As Saturday wore on, though, Karen had grown increasingly restless and disappointed. Although she was impressed by the wealth and vulgarity of Shearson’s house, and by the greed of his lifestyle, she had expected him to invite at least one or two minor politicians to share his week-end in the Mid-West, or a movie star at the very worst. Instead, Shearson spent hour after hour closeted with Peter Kaiser, talking money and politics, and if anybody else was coming, there wasn’t any sign of them yet. Last night, Peter hadn’t come up to their balconied bedroom until way past three in the morning, and even though Karen had been reasonably encouraging, for the want of anybody else, he had fallen straight to sleep, and snored. He had been out of bed at six, and dressed, and his only amorous gesture had been to peck Karen on the cheek before he went downstairs to breakfast.

Now he was back in conference with Shearson, and she didn’t expect to see him until dinner. She yawned, and in technological response, the television started a re-run of The African Queen.

A voice said, ‘Hi.’

She looked around. Stepping out on to the balcony came a tall, loose-limbed man in a short-sleeved white shirt and cream slacks. His hair was thick and wiry and black, his eyebrows shaggy, and his eyes as green as pistachio ice, with mint chips. He smiled at Karen, walked to the rail, and looked out over the lake.

‘Quite a romantic view you’ve got yourself up here,’ the man said.

Karen shaded her eyes against the sun so that she could look at him. ‘It depends how romantic you’re feeling.’

The man glanced at the television. ‘You sound as if you don’t feel romantic at all.’

‘I’m potentially romantic,’ she said. ‘It’s just that, around here, romance doesn’t seem to be written into the schedule. It’s either eating, or politics, or both.’

‘That doesn’t sound too much fun,’ said the man. ‘I only just arrived here. My name’s Ed Hardesty, by the way.’

Karen held out her hand, and said, ‘Karen Fortunoff. Say – aren’t you the farmer? The one who’s supposed to be heading up the Blight Crisis Appeal?’

‘That’s right.’

Karen sat up straight. ‘Listen,’ she said, ‘would you like a glass of champagne? I’ll have one of the Muldoons bring it up for you.’

‘Why not?’ said Ed. ‘I’ve got nothing on my hands but time. Della said I had to come out here this afternoon for a video test, but it looks like the TV people have gotten delayed.’

‘Well, that’s show business,’ said Karen. ‘Have you ever seen this house before? Isn’t it something else?’