ask—"
"Dan."
"Right. He borrowed, you see, on everything: your houses, your apartment in New York, your horses and paintings and antiques—he borrowed on all of it and then he converted your bonds to cash. That gave him approximately another thirteen million dollars."
Valerie tried to focus on his earnest brown eyes behind the gold-rimmed glasses. "Everything we had." Her voice was a whisper. "And where is it?"
"Well, you see, that's it. We don't know." Once again his glasses slid down his perspiring nose, and he tore them off, looking at her myo-pically. "There's no trace of it, Valerie. There's no trace of any of it. Everything is gone."
Chapter 2
alerie Ashbrook and Sybille Morgen were in their third year of college when they met Nicholas Fielding. Valerie met him first, standing in line at a bookstore on the Stanford University campus shortly after Christmas. He was a graduate student, older, at t^\'enty-five, than most of her friends, tall, thin, raw-looking, wearing a rumpled jacket and mismatched socks, his light-brown hair shaggy from the latest attempt by one of his roommates to cut it. But his strong, angular features and deep voice made him seem more forceful than the other men she knew. There was a tension and spring to his step that made him seem eager to meet whatever lay ahead, as if he found the whole world wonderfully interesting and was open to whatever came into his life. In that crowded bookstore Valerie came into his life, and as soon as they had bought their books they strolled across the campus to sit on the grass in the hazy California sun, and talk.
"I don't know what I want to do," Valerie replied impatiently when he asked the question for the third time. "Do I get a black mark if I don't decide right away?"
He smiled. "I just can't imagine not knowing where I'm going or how I'm going to get there."
"Oh, I'll know one of these days," she said. "I'll have a revelation, or fall in love, or someone will make me an offer I can't refuse, and then I'll know just where I'm going. But why should I be in a hurry when I'm having so much flm along the way?"
Nick smiled again, but his eyes were thoughtful as he gazed at her. She was so lovely he didn't want to look anywhere else. Her tawny hair, heavy and wild, glinted copper in the sunlight, looking as if it had never known a comb. Her almond-shaped eyes beneath dark level brows were auburn or hazel—he would have to look more closely to be sure—and her mouth was wide and warm, the comers faintiy turning down when she was not speaking: a beautiful mouth, but stubborn. Dressed in jeans and a white turtleneck sweater, she was almost as tall as he, and she walked lighdy, like a dancer. She had a look of wealth and privilege in the confident way she held her head, the ease of her walk, as if she knew traffic would stop for her, and the serene assuredness of someone who is aware that people notice her and find much to admire and little to criticize. She gestured as she talked, and shifted her position on the grass; everything about her was vivid and alive, filled with energy and the promise of excitement, and Nick wanted to sit with her this way, with the sun shining and the world relaxed, forever.
"I suppose I could get a new one if there's a problem," she said mischievously.
He started. "A new what?"
"Whatever you've decided I need after that long inspection."
Quickly he looked down, then back at her. "I'm sorry. I was thinking how beautiful you are; you don't need a new anything. I suppose you get tired of hearing that."
"Oh, now and then it's still nice to hear." She smiled with faint mockery and began to stand up. "But there is something I need. I'm starving and it's almost lunchtime. There's a marvelous Itafian place not far from here. Shall we go?"
He hesitated. "I don't eat lunch. But I'll have a cup of coffee with you."
"Everyone eats lunch. Didn't your mother bring you up to eat three good meals a day?"
"I don't eat out," he said
Rebecca Hamilton, Conner Kressley