She closed her notebook. "Henry Maltzman was in to make a deposit, and he asked me what action we were taking on his request for a loan."

"What did you tell him?" he asked quickly.

"Just that I'd mention it to you."

He tapped the desktop with his fingers. "Graham says it's out of line with his statement."

"Graham is a Scotchman," she said scornfully. "He always says the loans are too big. If it depended entirely on him, we'd never make any."

He chuckled. "You've got a point there."

"And Henry Maltzman has been a good friend of the bank. He's touted a lot of business our way," she went on.

"You're right," he said. "One hand washes the other. If he should come in again today, tell him you think it's all right. Don't tell him I said so, because I don't want him to think it's official just in case the loan committee takes the bit in its teeth and decides to overrule me. But you can kind of hint-well, you'll know what to tell him."

"I'll manage," she said confidently.

"I'm sure you will. And now is there anything else?"

"You asked me to remind you of the Jordon report," she said coldly.

He noted the abrupt change in her manner and thought he knew the reason for it and was sympathetic. "Has he said anything-uh-nasty to you?"

"Oh, it's not what he says. It's just that-he's a dirty old man."

He was shocked. "You mean he-uh-made a pass at you?"

"I mean he brushes up against me, touches me-accidentally on purpose. Is he very important to the bank?"

"Just our biggest account and a director."

"Well, one day you're going to lose him-or me."

"Maybe if I talked to him ..."

She laughed. "Don't bother. I can take care of him. I stood for much worse when I was working in Boston and riding the subway every day."

He grinned. "I can imagine. Well, try to stay out of his way. And now, how about the Cavendish report?"

"I was planning on working on it all day tomorrow."

"Hm." He drummed a rapid tattoo on the desktop with his fingertips. "He called earlier and said he was coming in around noon tomorrow and asked if he could go over it with me at lunch."

"I could take it home and work on it tonight," she suggested.

"Could you? Gee, that would be swell. You're sure your husband wouldn't mind? How is he, by the way?"

"Herb's fine. He won't mind. He's going to a meeting of the executives of the temple Brotherhood tonight anyway." She laughed. "It's my mother-in-law who might object."

"Really? Why should she object?"

"Oh, she objects to anything I do," she said lightly. "From her point of view, all my time outside of work belongs to her precious son, even if he's not there." She sat back and went on conversationally, "What really burns her up is seeing Herb setting the table and starting dinner. But he gets home from school at three o'clock, and I don't get home until a couple of hours later. He doesn't mind, but it burns her up."

"I suppose he has papers to correct, lessons to prepare?"

"He does it all in his free periods and study periods. It will be all right."

"Well, I sure appreciate it. And look, you can take time off in exchange."

"Oh, there's no need, really." She hesitated. "But next Wednesday there is a meeting and-"

"And you'd like to go. Plan on it. Take the afternoon off. Take the whole day off if you like."

There was a timid knock on the door.

"Come in," he called out, and the receptionist, a young girl with a ponytail and wide innocent eyes, sidled in, shutting the door firmly behind her.

"Oh, Mr. Gore, there's a man out there who's just hanging around. I asked him if I could help him, and he said, no, that he just wanted to look around. I mean there's nothing to see in a bank-"

"Maybe he came in to look at the Peter Archer silver," Gore suggested.

"No, he just glanced at it."

"He may be a dealer, Elsie. They don't like to appear interested."

"Well, I thought where there was that bank robbery over in Scoville-"

"You thought he might be casing the joint?" He laughed. "What's he look like?"

"Well, he's an older man. I mean his hair is like gray...."

Molly had risen and opening the door had craned forward, the better to see into the lobby. She came back and with suppressed excitement said, "I think I know who it is, Larry. There was a picture of him the other day in the Boston Jewish News that my mother-in-law subscribes to. It's Ben Segal of the Segal Group of Chicago, the ones that are taking over the Rohrbough Corporation."

"You think so?" He got out from behind his desk and went to the door. Over his shoulder, he said, "There was a picture of him in Business Week a month or a month and a half ago. See if you can find it in that pile on the table."

Molly began flipping through the magazines and almost immediately called out, "Here it is."

He came back and studied the picture for a moment. "It's him all right." He said to the receptionist, "You're a good girl, Elsie." Then he strode through the office to where Segal was standing and said, "Welcome to Barnard's Crossing, Mr. Segal."

Segal turned and stared. "You know me?"

"Only from your picture in Business Week." He held out his hand.

"But that was a month ago," said Segal.

"Sure, but it spoke of your interest in the Rohrbough Corporation, and anything to do with Rohrbough concerns us. I'm Lawrence Gore, the president of the bank. We do the Rohrbough payroll, you know."

"I know."

"I'd like to talk to you about it if you've got some time. Look, it's about noon. How about discussing it over lunch."

"Well, I promised to take Mrs. Segal to some nice seafood restaurant."

"Splendid. We could pick her up wherever she is, and I'll take you to the Agathon, the best seafood on the North Shore. How about it?"

"Sounds good," said Segal. He nodded at the silver display in the wall case. "Do you sell the stuff?"

