It was to be a quiet getaway. A weekend of books, sun, food, drink, conversation and companionship. The host was the Major, an old friend of Isabelle's family. The setting was his East Hampton estate, Lasata. The name meant "place of peace," and it was just what Andrew and Isabelle were seeking.

Instead, the calm of a picture perfect Saturday morning was punctured by the cry of a newborn, immediately followed by the pronouncement: "It's a girl."

Andrew, lounging poolside, hurriedly looked up from his book (Joyce's "Ulysses") to see Isabelle bearing down on him with the squalling infant, which she held out in front of her, rather like a yachting cup.

"This is Jacqueline," Isabelle said. "The Major's new granddaughter."

Andrew raised an eyebrow.

"Don't worry," she added. "I'm not getting any ideas."

Andrew realized he had been gripping his novel a bit too tightly. He set it down, picked up a Bloody Mary and took a good long draught.

"No, of course not," he replied. "What a lovely child."