apan. But we were the same underneath--same kind
of seriousness or intensity or something."

"What does he do?"

"He's an architect. He was teaching a class at the University of
California, Berkeley, until the end of the year."

"Is he married?"

"Yes. Two children--a boy and a girl, grown."

"Oliver, you have a half brother and a half sister!"

"It's true. I haven't absorbed it yet."

"Did you like him?"

"Yes. He was pretty impressive. Disciplined. Didn't say much. He gave
me some money--said you were only as rich as what you give away. What's
your mother's maiden name?"

Francesca stared at him. "Boisverte," she said.

"How do you spell it?" She told him and he repeated the letters to make
sure that he had them right. "French," he said.

"Mais oui. Maman married Frankie, and here I am."

"They did nice work. You want more coffee?" He refilled their mugs and
put away the thermos. "Francesca . . ."

"Yes?"

"You're probably going to think I'm nuts. I hope you won't be mad at
me." He took a deep breath. "I'm putting the money my father gave me in
a brokerage account. I want you to be joint owner, so that if anything
happens to me you'll have the money. Or, if you need some for an
emergency--it will be there." Francesca took a swallow of coffee and
stared out to sea.

"You're a good one," she said. And then, "I'm married to Conor."

"You wouldn't have to pay any taxes on it. I do that. You wouldn't get
statements or anything. It would just be there if you need it. It could
be backup for you and the girls, security . . ."

"Independence?" she teased.

"Well--yes, if you want it." The fat was in the fire.

"Jacky said you were a sweetheart."

Oliver's jaw dropped. Francesca laughed. "She said that she checked you
out. She had hopes for you, but she said that the two of you were
incompatible for the long run."

"Uh--she's right."

"Don't be embarrassed," Francesca said. "How else were you going to
find out? Look, I love Jacky, but I wouldn't want to be married to her."

The image of Jacky attempting to intimidate Francesca with a whip made
Oliver burst out laughing. "No," he said, sputtering, "no." Francesca
gave him a curious look. "Good looking woman, though," he went on. "Not
as beautiful as you."

She accepted this without comment. It was a quality Oliver liked in
her. Francesca _was_ beautiful. She knew it and didn't make a fuss
about it.

"I want the money to have a purpose outside