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without first asking for another cognac): the plan was to be this … she would not go down for her meals, instead everything would be sent to her room and no one, but no one, was to know she was here. Not the help, not the guests. She was to be notified by Mrs. Van Muir before her suite was to be cleaned each day so that she could go down the service elevator to wait in Mrs. Van Muir’s office incognito, dark glasses, bandanna … sans jewels, sans Givenchy, sans eyelashes, sans makeup. Sans all the window dressing, her chances of detection were less imminent that she would be recognized in the first place. There was one other thing Catherine almost forgot … when her meals were served (and to hell with the diet at the Farm), the cart was to be wheeled in by Mrs. Van Muir, so that the Lady of Mystery wouldn’t have to go scurrying off to the bathroom and wait until some waitress took her leave. Catherine narrowed her eyes in studied contemplation. Had she forgotten anything … no, that was about it. Now, she wanted to retreat to her quarters, plunge into a warm tub before her dinner of steak, baked potato with sour cream, chives and bacon bits, buttered string beans, small salad with French dressing and coffee was served … oh yes, and a napoleon for dessert if that could be managed? No? Maybe not. Well then, whatever, she wasn’t too difficult to please, a piece of lemon cream pie or whatever goodies could be had. Damn, damn, she should have thought of buying a bottle of her favorite wine before coming, but for heaven sakes, a body couldn’t think of everything, especially when one was under such stress and strain. Tomorrow she would steal away during the siesta period, being sure not to be seen, and drive to the liquor store and buy enough for a few weeks, and while she was about it she would also purchase some other things for little late night snacks. Let’s see, now, crackers, nuts, potato chips, sardines, cheese, those little triangles and cubes wrapped in foil in those darling little boxes, a large tin of Danish cookies and … and oh, yes, a large jar of those enormous green olives, stuffed with pimentos. Oh hell, why hadn’t she brought that gorgeous box of Barricini chocolates instead of giving them to the chambermaid. But then, that was one of her greatest faults, always giving things away, always letting her heart rule her head. Oh well, no one was perfect. She’d just have to buy whatever chocolates she could find. One should be prepared at all times for any eventuality. From now on, she would be alone for some time to come, God only knew how long it would take for all of them to realize she was really missing and the prospect was a little frightening. Suppose it took months? Was that possible? Oh, come on, now, Catherine, don’t let your imagination play tricks on you. You know better than that. Why, within a few days Dominic will have the Foreign Legion out scouting when you don’t show up. That evening, Catherine turned off the light by ten-thirty, feeling the effects of her “long day’s journey into night,” closed her eyes, but sleep eluded her. The full impact of what she had done, running off without telling anyone, suddenly began to nudge her conscience. But why, she thought adamantly, should she feel that way when she had been literally ignored by her husband and children in these latter years. Oh, damn, if only she had something to soothe her nerves. Was it too late to steal down to Mrs. Van Muir’s and confiscate that bottle of cognac? Without another thought, she hopped out of bed and into a silk robe and slippers, let herself out without fear of being seen, since by now, everyone was in their room either asleep or sequestered for the night in view of the fact that the rules were rigidly enforced in this fabulous overpriced prison for the overweight, the indulged, the pampered. She walked to the service elevator which took her to Mrs. Van Muir’s office. For a moment, she hesitated