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"I didn't mean to be intrusive." he said, pulling back. "I'm sorry,"

He turned quickly and returned to his table. His associate asked him something, but he shook his head and put his credit card on the bill. I tried not to look at them. but I was so self-conscious now. I signaled the waiter for my bill, signed it, and actually left be

fore they paid theirs.

I was outside waiting for my car moments later. Out of the corner of my eye. I saw them approaching, but they didn't have to wait for their vehicle. They got into the gold Rolls-Royce Corniche convertible that had been parked nearby, glittering like a jeweled chariot in the sun. That, plus the self-satisfied grin on their faces, infuriated me as they drove off.

Minutes later. I got into my rental car and started for my mother's family property, hoping that whatever turmoil that arrogant young man had discerned in my face would not be as visible to anyone else I was about to meet.

Dr. Anderson's receptionist had scribbled some quick directions for me on the same slip of paper. Perusing the map the car rental agency had given me. I was able to find my way easily to South Ocean Boulevard. The majestic properties, walled estates well hidden by the sixty-foot-high hedges, reinforced what I had read in the Palm Beach magazine in my hotel room. These were homes built to be monuments to pleasure and privacy.

When I reached Jaya del Mar. I was no less impressed. I pulled up to the walled gates which looked as if they locked away their inhabitants from the outside world forever. For a moment. I puzzled over how anyone announced his or her arrival. I saw a television camera in the top corner of the gate, but what was I supposed to do, wait here until someone looked at a monitor and saw I had pulled into the drive? Finally. I spotted what looked like a call box almost completely obscured by a pink bougainvillea bush. I had to get out to press the button. After a moment. I heard a man in a very irritable voice say, "Yes?"

"My name is Isabel Amou," I said. "Dr. Anderson was supposed to call to..."

"Yes, yes," I heard, in the same tone of impatience.

The entry groaned and started to part. I hurried back to my vehicle and watched the gates slowly open as if they were doing so reluctantly, against their better judgment. When they had parted and I was able to look into the estate, I truly thought I was entering the closest to heaven on earth man could create.

The mauve driveway looked as though it were swept and scrubbed after each and every car drove over it. It continued for what looked like a good third of a mile toward the Mediterranean-style pearl-white mansion that loomed against an azure sky. Against the walls of the grounds to my right and left, oleander bushes close to twenty feet high bloomed in salmon pink, red, and white blossoms, a startling sea of color. The grass over the grounds was more like fine green carpet, trimmed and cut so perfectly that one would think it was maintained by a small army of gardeners on their luiees, each armed with a pair of scissors.

On my right was a very large pond with a fountain jetting over some smooth boulders. An egret was perched to the side of one of the boulders, standing on one leg, so still I thought at first it was a statue. Then it moved, and I smiled to myself.

Closer to the house, the royal coconut palm trees stood like sentinels lining the circular entry drive. In addition to the main building, the house spread over four pavilion-like structures punctuated by graceful arches. The entrance was under a loggia or arcade made of cast stone. I could see the ocean behind the house and another building down toward the beach.

My heart was thumping so hard. I had to sit quietly for a few moments before attempting to turn off the engine and get out of the car. I was here under false pretenses. What if these people saw right through me and asked me to leave? What if they made a biz, scene? Not only wouldn't I have met my real mother. but I would have embarrassed her without having met her and without her knowing I was here. I felt as if I were caught in some hurricane of my own making, spinning from one mistake to another. Once again. I thought I should turn right around and go home before it was too late and I was swimming in a pool of dark regret.

A knock on the passenger-side window caused me to jump and cry out in surprise because I was so deep in my own thoughts. A plump, short man with hair like Harpo Marx peered in at me, his chubbyfingered right hand shading his eyes. His nose widened with the lifting of his lips, so pink I thought he might be wearing lipstick.

He wore a tuxedo jacket and a bow tie. He gestured for me to roll down the window. I turned on the key and pressed the button for it.

"Thank you." he said, and wiped his forehead with the back of his right hand. "I'm sorry, but you must come in now if you're coming in. Mr. and Mrs. Eaton want to go to bed."

"Pardon me?"

"You are this Isabel Amou, are you not?"

"Yes," I said.

"Well, either get out and come in, or please drive away," he said in a voice wrapped in

intolerance. He turned and started back toward the front entrance. He had a squat body and waddled like a duck, his wide hips swinging the tails of his tuxedo jacket as he moved along.

I got out and followed him. At the door, he turned, pressed his lips tightly, and nodded to indicate I should continue into the house. I paused in the large entryway. On the right was hung a tremendous tapestry depicting lords and ladies adoring Bacchus. the Greek-Roman god of wine. It looked like an authentic piece of fifteenth-century art, faded and distressed with time.

"This way," he said, gesturing to his right to direct me over the marble floors. Along the hallway were hung gold-leaf family crests. I wondered if they belonged to my mother's family or the tenant's.

Just ahead of us. I heard a loud female peal of laughter and then a man's voice saying, "She said that? How ticky-tacky."

My eyes were everywhere, nibbling at the grand art, the statuary, the frescoes, the marble-topped tables holding large Lladro and Lalique figurines. the Bristol crystal chandeliers, and the wall sconces with cherubs seemingly growing out of them. We passed two lavish Dresden urns and entered a sitting room with a coffered ceiling and more tapestries, frescoes, and paintings. Every bit of available floor and wall space was occupied with some valuable work of art.

Before me stood a large convex fireplace covered with a mosaic of colorful shards of tile. For a moment. I was so taken with everything in the house I didn't notice the couple sprawled on the circular sofa. At their feet was an oversized marble table holding two bottles of champagne in ice buckets and what looked like a silver tray of beluga caviar on crackers.

The man sat up. He wore an elegantly styled light gray tuxedo with dark gray pinstripes, gray satin lapels, and a round diamond where a bow tie ordinarily would be. He was a handsome man of about fifty. I thought, with streaks of gray at his temples, but none running through his wavy, thick sable hair. His lightly tanned face was still dark enough to contrast with and highlight his hazel eyes. Despite his narrow, lean face, there was a hint of an oncoming, not to be denied, double chin. He was not stout, but he was a good ten to fifteen pounds overweight. A smile of curiosity and some impishness formed first around his eyes and then softened his lips.

"Well, hello there," he said, "Welcome to Joya del Mar." The woman beside him cackled. She was still somewhat slouched. She wore a light mauve silk crepe gown with spaghetti straps and a slit to her thigh that revealed a trim, attractive left leg. Off-white iridescent sequins and pearl flowers were sewn on the bodice of her dress. She had her shoes kicked off and stared at me with a silly grin on her face.

I thought she was a woman in her mid- to late forties who had held onto a youthful look, perhaps with the help of a cosmetic surgeon's magic wand. She had her long brown hair streaked vermilion and swept back from her face, a face with kitten features: small button nose, soft, pretty mouth, and cerulean eves. A small dimple flashed in her left cheek.