"It is always advisable to have witnesses . . ."

"Next time," Michael said sarcastically, "I'll hire Madison Square Garden when somebody draws a knife on me."

The old man looked at him shrewdly through the cloud of tobacco smoke. "You will only hurt your case if you permit yourself to get angry, Mr. Storrs."

"Sorry," Michael said.

"Herb Ellsworth called me again after you had left him," the lawyer said. "He wanted to fill me in with some background matter on the lady who will have to serve as your only witness. Mr. Storrs, I'm afraid I must be frank. The opposing lawyers will delve into her past, accumulate data about her reputation in town, the estimate of her character by her neighbors. If what Mr. Ellsworth has told me is even partially true, an aggressive lawyer could make mincemeat of a judge's or jury's estimate of her reliability. It is sad, unjust perhaps, that while using violence to protect the honor of a virgin brings with it many intangible elements of extenuating circumstances, the same force applied to the protection of a-shall we say-a self-admitted modem woman of the world-against a perhaps too ardent suitor- You do get my drift, don't you, Mr. Storrs?"

"You mean it's going to cost me some money."

"Very likely, sir. Not fifty thousand. After all, this is Vermont, not New York or California. But some. In any event I would be on surer ground after I had a word or two with the lady. The sooner the better."

"I'll call on her and see if she wants to talk to you."

"That would be wise, sir, before we proceed any further. In the meantime I'll get in touch with the plaintiff's lawyers and let you know what the situation is."

"Thank you, Mr. Lancaster," Michael said.

The old man was shuffling papers back and forth across his desk as Michael went out, his eyes smarting from cigar smoke.

"Oh, dear," Annabel said, as they sat in the living room of her house, drinking coffee, "what a mess I got you into. I'm terribly sorry. But the truth is I didn't see anything of what happened. I was practically unconscious and I couldn't honestly say I remember I ever saw a knife. ... I would like to help, of course, in any way I can, but. . ."

"There's something else, I'm afraid," Michael said. "Something the lawyer brought up. Something rather ugly."

"About me?"

Michael nodded. "If you're a witness, my lawyer says the other side will go into your history, your reputation in the town . . ."

Annabel put up her hand. "Enough said. I can see it now. Town bang's honor defended by heroic ski teacher. Columns of names of gentlemen who have enjoyed the lady's favor, select list of eminent gentlemen, nationally known politicians, Olympic skiers, movie actors, children in high school. .

"That's enough. Don't torture yourself."

"To say nothing," Annabel went on, "of the epidemic of divorce actions, ranging from Quebec to Palm Beach, as irate and alimonyconscious wives learn of mates' dalliances in the frozen North."

"Forget it," Michael said, standing up. "We'll get along without you."

"I'm sorry, Michael." Annabel stood, too. "I just couldn't go through with it."

"I understand." He kissed her cheek.

"Boy, oh, boy," she said, "have the chickens ever come home to roost! You know, Michael, I think the time has come for me to move. I've had enough of this town and the town has had enough of me." She smiled wanly. "Maybe I'll be taking up Eastern religions a little sooner than I had planned."

He stopped in front of The Chimney Comer, which was just opening for lunch. On a chance, he went through the restaurant and out the back door to the yard, to see if he could find the knife he had thrown over the roof. Jimmy Davis and two men from Ellsworth's company were digging with shovels and sorting through the piled junk. For once Davis didn't look cheerful. "Herb Ellsworth called and told me what happened Saturday night," Davis said, "and that you have a law case on your hands. We haven't found the knife yet and we probably never will, but even if we did I don't think it'd help you all that much, anyway. But I've got another angle. You got a minute?"

"All day," Michael said.

"Come on inside." Davis led him into the little office off the kitchen and closed the door. Davis produced a bottle of bourbon and they each took a shot, neat. "I know something about that guy Barlow," Davis said, "that might come in handy, if it gets too sticky in Montpelier. The guy's a pusher . . ."

"A what?"

"He peddles dope. Marijuana, heroin, cocaine. You name it, he supplies it. We put the narcs on his trail and they nail him, he won't look like a little innocent lamb when he has to stand up in court." "Give me a little more booze," Michael said. He wanted time to think and he drank slowly. "If he finds out who turned him in," he said quietly, "and most cases they do, he and his friends'd be coming after you."

