“Washington is different,” Bella put in. “We have colored police officers here.”

“Not many,” Woody said. “Although you can bet they will all be at the forefront today.”

Beep Dewar came into the dining room. She was fifteen and petite. “Who’s going to be at the forefront?” she said.

“Not you, I hope,” said her mother. “You stay clear of trouble, please.”

“Of course, Mama.”

Jasper noted that Beep had learned a measure of discretion in the two years since he had last seen her. Today she looked cute, but not especially sexy, in tan jeans and a loose-fitting cowboy shirt—a sensible outfit for a day that might turn disorderly.

She acted toward Jasper as if she had completely forgotten about their flirtation in London. She was signaling that he should not expect to take up where he had left off. No doubt she had had boyfriends since then. For his part, he was relieved that she did not feel he belonged to her.

The last member of the Dewar family to appear at breakfast was Cameron, Beep’s older brother by two years. He was dressed like a middle-aged man, in a linen jacket with a white shirt and a tie. “You stay out of trouble too, Cam,” said his mother.

“I have no intention of going anywhere near the march,” he said prissily. “I’m planning to visit the Smithsonian.”

Beep said: “Don’t you believe colored people should be able to vote?”

“I don’t believe they should cause trouble.”

“If they were allowed to vote, they wouldn’t need to make their point in other ways.”

Bella said: “That’s enough, you two.”

Jasper finished his coffee. “I need to make a transatlantic phone call,” he said. He felt obliged to add: “I’ll pay for it, of course,” though he was not sure he had enough money.

“Go right ahead,” Bella said. “Use the phone in the study. And please don’t trouble about paying.”

Jasper was relieved. “You’re so kind,” he said.

Bella waved that aside. “I think Life magazine probably takes care of our phone bill, anyway,” she said vaguely.

Jasper went into the study. He called the Daily Echo in London and reached Barry Pugh, who said: “Hi, Jasper, how are you enjoying the USA?”

“It’s great.” Jasper swallowed nervously. “Did you get my Smokey Robinson piece?”

“Yes, thanks. Well written, Jasper, but it doesn’t make it for the Echo. Try the New Musical Express.”

Jasper was disheartened. He had no interest in writing for the pop press. “Okay,” he said. Not ready to give up, he added: “I thought the fact that Smokey is the Beatles’ favorite singer might give the interview extra interest.”

“Not enough. Nice try, though.”

Jasper tried hard to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Thanks.”

Pugh said: “Isn’t there some kind of demonstration in Washington today?”

“Yes, civil rights.” Jasper’s hopes rose again. “I’ll be there—if you’d like a report?”

“Hmm . . . Give us a ring if it gets violent.”

And not otherwise, Jasper inferred. Disappointed, he said: “Okay, will do.”