* * *

  THE FOLLOWING DAY, when the doorbell rang, Diane reluctantly went to the door.

  She looked through the peephole, and there seemed to be a small crowd outside.

  Puzzled, Diane opened the door. There were a dozen young boys in the hallway.

  One of them was holding a little bouquet of flowers. "Good morning, Mrs.

  Stevens." He handed the bouquet to Diane.

  "Thank you." She suddenly remembered who they were. They were members of the Little League team that Richard had coached.

  Diane had received countless baskets of flowers, cards of condolence, and e-mails, but this was the most touching gift of all.

  "Come in," Diane said.

  The boys trooped into the room. "We just wanted to tell you how bad we feel." "Your husband was a great guy." "He was really cool." "And he was an awesome coach." It was all Diane could do to hold back her tears. "Thank you. He thought you were great, too. He was very proud of all of you." She took a deep breath.

  "Would you like some soft drinks or-?" Tim Holm, the ten-year-old who had caught the fly ball, spoke up. "No, thanks, Mrs. Stevens. We just wanted to tell you that we'll miss him, too. We all chipped in for the flowers. They cost twelve dollars." "Anyway, we just wanted you to know how sorry we are." Diane looked at them and said quietly, "Thank you, boys. I know how much Richard would appreciate your coming here." She watched as they mumbled their good-byes and left.

  As Diane observed their departure, she remembered the first time she had watched Richard coach the boys. He had talked to them as though he were their age, in language they understood, and they loved him for it. That was the day I started to fall in love with him.

  Outside, Diane could hear the rumble of thunder and the first drops of rain beginning to roll down against the windows, like God's tears. Rain. It had been on a holiday weekend.

  ..

  * * *

  "DO YOU LIKE picnics?" Richard asked.

  "I adore them." He smiled. "I knew it. I'll plan a little picnic for us. I'll pick you up tomorrow at noon." It was a beautiful, sunny day. Richard had arranged for a picnic in the middle of Central Park. There was silverware and linens, and when Diane saw what was in the picnic basket, she laughed. Roast beef… a ham… cheeses… two large pates… an assortment of drinks and half a dozen desserts.

  "There's enough for a small army! Who's going to join us?" And an unbidden thought popped into her mind. A minister? She blushed.

  Richard was watching her. "Are you all right?" All right? I've never been so happy. "Yes, Richard." He nodded. "Good. We won't wait for the army. Let's start." While they ate, there was so much to talk about, and every word seemed to bring them closer. There was a strong sexual tension building up between them, and they could both feel it. And in the middle of this perfect afternoon, it began to rain. In a matter of minutes, they were soaked.

  Richard said ruefully, "I'm sorry about this. I should have known better-the paper said no rain. I'm afraid it's spoiled our picnic and-" Diane moved close to him and said softly, "Has it?" And she was in his arms and her lips were pressed against his, and she could feel the heat racing through her body. When she finally pulled back, she said, "We have to get out of these wet clothes." He laughed. "You're right. We don't want to catch-" Diane said, "Your place or mine?" And Richard suddenly became very still. "Diane, are you sure? I'm asking because … this isn't just a one-night stand." Diane said quietly, "I know."

  * * *

  HALF AN HOUR later they were in Diane's apartment, undressing, and their arms were around each other, and their hands were exploring tantalizing places, and finally, when they could stand it no longer, they got into bed.

  Richard was gentle and tender and passionate and frenzied, and it was magic, and his tongue found her and moved slowly, and it felt as though warm waves were gently lapping at a velvet beach, and then he was deep inside her, filling her.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon, and most of the night, talking and making love, and they opened their hearts to each other, and it was wonderful beyond words.

  In the morning, while Diane was making their breakfast, Richard asked, "Will you marry me, Diane?" And she turned to him and said softly, "Oh, yes."

  * * *

  THE WEDDING TOOK place one month later. The ceremony was warm and wonderful, with friends and family congratulating the newlyweds. Diane looked over at Richard's beaming face and thought of the fortune-teller's ridiculous prediction, and smiled.

