‘I don’t know,’ said Ed. ‘I’m kind of a traditionalist myself. My ideal home is one of those white antebellum mansions in Virginia, with the darkies singing sweet and low in the cottonfields.’

Karen frowned at him. ‘You weren’t originally a farmer, were you? I mean, you don’t talk like a farmer.’

‘I was born on a farm, right here in Kansas. But I guess I’ve spent most of my intelligent life in New York City. I only came back here to take over the farm when my father and my older brother died.’

‘Oh. I’m sorry.’

Ed looked away. ‘It was a pretty hard knock. But at least I still own the land they gave their lives for. I guess it probably sounds sentimental to anyone else, but it’s given me the chance to build them some kind of memorial.’ Karen pressed the buzzer on the table for one of the Muldoons to come up. She scrunched up her eyes against the sunlight, and said, ‘That doesn’t sound sentimental at all. This blight must be hitting you pretty hard. Emotionally, as well as financially.’

Karen watched Ed carefully. She didn’t know him at all, and she supposed that it was quite possible he was a friend of Shearson’s, or Peter’s, or even a hired informer. But somehow he didn’t sound like it, or look like it. In the time that Karen had been working for Peter Kaiser, she had come to develop a nose for anybody who snuffled around the same political sty as Shearson Jones. They always had some of Shearson’s piggish characteristics – which Ed Hardesty plainly didn’t.

‘You know this blight’s going to turn out a whole lot worse than the news media have been giving out,’ Karen volunteered.

Ed turned away from the railing, and regarded her curiously.

‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.

‘Well, the television news has been saying it’s serious. A third of the wheat crop lost already, and a quarter of the soybean crop. But I don’t think anybody realises quite how serious it really is.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘There’s been a whole lot of hushing up. Some of it’s been deliberate, some of it hasn’t. Some of it’s been well-intentioned, because the government doesn’t want anybody to panic. But the truth is that almost every crop in every state has been affected – some badly, some not so badly – and it’s going to get a whole lot worse.’

‘How much worse?’ asked Ed, stiffly. He was as suspicious of Karen as she was of him.

‘Worse to the point where there may not be any fresh cereal, fruit, vegetables, or grazing crops – none at all. Worse to the point where the United States agricultural economy for one whole year may be totally wiped out.’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ asked Ed, in a wary voice.