All the same, he increasingly regretted that he had made such a botch of their relationship. The man who was his natural son had done very well for himself professionally, had plenty of drive. And in fact Bartlett believed he himself deserved some of the credit for that. What he had done was let the boy fend for himself, which was exactly how Bartlett was raised. Make it with your own two hands. How else are you supposed to develop any character? And it had worked. The pity was, he now hated Winston Bartlett's guts. But Bartlett had begun thinking more and more about a legacy. What if he could make peace with that son and bring him into the business? Right now the closest thing he had to a son was Grant Hampton, and Hampton was a little too slick and expedient. Bartlett knew a gold- standard hustler when he saw one. The more he thought about it, the more he was convincing himself to make his natural son his sole heir. Assuming there was anything left to pass on. _Monday, April 6 11:20 A.M. _ "Mr. Bartlett asked me to give you this," Kenji Noda said handing her a large manila envelope as they stepped off the elevator. "It's a copy of the original plans. And also, there's a blueprint for the current layout, along with measurements." She took it, looking him over again as she did. There was something very fluid about his motions. He could have been a dancer. There was a softness about him, and yet you got an unmistakable sense of inner strength. She suspected he had something to do with Bartlett's incredible collection of Japanese _katana_. He looked like he could have a connoisseur's eye. She walked into the below-stairs service space and looked around. The back part, which was the kitchen, had stone walls that had been whitewashed. There also were two massive fireplaces, which, she assumed, had once housed coal-burning stoves. Large grease-and-soot- covered gas ranges were there now. But the space was fabulous. Massive load-bearing columns went down the center, and a partition separated the front half of the space from the back. The front traditionally would have been the nursery and sewing room, in short, the maids' working quarters. She turned to the man Bartlett had called Ken. "Does Mr. Bartlett have a cook?" she asked. "This kitchen doesn't look used." "No," he said. "Actually, he almost never dines here, and Mrs. Bartlett has her meals delivered from various restaurants. Though she does go out sometimes as well." This was the first time she had heard any mention of Eileen Bartlett. "She resides on the top two floors," he went on. "She has her own dining room up there, where she takes her meals, along with an efficiency kitchen." So the Bartletts did live completely separate lives. That explained a lot.