One Fifth Avenue

“A million dollars,” someone shouted.

“Two mil.”

Not to be outdone, Paul stood up. “Five million dollars,” he said.

Annalisa stared at him, her face impassive. Then she nodded, feeling a rush of excitement. The pledges continued. “Five million here, too!” exclaimed another man. In ten minutes, it was over. She’d raised thirty million dollars. Ah, she thought. So this was what it was all about.

Afterward, as she returned to her seat, Enid reached out and grabbed her wrist. Annalisa bent down to hear what she was saying. “Well done, my dear,” Enid whispered. “Mrs. Houghton couldn’t have done it better herself.” Then she glanced over at Paul and, pulling Annalisa closer, said, “You’re very much like her, my dear. But you must remember not to go too far.”

Six weeks later, Annalisa Rice leaned over the railing of the super-yacht and watched as Paul and the onboard scuba instructor disappeared beneath the surface of the waters in the Great Barrier Reef. She turned around, and almost immediately, one of the twelve crew members was by her side. “Can I get you anything, Mrs. Rice? Iced tea, perhaps?”

“Iced tea would be lovely.”

“What time would you like lunch?” the young woman asked.

“When Mr. Rice gets back. Around one.”

“Will he be diving again this afternoon?”

“I hope not,” Annalisa said. “He’s not supposed to.”

“No, ma’am.” The girl nodded and went into the galley to get the tea.

Annalisa climbed the two flights of stairs to the top deck, where eight lounge chairs were arranged around a small pool. At one end was a covered cabana with more deck chairs; at the other end was a bar. Annalisa lay down on one of the deck chairs in the sun, tapping her fingers on the teak frame. She was bored. This was a terrible thought, especially for someone who was on a two-hundred-and-fifty-foot super-yacht. On the deck above, on the very top of the ship, was a helicopter, a speedboat, and

an assortment of Jet Skis and other water toys, all of which she might employ for her pleasure. But she wasn’t interested. She and Paul had been on the yacht for two weeks, and she was ready to get back to One Fifth, where she could at least be away from Paul during the day. Paul wouldn’t consider it, though. He’d fallen in love with his new hobby—scuba diving—and refused to cut his vacation short. He’d spent two million dollars to get the yacht, he pointed out, outbidding another guest at the King David gala by a hundred thousand dollars, and he planned to get his money’s worth. She couldn’t argue with him about that, could she? Besides, he added, it was the old lady downstairs—what was her name? Enid something—who’d suggested that he bid on the yacht in the first place.

Annalisa found this strange, along with Enid’s remark about going too far. Annalisa couldn’t understand what Enid had meant, but she didn’t doubt that Enid wanted Paul out of the building. Perhaps she figured a month without Paul Rice was better than nothing. But she needn’t have worried. She would probably get her wish, since Paul kept talking about how he wanted to sell One Fifth as soon as they returned.

“The place is too small for us,” he complained.

“We’re only two people,” Annalisa countered. “How much space do you need to take up in the world?”

“A lot,” Paul said, not catching her sarcasm.

She’d smiled but, as was often her habit now, didn’t respond. Ever since Paul had told her how he’d engineered Sandy Brewer’s downfall and, consequently, Billy Litchfield’s death, Annalisa had moved through her days on autopilot while trying to figure out what to do about Paul. She didn’t know who he was anymore—and he was dangerous. And when she’d brought up the topic of divorce, Paul wouldn’t hear of it.

“If you really want to move,” she’d ventured one evening as he was feeding his fish, “perhaps you should. I could keep the apartment…”

“You mean like in a divorce?” Paul had asked softly.

“Well, yes, Paul. It happens these days.”

“What makes you think I’d give you the apartment?” he’d said.

“I’ve done all the work on it.”

“With my money,” he’d scoffed.

“I did give up my career for you. I moved to New York.”

“And it hasn’t exactly been a hardship for you, has it?” Paul had replied. “I thought you loved it here. I thought you loved One Fifth. Although I don’t understand why.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You’re right,” Paul had said, turning away from his fish and going to stand by his desk. “It’s not the point. What is the point is that divorce is out of the question. I’ve had some meetings with the Indian government. They may be interested in doing the same kind of deal as the Chinese. A divorce would be inconvenient right now.”

“When would it be convenient?” she’d asked.