Mr Newman started again. ‘I had a very good room here five summers ago. I wondered whether we could get it again.’

‘You can’t get anything here. Full up,’ the old man said, closing his eyes once and opening them to stare all blue into Newman’s face.

‘Oh,’ Mr Newman said. Somehow he could not meet the blue gaze of the old man. Looking down and then glancing at him, he said, ‘Is Mr Sullivan around? He’dremem …’

‘He’s swimming,’ the old man said, his head unmoving, ‘but he couldn’t help you. He’s my son. I own the hotel.’

Mr Newman met the old man’s adamantly kind gaze. ‘I see,’ he said, quietly. He took a breath. ‘I thought he’d remember me. I was here for two weeks …’

The old man’s eyes closed as he shook his head with the smile still soft. ‘Full up, mister. Couldn’t help you if I wanted to.’

‘We’ll go on to the other one then, Lawrence,’ Gertrude said, coming to them from the desk. Newman turned to her quickly. She was looking at the old man. Her eyelids were heavy and low and the little red splotches were showing on her face. ‘We wanted to save gas, that’s why we tried you.’

The old man’s smile came down. ‘I’d be glad to help you if we weren’t so full up,’ he said, with deeper baritone.

‘Yeh, I know. You must be mobbed with twelve cars out there. What, did the rest of your guests get here by yacht?’

‘I said what I have to say, lady.’

‘Jump in with your son and drown, will ya?’ She turned now to Newman who was standing between the valises gaping at her. ‘Let’s go, Lawrence,’ she said huskily.

Newman could not bend his back. He felt as though turned to iron. ‘Come on,’ she said angrily, ‘before I get squeezed to death in the mob here.’ With which she turned and strode across the empty lobby to the door and went out across the porch. Newman picked up the valises and hurried after her without turning back to the old man.

They bumped along the dirt road through the woods. He did not look at her, but instead involved himself in the details of driving. He rolled up his window when dust rose from the road, then rolled it down an inch, then down three inches more; held the wheel tightly in both hands, moved way over to the forested edge of the road to avoid a tiny bump, wiped a film of auto dust from the dashboard with his fingertips, pulled up his trouser legs a little more to keep them from creasing. And he drove at a crawl in low, as though they were not running away at all. She sat drawn away from him against the door, and he knew her body was stiff.