They ordered dinner and ate it in silence.

They met Linda at the airport. She looked well, with a new tan, but flustered. "I'm just no good at changing schedules," she complained. "I'm sure I packed all the wrong things. It's not like Russell at all. He's usually as dependable as the Swiss railway system." After kissing her briskly in greeting and saying "I'm glad to see you made it," Hazen had gone off to make a last call to his office.

It was a raw day, with a little drizzle of rain and irregular gusts of wind sweeping the field. As they walked across toward the airplane Strand looked doubtfully up at the overcast sky. The weather fit his mood. A front moving in, Hazen had warned them. It would probably be a rough voyage. Sunshine would have been inappropriate for the end of this particular holiday. As they got into the gleaming small plane, Strand was afraid that Leslie would pick that moment to say that she was having one of her premonitions. But she was chatting cheerfully with Linda and there was no sign that the thousands of miles of wild sky ahead of them held any fears for her at all.

The trip was bumpy, but no more. Leslie and Linda dozed, Strand read and Hazen drank. When they stopped to refuel at Shannon, Hazen didn't offer to buy them any presents, but Leslie bought a pink wool shawl for Caroline, although Strand didn't think Caroline would have much occasion to wear it in the balmy climate of Arizona.

They arrived in New York on time and Hazen got them through customs quickly, the inspector deferentially waving them through without asking any of them to open their bags. Conroy and Jimmy and Caroline were waiting for them. Leslie gasped when she saw Caroline. She had a bandage on her nose and her face was swollen and one eye closed and black and blue.

"My God, Caroline," Leslie said as they embraced, "what happened to you?"

"It's nothing, Mummy," Caroline said. "It looks gruesome, but it's just a few scratches. George was driving me home the other night and some idiot bumped into us from behind when we were stopped at a light and I hit my head on the dashboard."

"I knew we never should have let you out with that boy," Leslie said. "He drives like a fool."

"It wasn't his fault, Mummy," Caroline protested. "We weren't even moving."

"Even so," Leslie said.

"Don't take it so big, Mom," Jimmy said. "What's a little black eye between friends?"

"Don't be so debonair, young man," Leslie said. "She could have been disfigured for life."

"Well, she isn't," Jimmy said. "How was your trip?"

"Marvelous," Strand said hastily, anxious to avoid a family quarrel in front of the others.

"Have you seen a doctor?" Hazen asked Caroline.

"There's no need for a doctor," Caroline said querulously, as though she felt she was being unjustly scolded.

"Conroy," Hazen said, "we won't be going out to the Island. We're going to New York and we're taking this young lady to see a doctor. The man's name is Laird and he's the best one in the business for this type of thing."

"Why don't we just get an ambulance with a siren and life support equipment," Caroline said sardonically, "and get the horribly mangled poor beautiful young victim to a hospital where a team of experts at bone setting and open-heart surgery are waiting to save her life?"

"Don't be smart, Caroline," Leslie said. "Mr. Hazen's right."

"Everybody's making such a fuss," Caroline said, sounding like a little girl. "Over nothing. It happened almost twenty-four hours ago and I'm still alive."

"That's all out of you," Leslie said to her. "Just keep quiet from now on and do what you're told."

Caroline grunted. "I hate doctors," she said. But Leslie took her arm firmly and marched her toward the exit, with Hazen at her other side. Strand walked behind them with Jimmy and Linda. "What do you know about all this?" Strand asked Jimmy.

"Nothing. The first I knew about it was just fifteen minutes ago when I saw her. I came from New York and Conroy drove her in from the Island. Mom's just blowing it up into something enormous. And Hazen's just showing what a big shot he is and running everything, as usual."

"Well," said Linda, "at least she didn't lose any teeth. That's something to be thankful for. She's got such pretty teeth."

"I'll ask Conroy to drop me off at the office," Jimmy said. "I told them I'd only be a couple of hours."

"Don't you think you ought to stay with your sister at a time like this?"

"Oh, Pops," Jimmy said impatiently. "For a little black eye?"

"How're you doing at the office?" Strand said, switching the subject, not wishing to argue with his son. He hadn't won an argument with him since Jimmy was twelve.

"Still feeling my way," Jimmy said. "Ask Solomon. He knows better than I do. Anyway, whatever he thinks, I like the job."

Strand was about to tell him that he didn't like the way he dropped the Mister when he spoke about Solomon and Hazen, but suddenly remembered Eleanor's cable. In the excitement over Caroline's injury, it had completely slipped his mind. "Have you seen Eleanor?" he asked.

"No," Jimmy said. "We talked over the phone last week."

"What did she have to say?"