  They had planned to leave for a honeymoon in France the week after the wedding, but Richard had called her from work. "A new project has just come up and I can't get away. Is it all right if we do it in a few months? Sorry, baby." She said, "Of course it's all right, darling." "Do you want to come out and have lunch with me today?" "I'd love that." "You like French food. I know a great French restaurant. I'll pick you up in half an hour." Thirty minutes later, Richard was outside, waiting for Diane. "Hi, honey. I have to see one of our clients off at the airport. He's leaving for Europe. We'll say good-bye and then go on to lunch." She hugged him. "Fine." When they arrived at Kennedy airport, Richard said, "He has a private plane.

  We'll meet him on the tarmac." A guard passed them through to a restricted area, where a Challenger was parked.

  Richard looked around. "He's not here yet. Let's wait in the plane." "All right." They walked up the steps and entered the luxurious aircraft. The engines were running.

  The flight attendant walked in from the cockpit. "Good morning." "Good morning," Richard said.

  Diane smiled. "Good morning." They watched the flight attendant close the cabin door.

  Diane looked at Richard. "How late do you think your client is going to be?" "He shouldn't be very long." The roar of the jets started getting louder. The plane began to taxi.

  Diane looked out the window, and her face paled. "Richard, we're moving." Richard looked at Diane in surprise. "Are you sure?" "Look out the window." She was panicking. "Tell-tell the pilot-" "What do you want me to tell him?" To stop!

  "I can't. He's already started." There was a moment of silence and Diane looked at Richard, her eyes wide. "Where are we going?" "Oh, didn't I tell you? We're going to Paris. You said you liked French food." She gasped. Then her expression changed. "Richard, I can't go to Paris now! I have no clothes.

  I have no makeup. I have no-" Richard said, "I heard they have stores in Paris." She looked at him a moment, then flung her arms around him. "Oh, you fool, you.

  I love you." He grinned. "You wanted a honeymoon. You've got it."

  CHAPTER 5

  AT ORLY, A limousine was waiting to take them to the Hotel Plaza Athenee.

  When they arrived, the manager said, "Your suite is ready for you, Mr. and Mrs.

  Stevens."

  "Thank you." They were booked into suite 310. The manager opened the door, and Diane and Richard walked inside. Diane stopped in shock. Half a dozen of her paintings were hanging on the walls. She turned to look at Richard. "I-how did that-?" Richard said innocently, "I have no idea. I guess they have good taste here, too." Diane gave him a long, passionate kiss.

  * * *

  PARIS WAS A wonderland. Their first stop was at Givenchy, to buy outfits for both of them, then over to Louis Vuitton, to get luggage for all their new clothes.

  They took a leisurely walk down the Champs-Elysees to the Place de la Concorde, and saw the storied Arc de Triomphe, and the Palais-Bourbon, and la Madeleine.

  They strolled along la Place Vendome, and spent a day at the Musee du Louvre. They wandered through the sculpture garden of the Musee Rodin and had romantic dinners at Auberge de Trois Bonheurs, and Au Petit Chez Soi, and D'Chez Eux.

  * * *

  The ONLY THING that seemed odd to Diane was the telephone calls Richard received at peculiar hours.

  "Who was that?" Diane asked once, at 3 a.m., as Richard finished a phone conversation.

  "Just routine business."

  In the middle of the night?

  * * *

  "Diane! diane!" She was shaken out of her reverie. Carolyn Ter was standing over her. "Are you all right?" "I'm-I'm fine." Carolyn put her arms around Diane. "You just need time. It's only been a few days." She hesitated.

  "By the way, have you made arrangements for the funeral?" Funeral. The saddest word in the English language. It carried the sound of death, an echo of despair.

  "I-I haven't-been able to-" "Let me help you with it. I'll pick out a casket and-" "No!" The word came out harsher than Diane had intended.

  Carolyn was looking at her, puzzled.

  When Diane spoke again, her voice was shaky. "Don't you see? This is-this is the last thing I can ever do for Richard. I want to make his funeral special. He'll want all his friends there, to say goodbye." Tears were running down her cheeks.

  "Diane-" "I have to pick out Richard's casket to make sure he-he sleeps comfortably." There was nothing more Carolyn could say.