"Possibly."

"Those fellas play rough."

"I know."

"I don't think they'd have any trouble finding another knife, Jimmy."

Davis shrugged. "I'll play that by ear."

"I don't want them to find you dead in an alley just because of me.

"When you keep a saloon," Davis said, "there are certain little risks you have to take. You say the word and I'll go over to the Feds in Montpelier and tell all. In fact, come to think of it, whether you say the word or not, I'm going over to Montpelier when the time is ripe." He said this defiantly, almost angrily, as though Michael were trying to deprive him of a project dear to his heart.

"You know, Jimmy," Michael said gently, "you're a pretty sturdy friend."

"Opinions vary," Davis said offhandedly.

"What's on the menu for lunch?"

"Lamb stew."

"That's just what I want for lunch today," Michael said, "lamb stew. Bland and simple."

"You need any dough?"

"Maybe something in the neighborhood of fifty thousand."

Davis grinned. "Put me down for five hundred," he said.

Antoine was at the piano at the far end of the bar, near the chimney, fooling idly with sad, long, disconnected chords. When he saw Michael come in, he got up from the piano and hobbled over on his walking cast and sat down opposite him. He didn't look as melancholy as he usually did. "I didn't know that you'd turned into a daytime drinker," he said.

"I came for lunch. Join me?"

Antoine made a face. "I just got up a half-hour ago. I'd still be asleep if those guys weren't making such a racket in the backyard. What're they looking for-buried treasure?"

"Something of the kind. I'll have the lunch, miss," he said to the waitress.

"Coffee, please," Antoine said. "Black."

"How's it going?"

Antoine's face brightened. "Things're looking up. I bared my heart to Davis and he's been talking to people and he says he's pretty sure he'll get the Immigration to give me a green card and a work permit in a couple of weeks. He's got connections everywhere, Jimmy. He's not much on paying, but he's great on connections."

"That's the best news I've heard in a long time," Michael said as he began on the soup the waitress put before him.

"Soon as I get the card, I'm off and running," Antoine said, blowing on his steaming black coffee. "I don't mind playing here, although the bunch of kids you get in here isn't what you'd call an ideal audience for a man of my caliber. And I'm getting itchy. I'm not a small-town boy. I'm a big-city man. And Green Hollow isn't even any Megeve, by a long, long shot."

"You owe a lot to Davis," Michael said, disappointed in his friend. "You might at least last out the season."

"I've got to think of my future, Mike," Antoine said. "The cast'll be off in two weeks or so and then it's New York, here I come. There was a mec in here last night, diamond rings on his fingers and wearing a cashmere jacket that must have cost him eight hundred dollars and it turns out he owns a classy boite on the East Side and he gave me his card and told me to come and see him soon, he likes my style, and he says he'll give me an engagement."

"Congratulations," Michael said sourly, remembering what Susan had told him about Antoine. "It's too bad," he said, "that rascals are more likely to be fun than honest burghers."

"What are you talking about, mon vieux?" Antoine asked defensively.

"You," Michael said.

"I warned you once I had a deplorable character, didn't I?"

"You certainly did," Michael said, starting in on the lamb stew as Antoine got another cup of coffee.

"You thought I was joking," Antoine said, "I wasn't joking."

"I see you weren't."

"Good people find it hard to understand bad ones," Antoine said gently. "And strong people have no patience with weak ones. You must remember not to confuse talent with virtue, my friend."

"I'll remember," Michael said.

"Now on to more pleasant things," Antoine said. "You coming on Saturday night? The kid-Rita-is making her debut."

"How is she coming?"

Antoine scowled into his coffee. "She's awfully stiff and shy," he said. "Then I had a brainstorm. I gave her a joint and she loosened up like a cloudburst. She sang like a forest full of birds. They'll eat her up on Saturday night."

"You mean to say you made that kid high on marijuana?"

"High as a kite. She was wonderful."

"If her father finds out he'll kill you," Michael said. "And if he doesn't, I will, or at least break all your fingers."

"Michael," Antoine said plaintively, "you're talking to your old friend, Antoine. Every jazz musician you've ever liked has used the stuff, if not a lot worse things. How many times have you and I smoked a joint together, mon Dieu!"