"Nothing much," Jimmy said carelessly. "The usual. That I sounded as though I wasn't getting enough sleep. Sometimes I think she believes she's my mother, not my sister."

"Did she say anything about getting married?"

"Why would she say anything like that?" Jimmy sounded genuinely surprised.

"Because she got married four days ago. In Las Vegas."

Jimmy stopped walking. "Holy cow! She must have been drunk. Did she say why?"

"That's not the sort of thing people put in cablegrams," Strand said. "The family's had a full week."

"You can say that again." Jimmy shook his head wonderingly. They started walking again toward where Conroy was packing their bags into the car in front of the terminal. "Where're they now? I'd like to call her and tell her her loving brother wishes her many happy returns of the day."

"You can't call her. She didn't tell us where she was."

Jimmy shook his head again. "She's devious, that girl. Devious." He put his hand gently on his father's arm. "I wouldn't worry, Pops. She'll be all right. He's okay, Giuseppe. They must know what they're doing. And you'll have a little tribe of angelic bambinos to dandle on your knee."

"I can't wait," Strand said gloomily as he climbed into the big Mercedes, where the others were already installed.

Caroline had a stubborn, set expression on her face and she looked grotesque with the bandage on her nose and the swollen, discolored eye. He leaned over and kissed her. "My dear little girl," he said softly.

"Oh, leave me alone," Caroline said, shrugging away.

It was not a happy group that drove away in the big car in the direction of the city.

As the car crossed the bridge into Manhattan it occurred to Strand that since the first night Hazen had staggered into the apartment, bloody and stunned, he had had more to do with the medical profession than at any other period of his life.

3.

NATURALLY STRAND THOUGHT, AS he listened to the doctor, who was talking to them in his brisk, best-man-in-the-business manner, naturally it was worse than it looked. It was a period when things were worse than they looked.

"The bone's pretty well smashed and the left septum is blocked," the doctor said to Leslie and Strand in the elegant Park Avenue office into which he had called them after he had looked at the X rays and completed his examination of Caroline, whom he had left with an assistant in another room where the assistant was putting on another bandage and drawing samples of blood. "I'm afraid that it will mean an operation," the doctor said. He didn't look afraid, at all. The English language, Strand thought, with all its polite ambiguities. "We'll have to wait a few days until the swelling goes down. I'll reserve the operating room. That is, if you agree."

"Of course," Leslie said.

Strand nodded.

"She'll only have to stay overnight," the doctor said. "There's really nothing to worry about, Mrs. Strand."

"Mr. Hazen tells me she's in the best possible hands," Leslie said.

"Good old Russell." Dr. Laird smiled at this reported vote of confidence. "In the meanwhile, I advise putting the young lady to bed and keeping her quiet. She's too brave for her own good. Will you stay in New York or do you plan to go out to Russell's place on the Island?"

"We'll be in New York," Leslie said quickly.

"Good. The less she moves around the better." He stood up to show that the interview was over. The best man in the business had no time for idle talk. "I'll call you after I make the arrangements at Lenox Hill Hospital, that's just around the corner from here on 77th Street, and tell you when to bring the young lady in." He accompanied them into the waiting room, where Linda and Hazen were sitting, Linda thumbing nervously through a magazine and Hazen staring, his face set, out the window.

"Russell," the doctor said, "might I have a word with you in my office?"

Hazen got up and followed him out of the room. Linda put down her magazine and looked at Strand inquiringly.

"There're some complications," Strand said. "He's got to operate."

"Oh, dear," Linda said. "The poor girl."

"There's nothing to worry about, the doctor told us," said Leslie. "I'm sure he knows what he's talking about."

"Has he told Caroline?"

"Not yet."

"I hope she won't be too upset."

"When she learns that if she wants to breathe normally from now on she has to have an operation, I'm sure she'll be reasonable," Leslie said calmly.

They were still waiting for Caroline when Hazen came out. There was no indication from his expression of what private communication the doctor had had with him. "Is there anything Dr. Laird told you that he didn't tell us?" Strand asked.

"Nothing important," Hazen said. "He hasn't got time to lie. No-all he said was that in a case like this with young girls, when he has to operate anyway, there's always a chance that at the same time, if the patient wants it, he can easily do a little cosmetic job."

"What does that mean?" Strand asked suspiciously.

"Make the nose more esthetically pleasing to the eye is the expression he used. He does a lot of plastic surgery and from what I hear he has a satisfied clientele."

"Why didn't he tell us that?" Strand asked.

"Sometimes, he said, parents are apt to get angry at the suggestion. Their vanity is touched. He'd rather that you get angry at me than at him."

Strand glanced at Leslie. She was looking at Linda. Linda was nodding her head vigorously.

