“How about the president of the United States?” Annalisa said, twisting her ponytail.

“Will he write you a letter?” Emme asked, not catching the sarcasm.

“Probably not,” Annalisa said. “Considering I called his administration an embarrassment.”

“Everybody says that,” Emme said.

“Yes, but I said it on TV. I used to be a regular on Washington Morning.”

“That’s not a good answer,” Emme said.

“How about Sandy Brewer?” Annalisa finally ventured.

“Who’s he?” Emme asked.

“My husband works with him.”

“But who is he?” Emme said.

“He runs a fund,” Annalisa said cautiously, as Paul had told her repeatedly that she wasn’t to talk about what he did or how he made his money. It was a secret community, he said, like Skull and Bones at Yale.

“So he’s a hedge-fund manager,” Emme guessed correctly. “Nobody knows who they are or wants to know them. Nobody wants them as a member of their club.” She looked Annalisa up and down. “And it isn’t just about your husband. It’s about you, too. You have to be approved by the board.”

“I’m a lawyer,” Annalisa said. “I can’t see anyone objecting to that.”

“What kind of lawyer?” Emme asked.

“Class-action lawsuits. Among other things.”

“I could see a lot of people objecting to you,” Emme said. “Isn’t that really a glorified kind of ambulance chasing?” She shook her head. “We’d better concentrate on brownstones. If you buy a brownstone, you won’t have to worry about getting approved by a board.”

The morning of the day Annalisa and Paul were going to the Hamptons, Emme had shown her three town houses. One was a mess, smelling of milk and dirty diapers, with toys strewn everywhere. In the second town house, a woman of about thirty followed them around, holding a slippery two-year-old boy in her arms. “It’s a fantastic house,” the woman had said.

“Why are you moving?” Annalisa had asked.

“We’re moving to the country. We’ve got a house there. We’re putting on a big addition. It’s better for kids in the country, don’t you think?”

The third town house was larger and less expensive. The hitch was that it was broken up into apartments, most of which were occupied.

“You’d have to get the tenants to leave. It usually isn’t a problem. You pay them fifty thousand cash, and they’re happy to have the money,”

Emme had explained.

“But where will they go?” Annalisa asked.

“They’ll find a nice, clean studio apartment somewhere,” Emme said.

“Or they’ll move to Florida.”

“That doesn’t seem right,” Annalisa said. “Kicking people out of their apartments. It’s against my moral code.”

“You can’t stop progress,” Emme replied. “It’s unhealthy.”

And so another day passed during which she and Paul still didn’t have a place to live and were stuck in the suite at the Waldorf.

Annalisa called Paul. “I can’t find anything to buy. Maybe we should rent in the meantime.”

“And move twice? It’s ergonomically wasteful.”

“Paul,” she said, “I’m going to go out of my mind if we have to stay in this suite for one more day. Actually, I’ll go out of my mind if I have to spend more time with Emme. Her face scares me.”

“So let’s change to a bigger suite. The staff can move our things.”

“The cost,” Annalisa said.

“Doesn’t matter. Love you,” he said.

She went downstairs into the bustle of the lobby. She had always stayed at the Waldorf when the law firm sent her to New York on business, and back then she’d thought the hotel lobby glamorous, with its grand staircases and brass and expensive wares displayed behind sparkling glass windows. The Waldorf was perfect for tourists and out-of-town businesspeople, but it was like a showgirl: One must enjoy the feathers and glitz without looking too closely. Otherwise, one saw the faded carpets and the dirty crystal in the chandeliers and the cheap polyester in the uniforms of the employees. One had time to observe these things, Annalisa noted, when one didn’t have enough to do.

She was informed that a bigger suite was indeed available, and the manager was summoned. He had a soft face and jowls that pulled down the skin below his eyes; the available suite, he said, had two bedrooms and a living room and a bar and four bathrooms. It was twenty-five hundred a night, but if they were staying for a month, he’d give it to them for forty thousand. An odd feeling came over Annalisa, a rush of adrenaline, and she said she’d take it without seeing it first. It was the most exciting thing in weeks.

Back in the original suite, Annalisa opened the safe and put on the diamond-encrusted watch Paul had given her for her birthday. She couldn’t imagine what it had cost, probably twenty thousand dollars, but it put some perspective on the cost of the suite, she supposed. The watch was a little flashy for her taste, but Paul would notice if she didn’t wear it for the weekend. Under an attempt at a casual demeanor he had looked so eager and frightened and proud while she untied the ribbon on the blue handmade box with the beige suede lining. When she’d opened the box and removed the watch, Paul did the honors of closing the band round her wrist. “Do you like it?” he’d asked. “I love it,” she’d said, lying. “I truly love it.”

“Apparently, all the other wives have them. So you’ll fit in,” he said.

And noting her expression, added, “If you want to.”

“We don’t fit in,” she said. “That’s why people love us.”

Now she began to pack, placing a bathing suit and khaki shorts and three button-down shirts into a navy blue canvas roller bag. At the last minute, she tossed in a plain black sleeveless shift and a pair of black pumps with a sensible two-inch heel in case there was a fancy dinner. The dress wasn’t summery but would have to do. She put on a white T-shirt, jeans, and yellow Converse sneakers; then she went downstairs again and waited in line for a taxi, arriving at the Twenty-third Street heliport at four-thirty, half an hour early. She was early to nearly everything these days and seemed to spend a lot of her time waiting. The heliport was located under the FDR Drive. The air was dense with the heat of July and the exhaust from the cars stalled on the highway and the stench of the East River. Annalisa walked to the edge of the dock and peered into the murky brown water, watching a plastic bottle lapping at the wood as a condom floated by.