"I'm not a sixteen-year-old child. I'm not kidding. I'll break your own piano stool over your head if you do anything like that again." "Okay, okay," Antoine said gloomily. "She'll be a total bust, I warn you."

"Then she'll be a total bust. Though I don't think so."

"New England has gotten to you," Antoine said despondently. "You've turned Puritan."

"A little streak of Puritan wouldn't do you irreparable harm, either," Michael said. He pushed away from the table, although he had eaten only half his lamb stew. "I'm getting out of here."

He left Antoine shaking his head disbelievingly at the table.

What a day, Michael thought as he got into his car, what a miserable, fucking day.

He drove to the cottage and put on his ski clothes. There was still time to take Eva out, but today he wanted to ski alone. What he needed today was the mountains and speed and solitude.

When ho got to the top of the lift, he traversed over to the top of the Black Knight. He stopped and looked down it. It fell away, steep, slick, with big moguls, to the line of trees where the sharp turn to the left led to the trail through the woods. There was nobody on the slope. He would have it to himself. He adjusted his goggles, took a deep breath, and skated off with his skis glued together, gathered speed, flew over the bumps in a straight line, the wind tearing at his cap and goggles. His legs began to ache halfway down and he had to remember to make himself breathe, but he schussed the whole slope, nearly being hurled backward on a big icy bump just a few yards from the line of trees, righted himself triumphantly, his muscles screaming, and swung, with a bone-wrenching effort, at the turn and shot into the trail between the trees. Out of control, he just managed by inches to sweep past the big boulder in the middle of the trail. Coming full blast onto the open field, he nearly slammed into a class that was lined up diagonally across the slope. He swerved, dug in his edges and came to a stop just above Dave Cully, who was teaching the class.

Gasping, he grinned down at Cully.

"Good God, Mike," Cully said, recognizing him. "You could have killed somebody. Especially yourself."

"I needed to blow the body out," Michael said. "As they say at the track."

"This isn't the track," Cully growled. Then in a loud voice, he addressed his class. "Ladies and gentlemen, you have just had an educational experience, put on by one of the less sensible of our sterling band of instructors, on how not to take this run."

There was a little titter from the line of skiers and Michael waved good-naturedly at them. "I was letting a little light into my soul, Dave," he said.

"Next time you have to let a little light into your soul, let me know. I'll clear every slope. You take this class. I want to get back to the office. And I expect you to make one thousand slow, absolutely controlled turns with them between here and the bottom of the lift."

"Yes, sir," Michael said cheerfully.

Cully skied off, ostentatiously careful.

"You heard what the man said, ladies and gentlemen," Michael said loudly. "We are to make one thousand slow, absolutely controlled turns. Let us make one in single file and stop. Then we will only have nine hundred and ninety-nine others to make before dark." And it was almost dark by the time they got to the bottom and Michael was humming cheerily as he took off his skis and carried them to his car.

CHAPTER TWENTY.

The next morning he was still in a good mood when he took Heggener up the mountain. On the way up Heggener said, "Eva has kindly agreed to let me wait until next Wednesday before going to New York. Do you think you can take me down? I don't like to drive alone and I find driving tiring. Eva has offered to go with me, but it would mean a long argument on medical matters all the way, which tires me even more than driving."

"Of course," Michael said.

The skiing was good and Heggener seemed inexhaustible, his color high, a small, pleased smile on his lips when he stopped. It seemed foolish to Michael that a man who looked so formidably hale should have to go into a hospital, but he said nothing to Heggener.

"Ah, that was a nice morning," Heggener said, as they drove up to the big house. "It will help to get me through all those doctors' hands -at least for a day or two."

Eva was waiting for Michael and said she wanted to skip lunch and take advantage of the good snow and the sunlight, so Michael and she went right off, leaving Heggener standing between two of the white pillars, waving amiably at them.

They spoke very little while they were on the hill, but concentrated on whipping around other, slower skiers and working on technique. If it were always like this, Michael thought, I'd stay on here forever.

In the middle of the afternoon Eva said she'd like something to eat and they went into the lodge and had a sandwich and tea.

"Michael," Eva said, pouring her tea, "I heard you got yourself into trouble Saturday night."

"Who told you?"

She shrugged. "It's a small town. News gets around. I must say, your taste in the ladies you choose to do battle for is-shall we say- somewhat curious?"