‘That depends on when the last of the crates arrives from abroad,' Thorn said, 'but we're aiming for Easter.'

Thorn waited until the butler had removed the firstcourse dishes before turning the conversation to the real matter at hand.

'Paul,' he began, 'your report's brilliant, and how you turned it out in a month I'll never know.'

Buher was too well versed in corporate ways not to recognize a gentle letdown when he heard it. 'But...' he said, saving Thorn the trouble of saying it.

Thorn smiled. 'But... I don't think it's proper to enter into a project that radical without the full support of all our top people.'

'And Bill Atherton is against it.'

'Yes, and I trust him. You should, too. He might not be a dazzler like some of these young hot-shots, but he knows what he's doing.' Thorn paused to sip his coffee. 'I wish you'd make more of an effort to get along with him,' he went on. 'It would make your progress around here a hell of a lot easier.'

Buher knew that what he was about to say was dangerous, but he decided to risk it. One never got ahead by being cautious. 'Richard,' he said, leaning forward in his chair, 'if Bill Atherton's antagonism toward me is going to continue—if my career here is going to depend on keeping in the good graces of a man who obviously doesn't like me—perhaps it would be best for all concerned if I resigned. Left the company.'

'Nonsense,' Thorn said. Then, with a smile, he added, 'Your time will come.'

Buher nodded, but kept his own smile inside. 'All right,' he said, 'I'll keep my thoughts on ice for the time being.'

Until my time does come, he thought.

When they had finished breakfast, Buher followed Thorn out to the limousine, which was waiting to take him to the airport. Thorn had a meeting in Washington, which, despite Aunt Marion's death, could not be put off.

As they shook hands good-bye, Thorn softened the rejection he had just dealt Buher by saying, 'You'll be coming to the boys' birthday party this weekend, won't you? Up at the lake house?'

'Wouldn't miss it for the world,' said Buher, playing the same gentlemanly game as his employer. 'Is the lake frozen yet?'

'You bet,' said Thorn, putting his hand on Buher's shoulder. 'Bring your skates.'

Buher smiled and waved, then turned to walk to the corner to catch a cab. He had to laugh when he thought of Bill Atherton, in a business suit and tie, overcoat and muffler, stumbling about on the frozen surface of the Thorn's private lake. It should be fun.

***