"The Peter Archer silver? Are you a collector? Do you know silver? No? Well, Peter Archer was a colonial silversmith whose shop was right here in Barnard's Crossing. He's practically unknown, except for collectors of course. Paul Revere is the name everybody knows. Now some of us think-I think-that Archer was a better craftsman and that Revere's reputation is due to his connection with the Revolution, Paul Revere's ride and all that sort of thing. So some of us"-he smiled self-consciously-"well, I guess it was my idea. Anyway, we thought we ought to do something about it. I approached the people at the Boston Art Museum, and they agreed to a Peter Archer exhibit if I could come up with a decent representation of his work. Those pieces in the bank are on loan from people from all over the area. It's all in the spirit of the Bicentennial. But, of course, we're hard-headed Yankees around here, so I was able to get as much as we have, and it's still coming in, by pointing out to the owners that having pieces exhibited at the Boston Art Museum will increase their value."

"Sounds like good business, Mr. Gore. Mrs. Segal is at the hotel. Maybe I ought to call her and tell her we're coming over."

"Sure. Use this phone." Gore reached for the phone on the receptionist's desk and slid it over.

"Where did you say you were taking us, Mr. Gore?" asked Segal as he lifted the receiver.

"The Agathon Yacht Club."

"A yacht club? Sounds kind of grand."

"This is sailing country, Mr. Segal, and the yachts are small sailboats mostly. It's the oldest club on the North Shore, though, and over the years it has developed into quite a place. Besides the regular docking facilities, we've got tennis courts, the only grass courts around. Costs a fortune to maintain them, but I suppose it's worth it-and a driving range, and a pistol range. But the nicest thing is the dining room. It's right on the water. I mean it's right over the water on pilings. You can actually hear the waves under you. It's like eating on the deck of a boat."

"Sounds nice. Mrs. Segal will like it."

6.

"Why it's like being on the water!" Mimi exclaimed as she sat down at the table near the window that Lawrence Gore had selected.

Her husband said, "Nice."

Gore beamed. "Right now, since the tide is in, you are on the water. This room is cantilevered over the water, but only when the tide is high." He laughed. "It would have to be about a hundred yards long to make it when the tide is out."

"And there are so many boats!" Mimi observed.

"Not half as many as there are during Race Week," said Gore. "The harbor is really crowded then. It almost seems as though you could cross it on foot, jumping from deck to deck."

"Very nice," said Segal. "All the members own boats? They all interested in sailing?"

"Oh no. Some had them and gave them up. There's a lot of work involved in owning a boat, and a big expense, too. Some never owned a boat, but crew occasionally for their friends. And then there are some who aren't the slightest bit interested."

"And you?"

"I used to be pretty keen. But nowadays the only facility I use is the pistol range." He smiled shyly. "I'm the club champion."

"Pistols, eh? I don't believe I've ever fired one."

"Oh, it's really a lot of fun. Would you like to try it-after lunch, I mean?"

"No, I think I'll pass it up," said Segal, smiling.

The waiter approached and they ordered. There were not many dining, and they were served quickly-fish chowder, and then broiled mackerel. They ate slowly and Segal obviously enjoyed it. "They do you very good here," he remarked. "This fish, and the chowder-excellent."

"Delicious," murmured Mimi.

"Well, we've got a good chef. And the fish was probably caught this morning. That's the advantage of living on the coast."

"I like fish," said Segal. "Only members allowed to eat here?"

"And their guests, of course," said Gore.

"What's involved in becoming a member?"

"The usual," said Gore. "A member sponsors you. Your name is posted, and then the membership committee votes on you. You pay your fees and that's it."

"Oh, Ben, wouldn't it be nice to come here for dinner whenever we wanted a seafood meal," said Mimi.

"Yeah. Suppose you put my name up for membership," Segal suggested negligently.

"I'd be happy to," said Gore. "But you know I could always fix you up with a guest card for a few days whenever you come down."

"Thanks, but we expect to be here more than just a few days every now and then. In fact, we're thinking of settling here."

"You mean right here in Barnard's Crossing? I'm glad to hear that. You'll like it here. It's really a wonderful old town." He hesitated. "Does that mean that you are planning on holding Rohrbough?"

"That's right. I'm going to operate it personally. That's confidential."

Gore smiled slyly. "Does that mean you want me to keep it a secret, or that you want me to leak it discreetly?"

Segal stared. Then he laughed shortly, a single explosive, Ha. "You're all right, young man. As a matter of fact, it doesn't mean a damn thing. It just came out-automatic, I suppose. We've got a controlling interest in the company, and I think it has good possibilities. No reason for keeping it secret."

"And you'll be living here? Have you found a place yet?"

"I suppose we'll build. As a matter of fact, Mimi and I have been doing some looking around. You know a good realtor?"

Because he had been talking about him with Molly Mandell earlier, and also because he thought Segal might appreciate his showing preference for a Jew, he said, "Henry Maltzman whose place is just down the street from the bank is a good man. He knows all the property in the area that's available."

"But we've already found a piece of land," said Mrs. Segal.

Segal showed momentary annoyance. "That's right," he said, "but I don't mind paying a commission. A good agent is worth it."

"You're absolutely right," said Gore. "There are a lot of local ordinances, and in an old town like this, there are tricky rights-of-way that you want to know about before you buy. A local agent can save you a lot of grief."