"At what time would Madame prefer luncheon?"

"May I call you Tino," I asked him. "Only because it's easier."

"But certainly, sir."

"Thank you. And Mrs. Marlowe is not Madame. She is Mrs. Marlowe."

"I am very sorry, sir."

"Nothing to be sorry about. Some ladies like it. But my wife bears my name. She would like her lunch. I have to go out on business."

"Very good, sir. I'll prepare Mrs. Marlowe's lunch at once."

"Tino, there is one other thing. Mrs. Marlowe and I are in love. That shows itself in various ways. None of the ways are to be noticed by you."

"I know my position, sir."

"Your position is that you are helping us to live comfortably. We are grateful to you for that. Maybe more grateful than you know. Technically you are a servant. Actually you are a friend. There seems to be a protocol about these things. I have to respect protocol just as you do. But underneath we are just a couple of guys."

He smiled radiantly. "I think I shall be very happy here, Mr. Marlowe."

You couldn't say how or when he disappeared. He just wasn't there. Linda rolled over on her back and lifted her toes and stared at them.

"What do I say now! I wish the hell I knew. Do you like my toes?"

"They are the most adorable set of toes I have ever seen. And there seems to be a full set of them."

"Get away from me, you horror. My toes are adorable."

"May I borrow the Fleetwood for a little while? Tomorrow I'll fly to L.A. and pick up my Olds."

"Darling, does it have to be this way? It seems so unnecessary."

"For me there isn't any other way," I said.

3

The Fleetwood purred me down to the office of a man named Thorson whose window said he was a realtor and practically everything else except a rabbit fancier.