She checked her watch again. Paul would be neither early nor late but exactly on time, arriving at 4:55, as he’d said he would. Indeed, at 4:55, a Town Car pulled in through the chain-link fencing, and Paul got out, leaning into the backseat of the car to take out his briefcase and a small hard-sided Louis Vuitton case covered in black goatskin. Until recently, Annalisa had no idea Paul cared for such things. He bought something pricey nearly every week now. Last week it had been a cigar box from Asprey, although Paul did not smoke.

He loped toward her, talking on his cell phone. Paul was tall and had the slight stoop of those accustomed to minding their heads. He managed to stay on his phone while waving to the pilot of the seaplane and overseeing the stowage of their luggage while a steward helped Annalisa from the dock into the plane. The interior held eight seats done up in plush pale yellow suede, and while Paul and Annalisa were the only passengers, Paul elected to sit in the row in front of her. He finally got off his call, and she said, hesitantly and a little bit hurt, “Paul?”

Paul wore glasses, and his soft, dark curling hair was always a bit unkempt. He was nearly handsome but for his hooded eyes and the slight gaps between his teeth. He was a mathematical genius, one of the youngest Ph.D.s at Georgetown ever, and there was always talk of him winning the Nobel Prize someday. But six months ago, he had taken a job with Sandy Brewer and, in two days, relocated to New York City at a small hotel on East Fifty-sixth Street. When they decided the move was permanent, Annalisa had joined him, but they’d lived long-distance for five months, and the residual effects were still there.

“Wouldn’t you like to sit together?” Annalisa asked. She hated having to beg.

“These cabins are so small,” he said. “Why be crowded? We’re together the whole weekend anyway.”

“You’re right,” she said. It was pointless pushing Paul on the small issues. Annalisa looked out the window. A middle-aged man was hurrying breathlessly toward the seaplane. Annalisa’s first impression was of a man freckled and nearly hairless, like an exotic species of cat. The man was wearing spectator shoes and a white linen suit with a navy silk pocket square; in one hand was a woven hat. He gave his bag to the pilot and came up into the cabin, taking a seat in the row behind Annalisa. “Hello,” he said, extending his hand over the top of the seats. “I’m Billy Litchfield.”

“Annalisa Rice.”

“I assume you’re going to the Brewers’ for the weekend. Are you a friend of Connie’s?”

“My husband works for Sandy Brewer.”

“Ah,” Billy Litchfield said. “So you’re an unknown element.”

Annalisa smiled. “Yes.”

“And that gentleman is your husband?”

Paul was reading something on his iPhone. “Paul,” she said. He looked up briefly. “This is Billy Litchfield.”

Paul gave Billy a curt smile and went back to his iPhone. He was never interested in strangers, and as usual, Annalisa tried to cover it up by being excessively friendly.

“Are you a friend of Connie’s?” she asked.

“I’m a friend of both Brewers now. But yes, in answer to your question, Connie and I go way back.”

There was a pause. Annalisa suddenly didn’t know what to say, but Billy Litchfield smiled at her. “Have you been to the house before?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“You’re in for a treat. It’s magnificent, designed by Peter Cook. Peter can be over the top, but the Brewers’ house is one of the best examples of his work.”

“I see.”

“You know who Peter Cook is, don’t you?” he asked.

“Actually, I don’t. I’m a lawyer, and...”

“Ah,” Billy said, as if this explained everything. “Peter Cook is an architect. Some people say he ruined the East End with his McMansions, but eventually, they’ve all come round to him. Everyone uses him — he won’t do a house for under ten million these days.” The pilot started up the engines. “I love this moment of the week, don’t you?” Billy said, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Taking off for greener pastures. Even if it is just for the weekend.” He looked her over. “Do you live in New York?”

“We just moved.”

“Upper East Side?” Billy asked.

“Nowhere, really.”

“My dear,” Billy said. “You and that magnificent husband of yours who is sporting a two-thousand-dollar Paul Smith shirt cannot be living in a cardboard box on the street.”

“We’re in the Waldorf. Until we find an apartment. Or a town house.”

“Why the Waldorf?” Billy asked.

“I always used to stay there on business.”

“Aha,” Billy said.

Annalisa felt self-conscious, pinned under Billy’s gaze. She was used to attention, having stood out all her life, with her auburn hair and her wide cheekbones and her light gray eyes. Men had a propensity to fall in love with her — foolishly — and she’d learned to ignore the undercurrents of male attraction. But with Billy, it was different. He seemed to be studying her as if she were a piece of fine china. Embarrassed, she turned away, leaving Billy to examine her profile. She’s not a classic beauty, Billy thought, but a unique one. Having once seen her face, you wouldn’t forget her. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. Confident girl, he thought, to be so unadorned, save for the platinum-and-diamond Chopard watch on her wrist. That was a nice touch. He turned his attention to the husband, who was less interesting physically. Billy had already heard from Connie Brewer that Paul Rice was a mathematical genius. If he worked with Sandy Brewer, he was rich, and that was all that was required of a man in New York society — that he have money. It was the wives who mattered. As the seaplane taxied across the choppy waters of the East River, Billy sat back in his seat, satisfied. Annalisa and Paul Rice intrigued him.

It would be an interesting weekend after all.

Picking up speed, the seaplane lifted off the water. They flew over Queens, over endless rows of tiny houses, and then straight up the middle of Long Island Sound, which sparkled as brightly as the diamonds on Annalisa’s watch. They turned south over the rocky white lip of the North Fork, past the green pastures and cornfields. Then they were over water again, and the plane was descending into an inlet.