“Are you angry that I’m going away for so long?”

She shook her head. “No, not angry, sorry. I’ll miss you. Very much.”

“It will pass quickly.” She didn’t answer, and he propped himself up on one elbow to study her face in the dark room. “I’m sorry. Deanna.”

“So am I.” He ran a hand gently across her hair and smiled at her, and she turned her head slowly to look at him.

“You’re still very pretty, Deanna. Do you know that? You’re even prettier than you were as a girl. Very handsome in fact.” But she didn’t want to be handsome, she wanted to be his, as she had been so long ago. His Diane. “Pilar will be beautiful one day too.” He said it with pride.

“She already is.” Deanna said it dispassionately, without anger.

“Are you jealous of her?”

He almost seemed to like the idea, and Deanna wondered. Maybe it made him feel important. Or young. But she answered him anyway. Why not? “Yes, sometimes I’m jealous of her. I’d like to be that young again, that free, that sure of what life owes me. At her age it’s all so obvious: You deserve the best, you’ll get the best. I used to think so too.”

“And now, Deanna? Has life paid you its debt?”

“In some ways.” Her eyes held a certain sadness as they met his. For the first time in years he was reminded of the eighteen-year-old orphan who had sat across from him in his office wearing the little black Dior dress. He wondered if he had truly made her unhappy, if she really wanted more. But he had given her so much. Jewels, cars, furs, a home. All the things most women wanted. What more could she possibly want? He looked at her for a very long time, his eyes questioning, his face creased with a sudden thought. Was it possible that he really did not understand?