They moved on to other topics then, more about their work, her passion for her suicidal adolescent patients, her compassion for their parents, her fascination with trauma caused by public events. By comparison, his practice was far less interesting than hers. He dealt with the common cold, a host of more mundane ailments and situations, and the occasional sadness of a patient with cancer whom he immediately referred to a specialist and lost sight of. His practice did not revolve around crisis the way hers did, although he occasionally lost a patient too, but it was rare.

He came back to the apartment afterward and had a glass of brandy from her newly stocked bar. She was totally equipped now to entertain a date, even if she never saw him again. She would be fully stocked for the next one, five or ten years from now. Zelda had teased her about it. She had a very proper bar as a result of her date with him, which worried her a little with the kids around. She was planning to lock up the booze, to keep it away from them and their friends. She didn't want to provide any temptation. Daphne had reminded her of that.

Maxine thanked him for a wonderful dinner, and a terrific evening. She had to admit it was nice being civilized, getting dressed up, and spending an evening talking to an adult. It was a lot more exciting than KFC or Burger King with half a dozen kids in tow, which was more her style. Although to look at her, in her pristine elegance, Charles thought she deserved to go to La Grenouille more often, and he hoped to have the opportunity to take her there again. It was his favorite restaurant in town, although he liked Le Cirque too. He had a great fondness for excellent French food, and the atmosphere that went with it. He liked pomp and ceremony far more than she did, and adult evenings. He wondered as he talked to her if going out with her children would be fun too. It was possible, but he was not yet convinced, even if they were cute kids. He preferred talking to her without distraction, or Sam throwing up at his feet. They both laughed about it as he left, and they stood chatting for a moment in the same front hall where it had happened.

“I'd like to see you again, Maxine,” he said comfortably. From his perspective, the evening had been a success, and from hers too, despite their disastrous first beginning. Tonight had been entirely the reverse. It was perfect.

“I'd like that too,” she said simply.

“I'll call you,” he said, and made no move to kiss her. She would have been shocked and put off if he did. That wasn't his style. He moved slowly and deliberately when he liked a woman, setting the stage for something to happen later on, if they both chose that. He was in no rush, and never liked to push women too hard or too soon. It had to be a mutual decision, and he knew Maxine was nowhere near that point. She had been off the dating scene for too long, and had never really been in it. The concept of a relationship was not even on her mind. He would have to bring her around to that slowly, if he decided it was what he wanted. He wasn't sure about it yet either. She was nice to talk to and spend time with, the rest remained to be seen. Her kids were still a big hurdle for him to get over.

She thanked him again and gently closed the door. Jack was asleep in his room by then, after the party he'd gone to, as was Zelda in hers. The apartment was quiet as Maxine got undressed, brushed her teeth, and got into bed, thinking about Charles. It had been nice, there was no question about that. But it felt weird to her to be out with a man. It was so grown up, and so polite. And so was he. She couldn't imagine hanging around with him on a Sunday afternoon, with her kids around her, as she did with Blake when he was in town. But then again, he was their father, and his life wasn't home-centered either. He was only a tourist passing through their lives, although an appealing one. Blake was a comet in their skies.

Charles was solid, and they had a lot in common. He was very serious, and he appealed to that side of her. But he wasn't light-hearted or playful or a lot of fun. For a moment, she missed that in her life, and then realized that you couldn't have everything. If she ever got seriously involved with anyone again, she had always said she wanted someone solid she could rely on. Charles was certainly that kind of man. Then she thought to herself with a smile, beware of what you wish for. Blake was crazy and fun. Charles was responsible and adult. It was a shame that nowhere on the planet there was a man who could be both-a kind of grown-up Peter Pan, with good values. It was a lot to ask, and probably why, she told herself, she was still alone, and maybe always would be. You couldn't live with a man like Blake, and you might not want to with a man like Charles. Maybe it didn't matter, no one was asking her to make that choice. It was just dinner after all, good food and fine wines with an intelligent man. This wasn't about marriage.

Chapter 9

Blake was in London, meeting with his investment counselors about three new companies he was planning to take over. He was also meeting with two architects, one to make changes in the London house, the other to completely remodel and refurbish the palace he had bought in Morocco. There were a total of six decorators involved in both projects, and it was exciting for him. He was having a ball. He was planning to be in London for a month, and take the children to Aspen after Christmas. He had invited Maxine to join them, but she had decided not to come, and said he needed time alone with the children, which seemed silly to him. They always had a good time when she came along.

Most of the time, she just overlapped for a day here and there when he loaned her his boat, or one of his houses. He was generous to a fault, and loved knowing that she was having a good time with their children. He often loaned his homes to friends as well. There was no way he could use all of them full time. And he couldn't understand why Maxine had made such a fuss about his letting Daphne use the

New York penthouse with her friends. She was old enough not to make a mess in the apartment, and there were people to clean it up if she did. He thought Maxine was being paranoid thinking that they would get into mischief there alone. He knew his daughter was a good girl, and how much trouble could they get into at thirteen? After five phone calls about it, he had finally given in to Maxine's wishes, but it seemed a shame to him. The New York penthouse stood empty most of the time. He was in London far more often, as it was more central to all the other places where he liked to spend his time. He was planning to go to Gstaad for a few days of skiing before he went back to New York, to warm up for Aspen. He hadn't skied since a quick trip to South America in May.

