“It certainly is nice to have a terrace,” Mother was saying. “If only Gwen were here to enjoy it. Gwen always liked being outdoors.”

So that had been it. The “but.” “Gwen can go outdoors in Ohio any time she wants to, Mother,” he said. “She has three acres all to herself.”

Mother looked hurt. “You know what I mean, Barney.”

Immediately he felt the stab of guilt that Mother had clearly wanted him to feel. He buried it. “Gwen is well rid of me,” he said. “And I’m happy with Isabel.”

“It’s too bad we can’t meet Isabel. I suppose that when a woman goes out to a job…”

He could have brained her with a two-by-four. “Can you stay for an hour?” he said.

That caught her by surprise and she turned to Daddy. “I don’t really know. What do you think, Allston?”

Daddy grunted some sort of assent, his first vocalization since arriving. Mother turned back to Barney and said, “Well, I suppose it’ll be all right. No more than an hour.”

“Good,” Barney said, with triumph. “I’ll call Isabel and tell her to jump in a cab. We can all have lunch together.”

“Barney!” Mother said. “You’re such a child. We don’t need lunch. We’re dead.”

***

Isabel arrived breathless but poised. In her tight Sasson jeans and T-shirt her figure was stunning; her face, without makeup, framed by curly gray hair that matched her gray eyes, was luminous. Gwen’s waist was thick, her face solid and plain; she had a comforting look to her, domestic and tranquil. Isabel looked like a movie star on a day off. Gwen dyed her hair; Isabel glowed in gray.

“Mother and Daddy,” Barney said, “I’d like you to meet Isabel.” Isabel looked at their faces wonderingly. She had seen photographs of them. “Jesus!” she said. She held out a hand to Mother.

Mother was cool. “I’m sorry, dear, but there’s no touching.”

Isabel looked up to his face. “What’s going on, love?”

“It’s real, honey,” he said. “Hard to believe. But you get used to it.”

“I’d like a glass of wine,” Isabel said.

***

The four of them sat on the terrace. A blue jay perched itself on one corner of the fence, facing itself toward Central Park. The sky was a perfect blue. There was no breeze. Mother’s hands were folded in her lap, over the pleats of the blue rayon dress. Daddy stared at the middle distance. Isabel sipped her wine, Barney his coffee. The black cat, Amagansett, came to the open French doors and crouched himself toward the jay, motionless.

“Is your accent British?” Mother said at last to Isabel. It was a fencing question; if Isabel’s accent were not British de Gaulle had been Japanese.

Isabel nodded over her wine. “Scottish.”

“Such a civilized country,” Mother said. “With the lochs.” She pronounced it lox.

“Mmmm,” Isabel said and set her wineglass down on the deck.

“Yes,” Mother said, somehow satisfied by the exchange. She had managed to remove for herself any threats that Scotland might have for her and was ready to get down to business. “Are the two of you married? I don’t want to be rude.”