Heaven Is High by Kate Wilhelm

heir, and she has vanished in the wilderness out of fear for her life.”
    Barbara nodded gravely. “Shakespearean to the core. Is there a handsome prince ready to come to her rescue?”
    He shook his head. “It doesn’t seem likely. The elusive Mrs. Thurston might be very hard for such a prince to find. Her wall of brambles is the jungle itself. She’s been teaching out in the jungle for years, and she knows where and how to hide. No doubt she has a multitude of people out there to help. I believe that Uncle Julius is hard at work trying to find her.”
    â€œMy,” Barbara said, smiling. “If you could weave all three stories into one novel, add a touch of magical realism, it sounds as if you’d have a major bestseller.”
    â€œNo way. I’m not a writer. Just nosy.”
    Henry came back with a serving cart. He set plates on the table, finger bowls of water with lime slices, and towels at the side. Carefully handling a metal dish, he put it on the table and lifted the lid. Shrimp were sizzling with an aroma that made Barbara’s mouth water. He put a platter of empanadas down and poured more wine.
    â€œFinger food,” Newhouse said, picking up a shrimp by the tail.
    The wine was excellent and the shrimp, redolent with garlic, lime, and something undefinable, was almost sinfully good. Barbara drew in a long breath of contentment. “This is wonderful, Mr. Newhouse. Thank you for your advice.”
    â€œYou’re most welcome. Just one more bit of advice and then I’m done with that. Before you stroll around in daylight, do get a wide-brimmed hat, and use sunscreen. Pale from a northern climate without much winter sunshine, you’ll burn without realizing how fierce the tropical sun can be.”
    â€œNoted,” she said.
    â€œThe first week on My Bettina I nearly burned to a crisp,” he said, nodding toward the yacht at anchor. “And I’m from Southern California.”
    Barbara was taken by surprise by his words. “You’re G. M. Newhouse? The director?” Bits and pieces of discordant memory came to mind. There had been a scandal involving him and his wife at the time. She was Bettina, his leading lady in several films. Drugs had been involved, an affair or more than one, threats.… It was too fractured, and she had paid too little attention to find a coherent narrative now.
    â€œRetired director,” he said with a broad smile. “But tell me, and please say no, do you happen to have a play tucked away in your suitcase?”
    She laughed. “Nope. And I have no aspirations whatsoever toward becoming an actor.”
    â€œWhew! God is merciful.”
    â€œYou still think in cinematic terms, don’t you?” she said. “The bouncing broncos, the official with too many women, the damsel in distress with an uncle who may or may not be murderous. Wanting identifiable endings.”
    â€œAfraid so,” he said. “Habits are so easily acquired, so hard to break. But tell me about you. You’re a professional woman, I assume. Not a medical doctor, unless it’s psychiatry. Not a teacher. What?”
    â€œAttorney. Why did you assume professional?”
    â€œEverything about you; an air of competence, independence, traveling alone to a foreign country, no hint of coquetry, curiosity. That all spells professional. Corporate lawyer?”
    â€œDefense attorney.” She sipped her wine, then added, “I just finished a difficult case and needed a few days away, someplace warm and sunny and not touristy.”
    She recalled Bailey’s warning that she did not know what she was stepping into, and now this friendly man, who had gone out of his way to talk with her, to choose her wine and snacks, turned out to be possibly involved, however indirectly, with drugs. At least her incomplete memory of past scandals might indicate such was the case. He apparently had the freedom to cruise among