"You weren't a bastard," Ellsworth said shortly. "People fall in love with the wrong people. That's all."

Brewster and Fred came into the bar and Michael ordered a round of drinks for them all.

"Say, Mr. Storrs," Brewster said, brushing away the foam of the beer he had ordered from his moustache, "I was just telling Fred here I kind of think I know you."

Michael smiled. "You did, Officer. I gave you a good licking when you were ten years old."

"Oh," Brewster said, laughing, "you're the sonofabitch. I couldn't sit down for a week. Sure I know you. You had a hand like a fucking iron bar. Welcome back." He shook his head. "And to think I had the chance to put you in the clink and muffed it." He grinned. "Wait till I tell my old man. My mother wouldn't let him touch me and he said you did me more good with that whipping than ten years in school. He wanted to send you a bottle of whiskey but I didn't know your name." He put out his hand and Michael shook it. "Welcome to Green Hollow, Mr. Storrs."

They had another round of drinks on that and Fred asked Ellsworth what the story was about Michael's saving his life.

"Well," Ellsworth said, "we used to ski a lot together, days when the ski school let him off, and we were skiing in a blizzard and it was beginning to get dark-one thing you could rely on Mike for was that anything could happen when you were out with him-high, high up- and I took a fall and broke my leg-later on they found out the tibia was snapped in two places. There was nobody else around and if Mike had left me alone to go down and get the patrol and then come back to try to find me, I'd've frozen to death. It was about twenty below zero and I couldn't move an inch. I weighed two hundred and ten pounds and this little soft college fella picked me up and carried me piggy back down the hill."

"Is that true?" Brewster asked incredulously.

"What Herb doesn't say," Michael said, "was that it was pure selfpreservation on my part. I was completely lost. I couldn't pick out anything with the snow coming down the way it was. And Herb'd been skiing here since he was three years old and knew the mountain like his own living room, and besides he was born with a compass in his head. I just picked him up so that he could give me directions. I was ready to kill him for being stupid enough to break his leg in that sort of weather."

"Yeah," Ellsworth said. "Be that as it may, Mike Storrs is a son in my house anytime he shows up."

They ordered another round and drank to the sentiment.

"Well, gentlemen," Michael said to the policemen, "have you got that balloon I can breathe into now?"

"You know something, Mr. Storrs," Brewster said generously, to cement the new friendship, "I believe you could whip my ass even now."

"Just don't throw any snowballs, Norman," Michael said, "and you're safe."

It was a perfect way to end the long trip up from the city, Michael thought as he got into the Porsche and followed Ellsworth's car to a new hotel that Ellsworth said was now the best in town and where he thought Michael might like to stay until he found a place of his own.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

The hotel was called the Alpina and as they walked from their cars toward the entrance Ellsworth explained that it was owned by an Austrian couple, whose own house a few hundred yards farther down the road he had just finished remodeling. The hotel was pleasant looking, architecturally unpretentious, rambling in shape, of white clapboard, rooted in New England, making no claims to be part of a Tyrolean village.

Inside, Michael saw that it was furnished comfortably with Colonial and rustic pieces, everything impeccably polished. Ellsworth introduced the man behind the front desk as Mr. Lennart, the manager. Mr. Lennart was a stout, unflappable-looking man of about fifty-five and seemed friendly as he asked Michael how long he expected to stay.

"A week, maybe," Michael said, as he signed the register. "At least for starters."

"Treat him right, Joe," Ellsworth said. "He's an old friend of mine."

"We're still just about empty," Lennart said, "so we can start by giving him the best room in the house." He rang the bell on the desk and a young man in a checked shirt who looked like a skier appeared, and Michael gave him the keys to the Porsche so he could get the baggage out of it.

"Well, then, you're all set," Ellsworth said. "See you at the house about eight. I imagine you still know how to find it."

"I'll be there."

Just as Ellsworth was about to turn and leave, a woman came down the main staircase into the entrance hall, followed by a big golden retriever. She was a handsome woman somewhere in her thirties, with a mass of ash blond hair done up in a neat, rather severe bun. She had blue eyes set in a long, pointed face and was wearing a light gray fur coat that Michael guessed was lynx.

"Good evening, Mrs. Heggener," Ellsworth said. "May I introduce a friend of mine who's going to be staying with you for a while? Mr. Michael Storrs."

"How do you do, sir?" Mrs. Heggener said. Her voice was reserved, her accent slight but unmistakably foreign. She did not offer to shake hands. "I hope you have a pleasant stay, Mr. Storrs."

"I'm sure I will," Michael said.

"I hope your husband is doing better," Ellsworth said.

Mrs. Heggener shrugged. "As well as can be expected. He's getting the best care possible. At least in America."

"Is he here?" Ellsworth asked. "I haven't seen him around."

"He's still in the hospital. More tests. Ridiculous." Her tone was sharp. Michael was glad that he wasn't the doctor in charge of testing Mr. Heggener.