  * * *

  THAT AFTERNOON, DETECTIVE Earl Greenburg was in his office when the call came.

  "Diane Stevens is on the phone for you." Oh, no. Greenburg remembered the slap in the face the last time he had seen her.

  What now? She probably has some new beef. He picked up the phone. "Detective Greenburg." "This is Diane Stevens. I'm calling for two reasons. The first is to apologize.

  I behaved very badly, and I'm truly sorry." He was taken aback. "You don't have to apologize, Mrs. Stevens. I understood what you were going through." He waited. There was a silence.

  "You said you had two reasons for calling." "Yes. My husband's-" Her voice broke. "My husband's body is being held somewhere by the police. How do I get Richard back? I'm arranging for his-his funeral at the Dalton Mortuary." The despair in her voice made him wince. "Mrs. Stevens, I'm afraid that some red tape is involved.

  First, the coroner's office has to file a report on the autopsy and then it's necessary to notify the various-" He was thoughtful for a moment, then made his decision. Look-you have enough on your mind. I'll make the arrangements for you. Everything will be set within two days." "Oh. I-I thank you. Thank you very-" Her voice choked up and the connection was broken.

  Earl Greenburg sat there a long time, thinking about Diane Stevens and the anguish she was going through. Then he went to work cutting red tape.

  * * *

  THE DALTON MORTUARY was located on the east side of Madison Avenue. It was an impressive two-story building with the facade of a southern mansion. Inside, the decor was tasteful and understated, with soft lighting and whispers of pale curtains and drapes.

  Diane said to the receptionist, "I have an appointment with Mr. Jones. Diane Stevens." "Thank you." The receptionist spoke into a phone, and moments later the manager, a gray-haired, pleasant-faced man, came out to greet Diane.

  "I'm Ron Jones. We spoke on the phone. I know how difficult everything is at a time like this, Mrs. Stevens, and our job is to take the burden off you. Just tell me what you want and we will see that your wishes are carried out." Diane said uncertainly, "I-I'm not even sure what to ask." Jones nodded. "Let me explain. Our services include a casket, a memorial service for your friends, a cemetery plot, and the burial." He hesitated. "From what I read of your husband's death in the newspapers, Mrs. Stevens, you'll probably want a closed casket for the memorial service, so-" "No!" Jones looked at her in surprise. "But-" "I want it open. I want Richard to-to be able to see all his friends, before he …" Her voice trailed off.

  Jones was studying her sympathetically. "I see. Then if I may make a suggestion, we have a cosmetician who does excellent work where"-he said tactfully-"it's needed. Will that be all right?" Richard would hate it, but-"Yes." "There's just one thing more. We'll need the clothes you want your husband to be buried in." She looked at him in shock. "The-" Diane could feel the cold hands of a stranger violating Richard's naked body, and she shivered.

  "Mrs. Stevens?" I should dress Richard myself. But I couldn 't bear to see him the way he is. I want to remember"Mrs. Stevens?" Diane swallowed. "I hadn't thought about-" Her voice was strangled. "I'm sorry." She was unable to go on.

  He watched her stumble outside and hail a taxi.

  * * *

  WHEN DIANE RETURNED to her apartment, she walked into Richard's closet. There were two racks filled with his suits. Each outfit held a treasured memory. There was the tan suit Richard had been wearing the night they met at the art gallery. I like your curves. They have the delicacy of a Rossetti or a Manet. Could she let go of that suit? No.

  Her fingers touched the next one. It was the light gray sport jacket Richard had worn to the picnic, when they had been caught in the rain.

  Your place or mine?

  This isn 'tjust a one-night stand.

  I know.

  How could she not keep it?

  The pinstriped suit was next. You like French food. I know a great French restaurant…

  The navy blazer… the suede jacket… Diane wrapped the arms of a blue suit around herself and hugged it. I could never let any of these go. Each of them was a cherished remembrance. "I can't." Sobbing, she grabbed a suit at random and fled.

  The following afternoon, there was a message on Diane's voice mail: "Mrs.

