“What are you worried about?” His tone was suddenly not pleasant, and her eyes were like steel.

“I don’t think she should have too much money for the summer. She doesn’t need it.”

“She’s a very responsible girl.”

“But she is not quite sixteen years old, Marc. How much did you give her?”

“A thousand.” He said it very quietly, as though he were closing a deal.

“Dollars?” Her eyes flew wide. “That’s outrageous!”

“Is it?”

“You know perfectly well it is. And you also know what she’ll do with it.”

“Amuse herself, I assume. Harmlessly.”

“No, she’ll buy one of those damn motorcycles she wants so much, and I absolutely refuse to allow that to happen.” But Deanna’s fury was matched only by her impotence and she knew it. Pilar was going to “them” now, out of Deanna’s control. “I don’t want her to have that much money.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“For God’s sake, Marc…”

The telephone rang as she began her tirade in earnest. It was for Marc, from Milan. He had no time to listen to her before he left. He had a meeting to attend at nine-thirty. He glanced at his watch. “Stop being so hysterical, Deanna. The child will be in good hands.” But that was a whole other discussion right there, and he didn’t have time. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“I doubt it. I’ll have Dominique call.”

“Thank you.” They were two tiny, frozen words. She watched him close the door. A moment later she heard his Jaguar purr out of the driveway. She had lost another war.

She broached the subject again with Pilar on the way to the airport. “I understand your father gave you quite a lot of money for the summer.”

“Here we go. What is it now?”

“You know damn well what it is now. The motorcycle. I’ll put it to you very simply, love. You buy one and I’ll have you hauled home.”

Pilar wanted to taunt her with “how will you know?” but she didn’t dare. “O.K., so I won’t buy one.”