"I expect he'll be back in a week or so," Mrs. Heggener said. "And I should have the house ready for him when he comes. Now that you've finished your job on it, mine begins. I must tell you, I think it's come out very well."

"Thank you," Ellsworth said.

"I have to make sure the new furniture gets here in time and the rugs laid and the curtains hung. Help is so hard to find these days . . ."

"Everybody's busy getting ready for the season," Ellsworth said, "but if I hear of anybody . . ."

"That would be kind." Mrs. Heggener fluffed the collar of her coat up around her face and made a little clicking noise to the dog, which had been sitting beside her making small, impatient sounds. Michael and Ellsworth watched her go out. No nonsense there, Michael thought.

Then the bellboy came in carrying Michael's bags and Michael followed him up one flight of stairs to a large room, with a big double bed, a fireplace, a wide desk, a rocking chair and two deep green corduroy-covered easy chairs. Everything was crisply clean and in order, brass lamps on the desk and tables throwing a subdued and comfortable light.

After the bellboy had left, Michael went over to one of the windows to see what the view was. The room was at the front of the building and in the light of the lamps that lined the driveway he saw Mrs. Heggener, bundled in her coat, with the dog trotting beside her, walking toward where the Porsche was parked. Mrs. Heggener stopped and peered at the car. The dog lifted his leg and peed against the rear wheel. Mrs. Heggener looked up at the window of Michael's room. He knew he was outlined against the light of the lamps and he knew she was staring at him. He had the impression that she was smiling.

He stepped back hastily. I hope the damn dog isn't an omen, he thought. He was sorry Mrs. Heggener had seen him at that moment.

He unpacked, bathed and shaved and put on fresh clothes, then wrote a short note to Antoine giving him the address of the Alpina and asking Antoine to go to the hotel in New York where Michael had left the bulk of his belongings and search for the registration for the Porsche. "All is blessedly peaceful here," he wrote, finishing the letter. "So far there is no snow, but it is balanced by a distinct absence of pianists and Texans. Au revoir, Michael." He remembered to scrawl Antoine's alias on the envelope and the address of the loathsome hotel to which Antoine had fled. Then, carrying an old sheepskin coat that he had had since his days in college, he went down to the desk and gave his key to the nightclerk.

Mrs. Heggener, now dressed for the evening in a long black gown, was sitting in a little sitting room visible from the lobby, the retriever lying on the carpet beside her. She was reading a book, but looked up as Michael stood at the desk and nodded at him and he nodded back. As Michael was waiting for the stamp to put on his letter, a tall, slender, exquisite black girl, very young, dressed as a maid in black, with a small white apron, crossed the lobby carrying a tray with a bottle of white wine and a single glass and went into the room where Mrs. Heggener was sitting. He couldn't help but stare.

The girl poured the wine into Mrs. Heggener's glass and Mrs. Heggener raised it in salute to Michael. She was obviously used to the guests of the hotel staring at her beautiful servant. She said something that Michael couldn't hear to the girl and the girl came over to Michael and said, "Mr. Storrs, Mrs. Heggener asks if you would like to join her for a glass of wine/' her voice melodious and shy.

He looked at his watch, decided he could spare five minutes and said, "Thank you very much," as the waitress went off to fetch another glass.

"It's very kind of you, madam," he said, as he threw his coat over the back of a chair.

"Please do sit down," Mrs. Heggener said. "It's good of you to join me. This is the time of the year I like best-before the season really begins and I have the place practically to myself. But there are moments when one is grateful for a little company. You are familiar with the town?"

"I spent a winter here many years ago. This hotel wasn't built then."

"No, my husband and I are comparative newcomers." Her tone was even, the words carefully spaced and clear, giving or taking nothing.

"When I was here before, no one dressed for dinner. I'm afraid I left anything fancy back in New York."

"Oh, this," Mrs. Heggener said, flipping a fold of her skirt slightly. Her hands, Michael saw, were long and pale, with polished, pointed nails. "I dress as the mood moves me. Our guests are encouraged to do the same. Tonight I happened to feel rather formal." She studied him frankly. Almost automatically, his hand went up to the open collar of his flannel shirt. Mrs. Heggener smiled. "Don't worry, you look splendid."

He put his hand in the pocket of his tweed jacket. Nobody had ever told him he looked splendid.

"Do you plan to stay long?" she asked.

"For the season. At least," he said, "if all goes well."

Mrs. Heggener arfched her full, unplucked but shadowed eyebrows, as though surprised. "For the season? Well, we shall have to see that all goes well."

The waitress came back with a second glass and Mrs. Heggener poured. She lifted her glass. "Prost"

"Prost," he said.

"For the season," Mrs. Heggener repeated. "How fortunate for us. There are very few Americans your age who can tear themselves away from their work for a whole winter."

"I'm one of the lucky ones," Michael said, drinking. "The wine is delicious."

"Austrian," Mrs. Heggener said. "Have you ever been in Austria?"

"I've been in St. Anton, Kitzbiihel, a couple of weeks."

"You're a skier, of course."