"Of course," Hazen said, "you'd have to see what Caroline wants."

"I know what Caroline wants," Leslie said. "She'd be delighted."

"How do you know that?" Strand asked, taken aback.

"We discussed it, long before we went to France," Leslie said, sounding defiant. "Way back, when Eleanor talked about it."

"Why didn't you say something to me then?" Strand demanded.

"I was waiting for the right moment," Leslie said.

"And you think this is the right moment?" Strand tried to keep his voice from rising.

"Providential," Leslie said calmly. "Maybe we ought to give a vote of thanks to that boy George for the way he drives."

"I think it's nonsense." Strand knew he didn't sound convincing.

"Allen," Linda said, "please don't be medieval."

"Well, there's one sure thing," Strand said, although he knew he was beaten. "I'm going to talk to the young lady myself."

"Oh, Allen," Leslie said impatiently, "don't make a drama out of it. They do it a million times a year."

"Not in my family, they don't." He turned toward the door to one of the inner offices as Caroline came out with the assistant who had been taking care of her. She had a new rakish bandage tilted over her nose and bad eye.

"How do you feel, baby?" Strand asked.

"I'm breathing my last," Caroline said.

"Don't be flip. We're taking you home. Come on." Strand held the door open and Caroline, holding her mother's arm, went out with Linda. Hazen held back a little, as though reflecting. "You coming?" Strand asked.

"Yes, yes, of course." Hazen seemed flustered.

"Is there something else the doctor told you?" Strand felt that he was surrounded by conspirators.

"No, nothing," Hazen said. "I'll tell you some other time."

What a day, what a goddamn day, Strand thought as he and Hazen followed the others to the waiting car. Millions of people are starving to death and killing each other all over the world and we're worrying about whether a girl's nose should be a quarter of an inch shorter.

The apartment was a mess in the following days. Leslie had started packing immediately for the move to Dunberry and the place was a confusion of barrels and crates and excelsior to protect the dishes and pictures and there were long discussions between Leslie and Caroline, who refused to go out while she still had bandages all over her face, about what to throw out and what to take along. They had had the apartment for twenty-five years and Strand was aghast at the amount of junk they had piled up. Leslie refused to let him help at all because she didn't want him to overexert himself and he couldn't find anything in the confusion. New York was suffering a heat wave, there was no word from Eleanor, and Jimmy was no help at all, appearing briefly at odd hours, monopolizing the telephone when he was home and often not sleeping there but merely rushing in early in the morning to shave and dress for work. Strand was annoyed at what he privately called the boy's distasteful habits, but, heeding the doctor's advice about not getting excited, said nothing about it. He found himself wandering around the streets of New York, reading the newspapers over too many cups of coffee in cafeterias, feeling lonely and at a loss and useless. He had called Dr. Laird's office to find out what the operation on Caroline's nose would cost. He had not been able to get hold of the doctor himself, but had been told by the doctor's secretary, who sounded as though she had been interrupted in the middle of an operation herself, that the matter had already been taken care of. He had called Hazen's office to protest, but Mr. Hazen, he was told, was out of town and could not be reached.

He saw a great many movies, sitting alone in the cool darkness to escape the heat of the streets, and enjoyed none of them. There was one asset in being in New York in August. It made the prospect of moving away from it pleasurable. If he had been twenty years younger, he told himself, he would have gone to the outskirts of the city and hitched a ride on the first car that picked him up and gone anywhere the road would take him.

One afternoon he found himself on the street where Judith Quinlan lived. He nearly went into the hallway of the building and pushed the button of her apartment. Some of the movies he had seen had been pornographic in the extreme, in the new style, and to add to his general discomfort he was subject these days to wild erotic reveries. With his hand poised above the knob on the outside door he pulled back. He imagined headlines: SCHOOLTEACHER FOUND DEAD IN MISTRESS'S BED. He had not lived the life he had led to come to that end. He let his hand drop and walked into the park and sat on a bench and watched the pigeons, who did not seem to mind the heat.

The day before the operation was scheduled Jimmy moved out of the apartment. He scribbled an address. Care of Langman on East 53rd Street. It was convenient, Jimmy said, near the Solomon office. Jimmy did not say whether it was a Miss Langman or a Mrs. Langman or a Mr. Langman and both Leslie and Strand were too embarrassed to ask. Jimmy said it was about time they got rid of the old apartment. It was like carrying 1890 on your back to live there, he said. Strand remembered all the joys, all the sorrows he had lived through in the capacious rambling rooms-the cries of children, the music of the piano, the quiet afternoons poring over books, the smell of cooking-and had told Jimmy to shut up.