Jay frowned, a gesture that caused his narrow eyes to become almost invisible. A head of dark brown hair, expensively cut and attractively threaded with gray, helped to foster his cultivated look of casual elegance. He was aware of the tendency of his waistline to thicken, and exercised vigorously. He knew he looked a bit older than his age, which was thirty-seven, but that had proved to be an advantage. He’d always been considered unusually handsome by most people. Certainly the newspaper magnate’s widow whom he’d escorted to the Taj Mahal casino in Atlantic City last week had found him attractive, though when he had mentioned that he’d like to have some jewelry created for her, her face turned to stone. “No sales pitch, please,” she snapped. “Let’s understand that.” He hadn’t bothered with her again. Jay did not believe in wasting time. Today he’d lunched at the Jockey Club and while he waited for a table he’d started chatting with an older couple. The Ashtons were in New York on holiday celebrating their fortieth anniversary. Obviously well-heeled, they were somewhat at loose ends outside their familiar North Carolina surroundings and responded eagerly to his conversational overtures.

The husband had looked pleased at Jay’s query as to whether he’d chosen a suitable piece of jewelry for his wife to commemorate their forty years together. “I keep telling Frances that she ought to let me buy her some real nice jewelry but she says to save the money for Frances Junior.” Jay had suggested that at some time in the distant future, Frances Junior might enjoy wearing a lovely necklace or bracelet and telling her own daughter or granddaughter that this was a very special gift from Grampa to Nana. “It’s what royal families have been doing for centuries,” he explained as he handed them his card.

The phone rang. Jay hurried to answer it. Maybe it was the Ashtons, he thought. It was Aldo Marco, the manager at Bertolini’s. “Aldo,” Jay said heartily. “I was planning to call you. All’s well, I trust?”