"I manage to get down the hill," Michael said. He had the feeling his credentials were being examined by this cool critical woman, with every movement measured.

Mrs. Heggener sipped at her glass. She had a wide mouth with full, unrouged lips, somehow, Michael thought, not fitting the same face as the cold blue eyes and the fine-downed almost ascetic lines of her cheeks. "My father grows this wine," she said. "I've drunk it since I was a child. One grows attached to the tastes of childhood. Shall I have Rita leave a bottle for you in your room for a nightcap this evening?"

"That would be very nice. Thank you."

"If you don't mind a rather mournful empty dining room," she hesitated, "perhaps you would like to share your dinner with me."

"That's very good of you, madam, but I'm dining with the Ellsworths."

"Of course," she said. "He's an old friend of yours, I take it."

"Old enough."

"He's a good friend, too-of my husband's. He helped build this hotel. My husband found him most straightforward and companionable. You could not be introduced under better auspices. It's a good breed-mountain men. You're from New York, aren't you?"

"Except on weekends and holidays "

Mrs. Heggener laughed. Michael had the impression that she was a woman who did not laugh often or heartily. It was a pity, he thought, because the cold face softened attractively when she laughed and she had perfect gleaming teeth. "I know what you mean," she said. "One fortnight there and my nerves are ragged. If I may ask, what do you do between weekends and holidays?"

"I struggle along," Michael said evasively. He didn't like being quizzed, judged, categorized by this cool, self-possessed woman.

"The struggle is not without its rewards, I believe," she said. "I saw your car."

"I occasionally pamper myself." Michael put the glass down and stood up. "Thank you for the wine. I'm afraid I must be going."

"If there's anything you need, please don't hesitate to ask. The service will be worse later-when the crowds come. Enjoy your dinner."

"I look forward to it." He took a step toward the door.

"Oh," Mrs. Heggener said, stopping him, "and forgive Bruno here." She patted the dog's great head. "In a way, what he did was a compliment. He . . . ah . . . anoints . . . only the most luxurious of machines."

Michael laughed. "Good old Bruno." He bent and patted the dog's head. The dog panted and wagged his tail lazily.

"He's a snob about people too," Mrs. Heggener said, plainly approving of Bruno's character. "He is very choosy about whom he bestows his friendship on."

"I'm flattered," he said.

"I'm sure you're used to flattery, Mr. Storrs," she said. "Have a pleasant evening."

"Goodnight, madam." She nodded and picked up the book she had been reading and ruffled the pages to find her place.

Glacial, he thought, as he went out of the hotel. Then he shivered and put on his coat and got into the car and drove off.

As he pressed the front door bell of the Ellsworth house, a gray-shingled two-story New England structure to which Ellsworth, Michael noticed, had added a new wing, he remembered the first time he had rung that bell. He had just arrived in town and had seen the sign, room to rent, and he had spent the first two nights in a noisy, unkempt small hotel full of roaring college kids who couldn't hold their liquor, and the neat gray house had promised comfort and peace. It had given him that and more-prodigious meals and the friendship of the family, although he had only stayed two weeks then, because by the time two weeks had passed he had become involved with several ladies, including the one who was no longer Mrs. Harris and there was no possibility of entertaining the then Mrs. Harris or any of the other ladies in his small bedroom at the back of the house where the church-going and straitlaced family could hear every move he made through the thin wooden walls.

"Come in, come in," he heard Ellsworth's voice booming from somewhere in the house. He opened the door and went into the familiar hall as Ellsworth came out of the living room carrying a glass. He was coatless, the collar of his shirt open around his bull neck.

"Minna was beginning to worry," Ellsworth said, helping Michael off with his coat. "She remembers you like your roast beef rare and she was afraid you were running late and it would be overdone."

"I was held up by a lady," Michael said as they went into the living room.

"So soon?" Ellsworth said, but did not sound surprised.

"The owner's wife," Michael said. "Madam Heggener."

"Oh," Ellsworth said flatly. "That one."

Michael looked around the living room. It had hardly changed. The same grandfather clock ticking away, the same sofa, with the print a little more faded, the same photograph of Herb and Minna Ellsworth on their wedding day, their faces grave, their bodies rigid, Ellsworth big, but athletically trained down in a lieutenant's uniform. "I have some great memories of this room," Michael said softly. "Mostly of me sitting here with my leg up in a cast." Ellsworth waved his glass in his big rough hand. "I'm drinking whiskey," he said. "What's yours?"

"I was drinking white wine. Austrian wine."

"Ah, yes," Ellsworth said. "She tell you her father grows it?"

"Right off." .

"She tell you her father was a count or something in the old country?"

"No."

"Wait," said Ellsworth. "She stepped down, marrying a hotelkeeper. Only the hotelkeeper supports the count these days. And his vineyard. I have a bottle of wine in the refrigerator. I'll go get it." He went through the dining room into the kitchen.

He might be a friend of the husband, Michael thought, but he's no friend of the wife. Ellsworth's dogs had never been snobs.