  Stevens, this is Detective Greenburg. I wanted to let you know that everything here has been cleared. I've talked to the Dalton Mortuary. You're free to go ahead with whatever plans you want to make…" There was a slight pause. "I wish you well… Good-bye." Diane called Ron Jones at the mortuary. "I understand that my husband's body has arrived there." "Yes, Mrs. Stevens. I already have someone taking care of the cosmetics, and we've received the clothes you sent. Thank you." "I thought-would this coming Friday be all right for the funeral?" "Friday will be fine. By then we will have taken care of all the necessary details. I would suggest eleven a.m." In three days, Richard and I will be parted forever. Or until I join him.

  * * *

  THURSDAY MORNING, DIANE was busily preparing the final details of the funeral, verifying the long list of invitees and the pallbearers, when the telephone call came.

  "Mrs. Stevens?"

  "Yes." "This is Ron Jones. I just wanted to let you know that I received your paperwork and the change was made, just as you requested." Diane was puzzled. "Paperwork-?" "Yes. The courier brought it yesterday, with your letter." "I didn't send any-" "Frankly, I was a little surprised, but, of course, it was your decision." "My decision-?" "We cremated your husband's body one hour ago."

  CHAPTER 6

  Paris, France

  KELLY HARRIS WAS a roman candle that had exploded into the world of fashion. She was in her late twenties, an African-American with skin the color of melted honey and a face that was a photographer's dream. She had intelligent soft brown eyes, sensual full lips, lovely long legs, and a figure filled with erotic promise. Her dark hair was cut short in deliberate dishabille, with a few strands sprawling across her forehead. Earlier that year, the readers of Elle and Mademoiselle magazines had voted Kelly the Most Beautiful Model in the World.

  As she finished dressing, Kelly looked around the penthouse, feeling, as always, a sense of wonder. The apartment was spectacular. It was on the exclusive Rue St.-Louis-en-Elle, in the Fourth Arrondissenient of Paris. The apartment had a double-door entry that opened into an elegant hall with high ceilings and soft yellow wall panels, and the living room was furnished with an eclectic mixture of French and Regency furniture. From the terrace, across the Seine, was a view of Notre-Dame.

  Kelly was looking forward to the coming weekend. Mark was going to take her out for one of his surprise treats.

  I want you to get all dressed up, honey. You 're going to love where we're going.

  Kelly smiled to herself. Her husband was the most wonderful man in the world.

  Kelly glanced at her wristwatch and sighed. I had better get moving, she thought. The show starts in half an hour. A few moments later, she left the apartment, heading down the hallway toward the elevator. As she did so, the door of a neighboring apartment opened and Madame Josette Lapointe came out into the corridor.

  A small butterball of a woman, she always had a friendly word for Kelly.

  "Good afternoon, Madame Harris." Kelly smiled. "Good afternoon, Madame Lapointe." "You're looking beautiful, as always." "Thank you." Kelly pressed the button for the elevator.

  A dozen feet away, a burly man in work clothes was adjusting a wall fixture. He glanced at the two women, then quickly turned his head.

  "How is the modeling going?" Madame Lapointe asked.

  "Very well, thank you." "I must come and see you in one of your fashion shows soon." "I'll be happy to arrange it anytime." The elevator arrived, and Kelly and Madame Lapointe stepped inside. The man in work clothes pulled out a small walkie-talkie, spoke hurriedly into it, and rapidly walked away.

  As the elevator door started to close, Kelly heard the telephone ring in her apartment. She hesitated.

  She was in a hurry, but it could be Mark calling.

  "You go ahead," she said to Madame Lapointe.

  Kelly stepped out of the elevator, fumbled for her key, found it, and ran back into her apartment.

  She raced to the ringing telephone and picked it up. "Mark?" A strange voice said, "Nanette?' Kelly was disappointed. "Nous ne connaissons pas la personne qui repond a ce nom." "Pardonnez-moi. C'est une erreur de telephone." A wrong number. Kelly put the phone down. As she did, there was a tremendous crash that shook the whole building. A moment later, there was a babble of voices and loud screams. Horrified, she rushed into the hall to see what had happened. The sounds were coming from below. Kelly ran down the stairs, and when she finally reached the lobby, she heard loud, excited voices coming from the basement.