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They heard the car stop in front of the gate.

They did not move. Henri opened the door, admitting the woman whom none of them had ever seen in their lives. Paige Mayfair, great-granddaughter of Cortland and his wife, Amanda Grady Mayfair, who had left Cortland years before and gone north.

Paige was a lithe little woman, not unlike Gifford and Alicia in face and form, and only a little more birdlike, with long thin legs and wrists. That type of Mayfair, thought Mona. The woman's hair was sharply bobbed, and she wore those huge dazzling clip-on earrings which a woman must remove before answering a phone.

She was matter-of-fact in her entrance. All but Fielding rose to greet her, to bestow the kisses that were customary even with a cousin whom no one had ever seen before.

"Cousin Paige. Cousin Randall. Cousin Mona. Cousin Fielding.

Paige sat down finally in the gold French chair with her back to the piano. Her little black skirt rode up on her thighs, revealing that they were almost as slender as her calves. Her legs looked painfully naked compared to the rest of her, swaddled in wool, even to a cashmere scarf which she unwound now from around her neck. It was very cold in New York.

She stared at the long mirror at the far end of the room. Of course it reflected the mirror behind her, and the illusion of endless chambers, each fitted with its own crystal chandeliers.

"You didn't come from the airport alone, did you?" demanded Fielding, startling the woman as usual with his youthful and vigorous voice. Mona realized she didn't know who was older--Fielding or Lily--but Fielding looked so old with his translucent yellow skin and the spots on the backs of his thin hands that you had to wonder what was keeping him alive.

Lily had vigor to her, though her body seemed all ropes and tendons beneath her severe silk suit.

"I told you, Great-granddaddy," said Mona, "we had two policemen with her. They're outside. Everybody in New York is together. They've been told. There isn't a single member of this family anywhere who is alone now. Everyone has been told."

"And nothing further has happened," said Paige politely, "isn't that so?"

"Correct," said Lauren. She had managed to remain her well-groomed corporate-style self even through the long day and night. Not a single silver hair out of place. "We haven't found him," she said as if trying to soothe a hysterical client. "But there has been no further trouble of any sort. There are people working on this investigation as we speak."

Paige nodded. Her eyes veered to Mona. "And you're the legend, Mona," she said. She gave the indulgent smile one gives to pretty children. "I've heard so much about you. Beatrice is always talking about you in her letters. And you are the designee if we cannot get Rowan to come back."

Shock.

No one had said such a thing to Mona. She had not picked up the slightest vibe of it from any of them, either here, or downtown, or anywhere. She couldn't stop herself from glancing at Lauren.

Lauren didn't meet her gaze.

You mean this has already been decided?

No one would look at her. Closed minds. She realized suddenly that only Fielding was staring at her. And she also realized none of them had been shocked by Paige's words, except for her. It had been decided, but not in her presence, and no one wanted to explain or amplify or clarify now. It was too much to discuss just now. Yet it was enormous, the designee of the legacy. And some very sarcastic little phrase went through Mona's mind suddenly, "You mean crazy little Mona in her sash and bow, drunken Alicia's vagabond kid?"

She didn't say it. Inside, she felt the tightest most strangling pain. Rowan, don't die. Rowan, I'm sorry. Some vicious and perfectly luscious memory came back to her of Michael Curry's chest looming over her, and his cock slipping out of her so that she saw it for an instant, the shaft descending out of the nest of hair. She shut her eyes tight.

"Let's believe we can help Rowan," said Lauren, though the voice sounded so low and so hopeless that it contradicted its own words. "The legacy is a vast question. There are three lawyers going over the papers now. But Rowan is still alive. Rowan is upstairs. She has survived the surgery. It was the least of her worries. The doctors have done their magic. Now it's time for us to try."

"You know what we want to do?" asked Lily, whose eyes were glazed still from crying. Lily had assumed a defensive posture, arms over her breasts, one hand resting right below her throat. For the first time ever, thought Mona, Lily's voice sounded shaky, old.

"Yes, I know," said Paige. "My uncle told me everything. I understand. All these years. I've heard so much about you, all of you, and now I am here. I'm in this house. But let me say this: I don't know that I'll be of any help to you. It's a power others feel. I myself do not feel it. I don't really know how to use it. But I am always willing to try."

"You're one of the strongest," said Mona. "That is what matters. We are the strongest here. None of us know how to use these gifts."

"Then let's go. Let's see what we can do," said Paige.

"I don't want there to be any mumbo jumbo," said Randall. "If anybody starts saying crazy words--"

"Certainly not," said Fielding, eyes sunken, hands folded on his cane. "I have to go up in the elevator. Mona, you take me. Randall, you should ride in the elevator too."

"If you don't want to come with us," remarked Lauren in a steel-cold voice, "you do not have to, either of you. We will do this ourselves."

"I'm coming," said Randall grumpily. "I want it noted for the record that this family is now following the advice of a thirteen-year-old girl!"

"That's not true," said Lily. "We all want to do it. Randall, please help us. Please don't be trouble at this time."

They went out en masse, moving through the shadowy hall. Mona had never liked this elevator. It was too small, too dusty, too old and too powerful and it went too fast. She followed the two old men inside, helpin

g Fielding to the one chair in the corner, a small wooden antique chair with a cane seat. Then she pulled shut the door, clanged the gate and pressed the button. She put her hand on Fielding's shoulder. "Remember, it stops with a jolt."

There came the slamming halt as predicted.

"Damn thing," muttered Fielding. "Typical of Stella, to get an elevator strong enough to take people to the top of the American Bank."

"There is no more American Bank," said Randall.

"Well, you know what I mean," said Fielding. "Don't be short-tempered with me. This isn't my idea. I think it's ridiculous. Why don't we go out to Metairie and try to raise Gifford from the dead?"

Mona helped Fielding to stand and position his cane. "The American Bank used to be the tallest building in New Orleans," he said to Mona.

"I know," she answered. She hadn't known, but that was the best way to stop that line of conversation cold.

When they came into the master bedroom, the others were already assembled. Michael was with them, standing with arms folded in the far corner looking down at Rowan's unchanged face.

The blessed candles were burning on the bedside table nearest the door. The Virgin was there. Probably Aunt Bea did this, thought Mona--these candles, this Virgin with her bowed head, white veil, tiny plaster hands outstretched. Gifford certainly would have done it, if she had been around.

No one said a word. Finally Mona spoke.

"I think the nurses need to go out."

"Well, just what are you going to do in here," said the younger nurse crossly, a sallow woman with blond hair parted in the middle beneath her stiff starched cap. She was nunlike in her sterility and cleanliness. She glanced at the older nurse, a dark-faced black woman who spoke not a word.

"We're going to lay hands on her and try to heal her," said Paige Mayfair. "It probably won't do any good, but we all have this gift. We are going to try."

"I don't know if you should do this!" said the young nurse distrustfully.

But then the older black woman shook her head negatively, and gestured to let it all go by.

"Go on out, both of you," said Michael in a quiet commanding voice.

The nurses left.

Mona closed the door.