It was three o'clock by the time she came back with the groceries, an early edition of the Sunday paper, and some magazines for him. She suddenly felt obliged to play hostess and not just house-sitter, although she'd gotten off to a bit of a rocky start with maple syrup and broken glass everywhere. She was impressed that he'd been such a good sport, and had even helped her clean it up.

The house was strangely quiet when she walked in. She assumed that he was still sleeping, and the dogs had apparently tucked themselves in somewhere to do the same. So she unpacked the groceries quietly in the kitchen, and gave a start when he walked in. He was wearing a clean white T-shirt and jeans, with his very elegant, very English-looking brown suede shoes. Ian had only owned Tevas and running shoes. He didn't need anything else except hiking boots. Everything he wanted to do was involved with the outdoors, and she had shared that with him. All her mother had ever worn when she was growing up were four-inch heels. And they seemed to get higher every year.

“You're already awake?” she asked, as she put the last of the food away, and turned to look at him with a smile.

“I never went to sleep,” he said ruefully, and she looked surprised.

“How did that happen?”

“Someone beat me to it.” He beckoned her to come with him, and she followed him up the stairs to his room, faintly worried. Maybe Jane had invited someone else too, without telling them, and they had taken over his room. But she laughed as soon as she stood in the doorway to the guest room. Jack had sprawled out on the bed when Leslie was in the shower. He had his head on the pillow, was spread across the bed, and was snoring loudly. Sallie was nowhere to be seen, but Jack had made himself totally at home. “I didn't want to argue with him about it. I checked out your room, out of curiosity, and the other dog is asleep in there.”

“She's mine,” Coco explained with a grin. “This is the lord of the manor, it's his house. His name is Jack, although my sister doesn't let him sleep on the beds. He only does that when I'm here. He knows.” She walked quickly toward the bed, patted the huge dog to wake him up, and pulled him off the bed. He looked very unhappy to be so rudely awakened, and headed toward the master bedroom to join Sallie. “Sorry.” Coco looked at Leslie apologetically. “You must be beat.”

“I dozed a little on the couch. But I have to admit, a real bed will feel good. I slept in my car last night. And hid out at a friend's the night before. L.A. is a little too small for both of us just now. She's nuts,” he added, instinctively touching his cheek. “She's rather a big star, and she packs a hell of a punch. She does her own stunt work in action films.” Coco knew who he'd been dating from the tabloids, but admired him for not saying her name. He seemed very polite. “I rented out my house six months ago, for a year. I've been living with her. I'm going to have to find an apartment, once I get my bearings. I've never been mixed up in anything so crazy in my life.” He grinned at her sheepishly. “First time I've ever been slugged by a woman. Then she damn near killed me with her hair dryer, she threw it at me. When she threatened me with a gun, I figured it was time to leave. Never argue with a psychopathic woman with a gun. Or at least, generally, I try not to.” He still looked a little shaken as he smiled.

“What got her so pissed off?” Coco asked cautiously. It was a lot more exciting than her life, or than she even wanted to imagine. Ian had been the gentlest man in the world, and their arguments had been brief, respectful, and harmless. She had had relationships that ended before him, but never badly. But she had heard plenty of stories from her father over the years of his famous clients being pursued by stalkers and psychopaths.

“I'm not sure,” Leslie said in answer to her question. “She wanted to know which of my costars I'd gone out with, and then she got into a jealous rage about it, even though I explained that they were over. She kept insisting that I was going to get involved with the next one, and then she went nuts. She had a little problem with the bottle. It was all a bit over the top, to say the least. She called me on my cell and said she was going to kill me. I believe her. So I left town.”

“Maybe you need to stay a little longer than a weekend,” Coco said seriously, although it sounded typical to her of the madness she hated in Hollywood and L.A. She couldn't have lived like that herself. It was too high a price to pay for fame. “Guns and alcohol aren't such a great mix.” He nodded. He hadn't figured out what he wanted to do yet. He had called Jane to tell her about it, since Jane knew her and had worked with her, and he had wanted her assessment of just how crazy the woman was, and how dangerous she might be. Jane had suggested he get out of Dodge, and go up to their place in San Francisco. It seemed like a good idea at the time. He didn't want to run into this woman anywhere right now, and in Los Angeles, he might. Jane thought she was even more dangerous than he feared.

