Man, woman, and child(33)

"You must get over there for the State Department now and then, don't you?"

"Oh, the odd forty-eight-hour whirlwind. I call them, but they're always too busy with something or other. I think my wife's propaganda has done its work."

"Are you on very bad terms—or shouldn't I ask?"

"Not at all. Yes, we are on extremely bad terms.

She's never forgiven me for joining the British brain

drain. Not that she has anything against America—



she's never been here. But she objects to it in principle. So, having made me choose between her and Harvard—never expecting I would take the latter-she's been a bit ill-disposed towards me ever since. Vm still fond of her, if that counts for anything. And I miss the children. Oh—but Vm repeating myself. Do forgive me for babbling on about boring domestic matters.''

He looked at her. She did not seem bored, but she was a very bright, attractive woman, and he was anxious to make a good impression.

"You're not boring me at all," she answered, genuinely happy to be discussing someone else's domestic problems. And then she asked him, "Are you bitter?"

He seemed unprepared for her question. "Do I seem bitter?" he asked.

"No, of course not," she said quickly, "and it was impolite of me to ask."

"Not at all," he protested. "It was just unnecessary."

Now she was surprised. "I don't understand," she said.

"You're perspicacious enough to have noticed without asking. You could tell before my monologue was halfway through that my pride was—shall we say—sprained. Why else would I have told you when we could have been discussing things of interest to us both?"

Sheila did not know what to say. She was curiously flattered. She had never considered herself perceptive about anyone except Bob and the children. But Gavin was obviously trying to flatter her. After all, he had a reputation for suavity.

As she was reaching for the credit cards in her purse, he put his hand on hers.

"Just what do you think you're doing?" he asked.



"Paying the check/' she repHed. ''This was Harvard Press business."

'Tlease, I insist. All we did was talk about my domestic sorrows."

''No. I like to use my expense account. It makes me feel important."

She removed her hand, found her credit card, signaled the waiter and settled the bill.

"Thank you, Sheila," he smiled. "Are you always this persuasive?"

"Only when it comes to my job," she smiled back.

By five-thirty they had worked their way painstakingly through four chapters, marking in the margins where revisions or at least rechecking would be necessary. By now Sheila was getting tired.

"You'll have to excuse me, Gavin," she said, barely suppressing a yawn, "but Fve got a long drive back to the Cape. I can go through the rest of the chapters, make Xeroxes of the pages that need revision, and send them on to you in Washington "

He looked up from his bifocals and asked, "Must you?"

She nodded. "Fve got a family waiting. Anyway, the important thing is that we've met and agree on the changes."

"Yes," Gavin said. "I'm very glad we've met."

She started to gather her papers and put them into her zipper case.

"Sheila?" He was now standing, looking down at her. "Since the Press so graciously invited me to lunch, rd like to reciprocate by asking you to din-

ner.

She looked up at him. What had increasingly



impressed her all afternoon was not his good looks, but his manner. Patient and good-humored. Irony without cynicism.

"I really should be getting back," she protested in a way she hoped would not sound too definitive. "They expect me."

"Couldn't you ring them? After all, we*d be able to discuss more revisions."

She paused for a moment. What was her hurry to return to the minefield that she once called home?

"Well, actually, I might be able to stay over with a friend in Cambridge."

"Splendid. You ring them from here, and FU nip into Evelyn's ofiSce and book a table."

As soon as she was alone, she dialed Margo at the gallery.

"Darling—are you in Cambridge again? Have things exploded at the Cape?"

"No. I had to do some work at the Press. In fact, if you don't mind, I may call you later and ask if I can stay over."

"Oh, that's wonderful. Hal's off fishing with his children. All they probably catch is the tuna I packed for them. That means we can have a midnight party like the old days in Joss. Shall we meet for dinner?"

"Uh—no. I've got a few more hours of work."

"Then you definitely must stay. FU chill some wine. Oh, this'll be fun."

Then she called Bob and told him. He did not conceal his disappointment.