of wits, Edith saved face by dismissing Sloan with a flip of her hand. "Go away. I've had enough. I want to talk to Paris privately."

Satisfied that Paris wouldn't be reprimanded for the aborted golf lesson, Sloan did as she was told, but not before she noted Paris's dazed expression.

When Sloan was gone, Edith nodded to the chair in front of her. "Sit down. I want to know what you did and what you talked about."

"We had lunch at Le Gamin and we talked about everything," Paris said as she sat down. For over an hour, Paris tried to repeat what Sloan had said, but she was interrupted constantly by her great-grandmother's probing questions. "It was wonderful," Paris said when the inquisition was finally over. "I could have stayed there all day and all night. Sloan felt the same way. I know she did."

"And now," Edith said coolly, "I suppose you want to go up to Bell Harbor and meet your mother?"

Paris braced for a storm of opposition, but she did not back down as she would normally have done. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Sloan told me all about her, and she's nothing like Father and Grandmother described."

"You have known Sloan for less than two days, and you are willing to take her word over theirs, is that it?"

Paris concentrated on her words so she wouldn't stutter. "I'm not taking anyone's word. I simply want to make my own decision."

Instead of verbally flaying her as Paris expected, her great-grandmother leaned back in her chair and stared at her. After a prolonged, tense silence, she said, "It appears that Sloan's defiance and stubbornness are remarkably contagious."

"I hope so," Paris said, lifting her chin.

"If you are still interested in anyone else's advice on anything, I suggest you refrain from sharing your new opinion of your mother with your father."

Paris nodded and stood up. "May I go now?"

"By all means," Edith replied.

Edith Reynolds watched her leave, and for several minutes she was perfectly still, lost in thought; then she reached for the telephone beside her chair and dialed a private unlisted phone number. "I have some work for you to do, Wilson," she told the man who answered. "It must be done very discreetly and very quickly." Then she told him what she wanted.