“I've never had anything like this happen,” he said, looking embarrassed. “My past relationships have always ended on good terms. I'm friends with all of them. None of them ever wanted to kill me, or at least not that I know of.” He sounded incredulous as he said it.

“Did you call the police?” He shook his head in answer.

“I can't. If I do, it will be all over the tabloids and that will make it even worse.”

“My father had a death threat once, from a crazy client, when I was a little girl. He called the police and they gave him guards around the clock for a while. I was terrified the actor was going to kill him. I had nightmares about it for years,” Coco confessed.

“Yes, but she probably wasn't an ex-girlfriend. This is the kind of stuff the tabloids love. I don't want to be involved in a mess like that, or cause it. I've got a break between films now. I'd rather just stay away for a while. I might go to New York for a few months. I don't have to work again till October, so I've got time.”

“She'll probably find out you're there. And my sister and Liz aren't coming back for five or six months. You can stay here while you figure it out, and maybe she'll calm down.”

“I think it'll take a lobotomy for that to happen. I'm hoping she gets obsessed with someone else. In the meantime, I'm planning to lie low, and she'll never figure out that I'm here. I haven't been to San Francisco in twenty years. I always see Jane in L.A. We worked on a picture together.” Coco remembered that, although she had never met him with Jane before. But she was aware that they were friends.

“Well, you'll be safe here. And now that Jack is out of your bed, get some sleep,” she said with a friendly smile. It sounded like a nasty story, and he looked shaken up by it.

Leslie thanked her for rescuing him, and as she headed to her own room, he closed his door. She closed hers too. Both dogs were asleep on her bed, and she put the TV on with the sound low. She dozed off for a while herself, and around eight o'clock she went downstairs to make herself dinner. She took some sushi she had bought out of the fridge and made a salad. She was eating it and reading the Sunday paper when he walked in, looking sleepy, and more rested than he had before. He yawned and stretched as he sat down. They were like two shipwrecked people on a desert island. The house was quiet, and it was easy and pleasant. It was Saturday night, and neither of them had obligations or plans.

“Would you like some?” She pointed at the sushi, and he nodded as she got up to get more out of the fridge. And he was instantly on his feet to help her.

“You don't have to wait on me. I'm the interloper here. Thanks for buying food today. I'll get the next round.” They were like two roommates who had wound up sharing a house, and good manners prevailed. He was very English and obviously very nicely brought up. He helped himself to some sushi, and she gave him a plate, and made him a salad, as he thanked her.

“What part of England are you from?” she asked as they ate their dinner, and Jack sat watching them with interest. Sallie had smelled the fish and gone back to bed.

“A little town just outside London. I never got to London till I was twelve. My father was a postman, and my mum was a nurse. I had a very middle-class upbringing, and a very normal home life as a kid. My parents were horrified I wanted to be an actor, and embarrassed by it actually, at first anyway. My dad wanted me to be a teacher, or a banker, or a doctor. I faint at the sight of blood. And I thought teaching was too boring. So I took acting lessons and started out doing Shakespeare. I was bloody awful.” He grinned at her. “Good salad. No syrup?” he teased her.

“I bought more.” She laughed at him. “And waffles.”

“Perfect. I'll make them tomorrow. And what did you want to be when you grew up?” he asked her, looking as though he cared about the answer.

“I was never really sure. I just didn't want to be my parents. Or in film like my sister, she was so intense about it. She's that way about everything she does, but it didn't look like a lot of fun. I always hated writing. For about five minutes, I wanted to be an artist. But I don't have a lot of talent. I do watercolors once in a while, but nothing terrific. Just beach scenes and still lifes of flowers and vases. I studied art history in college. I probably would have liked teaching, or research of some kind. And then my father talked me into law. He said it was a good starting point for anything I'd want to do later, like go into his business and be an agent. I didn't want to do that either, and I hated law school. The teachers were mean to everyone, the students were nasty and competitive and neurotic. Everyone was trying to put everyone else down. I was terrified for two whole years and cried all the time. I was scared to death I'd flunk out, and then my father died and I quit.”