He was thinking about Hideoshi as he stepped off the kerb at Sixth Avenue； walking east on Forty…sixth Street。 He was meeting Vincent at Michita； a small Japanese restaurant on Forty…sixth between Sixth and Fifth avenues。 This place； run in the traditional style … a sushi bar and tatami rooms … was open virtually twenty…four hours a day because it catered； in large part； for the many Japanese businessmen new to the country； still on Tokyo time。 It was a favourite haunt of Nicholas's； Vincent's and his because they all felt quite at home there。
He was against the light and； in the gutter； he was almost
run down by an old rattling Checker cab； hurtling up the avenue。 The shrill blast of the horn snapped him out of his reverie and he leaped back onto the sidewalk amid the screech of brakes and the heartfelt curses of the obese； shaggy…haired driver。 'Fuckin' asshole gook！' he heard as the taxi swerved past him。 He felt the cool breeze of its close passage and then it was accelerating uptown。
This incident； however； did not long deter him from his inner contemplation。 Upstairs in the dojo； while he had been preparing his bokken for the ing matches； he had observed the man at work on his aikido and； somewhat later； at karate。 He had been appalled at the man's strength and agility。 Also； it was obvious after a few short moments that he knew far more about strategy than did Terry's instructors。 Since opening； the dojo had rapidly built a reputation as being one of the finest facilities of its kind； not only in America； but in all the world。 Much of this； of course； came from Terry's astute selection of sensei。 To a man； his instructors were top…level masters in each of their specialities。 To see them' thus handled was disquieting indeed。 As he went through Michita's thick blond…wood and iron door； he wondered whether he should tell Vincent of Hideoshi's visit。
Eileen went shopping after leaving the dojo。 She went cross…town to Bloomingdale's and bought several new pieces of lingerie。 On a whim； she picked up a bottle of a cologne she had been meaning to try。 On the way back to Terry's she stopped at a liquor store and bought a bottle of 1970 Dom Perignon。
It was still light when she reached Terry's brownstone。 She put the champagne in the refrigerator and threw her Blooming…dale's packages on the wide bed。 Returning to the kitchen； she put four eggs in to boil for the caviar； checked to make sure there were enough onions； and bread for toast。
Then she went through into the bedroom and； crossing its ample width； into the bathroom； turning on the shower。 She undressed and was about to step into the stall when she remembered something。 Without bothering to wrap a towel
round her； she returned to the living…room and put a record on the stereo； turning it up so that she could hear it in the shower。
She sang with the water beating down on her； hearing the distant sounds of the music as if from the far side of a waterfall。 She imagined herself on a tropical island； bathing in the turquoise water of a deserted lagoon。 She washed her hair and soaped her body； revelling in the slipperiness against her skin。
She turned off the water and got out； towelling her hair first。 In Terry's full…length mirror； she regarded her naked self critically。 She was proud of her body。 Her skin was sleek and unblemished； her flesh firm despite her age。 Her neck was long and slender； her shoulders as delicate as a china doll's。 Her breasts； sloping gently； were still ripe and firm； the nipples dark and long。 Her waist was narrow； her hips flaring gently。 But it was her legs of which she was most proud。 They were long and firm； the muscles taut and supple； the ankles narrow； her feet small。 She watched her muscles rippling as she worked the thick blue…green towel over her wet flesh。 Her nipples sprang erect at the rough contact and she felt the first beginning warmth as she moved the towel slowly down her belly； between her thighs； back and forth； anticipating Terry's arrival。 She loved his hands on her body； they were so soft and gentle and knowing； she abhorred anything rough； he knew she loved that part as much as when he was inside her； both of them ing in concert。 She loved to make love to music； the changing melodies； harmonies； tempi somehow enhancing the process。 And； of course； the added sounds made vocalizing easier for both of them。 She watched the flush of blood throughout her body reflected in the mirror as her thoughts pushed onward； inward。 She imagined that Terry was already home； moving around the living…room； preparing the caviar and champagne。 She dropped the towel as； with one hand； she rubbed her nipples； with the other she probed gently between her thighs。
After a time； she sighed deeply and stepped out into the bedroom。 She crossed to the bed and； bending over； slit open the bag。 She took out the bottle of cologne； Chanel No。 19； opened it and dabbed it on her richly glowing skin。 Then she
stepped into the cream silk teddy she had bought； luxuriating in the feel of the sensuous fabric。 This was how Terry would see her when he arrived。
She turned towards the open doorway and a frown creased her brow。 Darkness prevailed there and； while it was night now； the sunset having slipped away while she was in the shower； she was certain she had turned on the lights there when she had e in。 Or had she？ She shrugged and went through the doorway。
Half way to the small porcelain lamp on the table next to the sofa； she paused； turning her head。 Had there been some movement in the room to her exfreme left？ Now she saw only clumps of dense shadows。 Outside； a cat yowled twice as if it were being skinned alive； then there was the brief clatter of metal garbage…can lids in the cement alley at the side of the house； ing clear through the wall。 The music was still playing。 Henry Mancini。 A bitter…sweet melody that she knew ended the side of the record。 Mancini was so romantic。
She crossed to the table and pressed the switch； the lights in the bedroom went out。 She turned round； oblivious for a moment of the fact that the lamp had not lit。 The music was over and she was conscious of the minute sounds of the tone arm lifting； setting down on its cradle and the turn…table stopping。 There was only one sound now； very close to her； and she realized that it was her harsh breathing。
'Is anyone there？' She felt foolish。
The total absence of sound was infinitely more frightening than if she had heard a voice reply。 She looked down at the glowing dial of her watch and all she could think of was： Terry will be home soon。
As if drawn towards the unknown； she went slowly across the living…room until she was standing at the doorway。 She peered in； trying to see in the gloom； the curtains were closed and here； at the back of the house； the trees of the back yard intervened behind the closed windows； the working air…conditioner； vitiating the lamps from the neighbouring houses。
She went into the bedroom； her hand feeling along the wall for the light…switch。 But before she got to it； she heard the click of the stereo from the other room； heard； after a tiny
delay； Mancini's piano and the double bass begin a jazz duet。 Soon the drums joined them and then the strings。 Last of all was the sax； a crying； almost human voice among the myriad instruments。 The music was filled with tension。
She whirled towards the doorway； could not see through it。 Something or someone blocked her view。 She took a step forward and gasped as something slithered towards her in a blur； wrapped itself around her right wrist。
Crying out inarticulately； she stumbled backwards。 She flung up her arm in an attempt to free herself but the thing … whatever it was … followed her silently； relentlessly； the grip on her wrist tightened until she thought her bones might break。
'What do you want？〃 she said inanely。 'What do you want？' Her mind； numbed by fear； could think of nothing else to say。 It was as if the night； through some magical incantation； had bee a sentient being。
She felt the edge of the bed against the backs of her knees and； as if this solid barrier brought her back to reality； she launched herself forward。 She did not believe in ghosts； not