‘Nobody foresaw it spreading so fast,’ said Walter. ‘Jesus Christ, Morris, it didn’t even begin to appear at all before Monday or Tuesday. Now it’s Saturday, and already it’s wiped out a third of our fruit and vegetable produce.’

‘Has anybody got close to analysing it yet?’

‘Well, my own people at Fresno have been working on it pretty hard, but so far they don’t have any ideas at all.’

‘Have you kept in touch with Washington?’

‘Sure, I put in a call early this morning, and I’m going to call them again now. All I get is “we think we’ve nearly cracked it, and we’ll let you know.” They’ve been saying that since Wednesday.’

Morris Hunt lowered his head. ‘You’re sure it’s going to be as serious as eighty per cent crop loss?’

‘Morris, it may be worse. We may lose everything.’

‘You know what that’s going to do to the state’s revenues, don’t you? Total bankruptcy. And that’s quite apart from the human problem we’re going to face.’

Walter said uneasily, ‘What do you want to do?’

‘I’m going to fly back to Sacramento straight away. Tell Roger to call an emergency meeting for five o’clock, and to make sure that everybody attends. No exceptions. I want an assessment of the state’s food supply situation on my desk by four. Frozen foods, dried foods, canned foods – both private and military stocks. For God’s sake, though, don’t tell the media. Nobody at all. If it gets out that we’re thinking of rationing food there’s going to be anarchy.’

‘Okay, Morris,’ said Walter. ‘Will do.’

Morris put down the phone and walked outside again. He crossed the lawn to the top table, and leaned over to Mrs Irwin J. Harris.

‘Mrs Harris,’ he said, ‘I’m afraid that some really ridiculous crisis has come up. I’m going to have to leave you straight away.’

‘Oh, no,’ said Mrs Harris. ‘You haven’t even eaten your pâté de foie!’

Morris looked down at his plate, where a fresh-cut slice of pale pâté was waiting for him, dotted with truffles.

‘I’m sorry, Mrs Harris,’ he said. ‘But I think I just lost my appetite.’

*

Karen Fortunoff sat on the upper balcony of Lake Vista, drinking champagne, eating dry-roasted cashew nuts, and watching a portable television which one of the Muldoon brothers had silently placed on a small table for her. It was hot on the Kansas plains, almost insufferably hot; but up here by the ink-blue waters of Fall River Lake, there was a refreshingly cool wind. Karen wore a one-piece swimsuit in electric blue satin, and a loose white summer wrap which she had bought especially for the week-end.