In his first few days back in London after seeing his children for Thanksgiving, Blake had been invited to a Rolling Stones concert. They were one of his favorite groups, and he and Mick Jagger were old friends. He had introduced Blake to a number of other players in the rock-star world, and several remarkable women. Blake's brief affair with one of the biggest female rock stars in the world had made headlines everywhere, until she spoiled everything and married someone else. That wasn't his game, and he was honest about it. He never pretended to anyone that he wanted to get married, or was even open to it. He had far too much money now. Marriage was much too dangerous for him, unless he married someone who had as much as he did, and those were never the women he went after. He liked them young, lively, and unencumbered. All he wanted to do was play. He didn't hurt anyone. And when it was over, they left with jewels, furs, cars, presents, and the best memories they ever had. And then he moved on to the next one, and started all over again. And when he got back to London, he was free at the moment. He had no one to take to the Rolling Stones concert, so he went by himself, and to a fabulous party at Kensington Palace afterward. Every royal, model, actress, socialite, aristocrat, and rock star was there. It was everything that Blake loved, and his world.

He had talked to half a dozen women that night, met some interesting men, and was thinking about leaving, when he ordered one last drink at the bar, and saw a pretty redhead smiling at him. She had a diamond in her nose, was wearing a ruby bindi and a sari, had spiky hair, and tattoos running down her arms, and she was staring unabashedly at him. She didn't look Indian, but the ruby bindi between her eyebrows confused him, and the sari she wore was the color of a summer sky, the same color as her eyes. He had never seen an Indian woman with tattoos before. Hers were flowers running up and down her arms, and there was another on her taut flat stomach, which the sari exposed. She was drinking champagne, and eating olives from a glass bowl on the bar.

“Hello,” he said simply, his dazzling blue eyes meeting hers, and her slow smile grew broader. She was the sexiest woman he had ever seen, and it was impossible to tell her age. She could have been anywhere from eighteen to thirty, and he didn't care how old she was. She was gorgeous. “Where are you from?” he asked her, expecting her to say Bombay or New Delhi, although the red hair was out of context too. She laughed at his question, showing perfect white teeth that went on forever. She was the most striking woman he'd ever seen.

“Knightsbridge,” she said, laughing at him. Her laughter was like bells in his ears, delicate and sweet.

“What about the bindi?”

“I just like them. I lived in Jaipur for two years. I loved the saris and the jewels.” Who didn't? And five minutes after he'd met her, Blake was crazy about her. “Have you been to India?” she asked him.

“Several times,” he said easily. “I went on an incredible safari, taking photographs of tigers last year, much better than anything I've seen in Kenya.” She raised an eyebrow then.

“I was born in Kenya. My family lived in Rhodesia before that. And then we came home. It's rather tedious here. I go back every chance I get.” She was British, and she had the accent and intonations of the upper classes, which made him wonder who she was, and who her parents were. It didn't usually interest him, but everything about this woman intrigued him, even her tattoos. “And you are?” she inquired. She was probably the only woman in the room who didn't know who he was, and he liked that about her too. It was refreshing. And he sensed correctly that they had been attracted to each other instantly. Powerfully so.

“Blake Williams.” He provided no further information, and she nodded and finished her champagne. He was drinking vodka, on the rocks. It was his drink of choice at events like this. Champagne gave him a headache the next day, vodka didn't.

“American,” she said matter-of-factly. “Married?” she asked with interest, which he found an odd question.

“No. Why?”

“I don't do married men. I don't even talk to them. I went out with a horrible Frenchman who was married and lied about it. Once burned, forever wise, or something like that. Americans are usually pretty good about that. The French aren't. They always have a wife and a mistress tucked away somewhere, and cheat on both. Do you cheat?” she asked him, as though it were a sport like golf or tennis, and he laughed.

“Not generally. No, actually, I don't think I ever have. I have no reason to, I'm not married, and if I want to sleep with someone else, I end it with the woman I'm with. That seems a lot simpler to me. I don't like drama or complications.”

“Neither do I. That's what I mean about Americans. They're very simple and straightforward. Europeans are far more complicated. They want everything to be difficult. My parents have been trying to get divorced for twelve years. They keep getting back together and splitting up again. It's very confusing for the rest of us. I've never been married myself, and don't want to be. It seems like a terrible mess to me.” She said it very simply, as though talking about the weather or a trip, and he was amused. She was a very funny young woman, very pretty, and what the Brits called “very fey.” She was like some sort of wood nymph or sprite in her sari and her bindi and tattoos. He noticed then that she was wearing an enormous emerald bracelet that got lost among her tattoos, and a huge ruby ring. Whoever she was, she had plenty of jewels.

“I'd have to agree with you about the mess people make. I'm actually very good friends with my ex-wife. We like each other even better than we did when we were married.” For him, it was true, and he was sure Maxine felt the same way about it too.