It stirred something in Lilian, the thing which didn’t match up with the world. But she was more struck by Irene’s bedraggled state and wanted to help her friend.

Why, no, she said.

Irene looked at her helplessly. I don’t know what it is lately — she laughed in a quick high way — oh, but how are you? She leaned forward, elbows and knees meeting. And your mother, how is she?

Mrs. Eliot’s health had been frail. It had affected her parents to such an extent they were unaware of it. She’s fine, Lilian said, the only answer she ever gave to questions about her mother.

Please send her my best, said Irene. She had no idea of Mrs. Eliot’s real opinion, and always expressed warmth toward her, disturbing Lilian who hated unequal things.

Irene stood up and poured another drink. What is that noise? she said impatiently.

What noise?

That buzzing.

I don’t hear any —

I heard it the other day playing tennis, Irene said. Like crowds, or something buzzing. She stopped when she noticed Lilian’s expression.

How’s Bobby? Lilian said, trying for a lighter note.

But Irene looked as if she’d been asked to solve a mathematical equation. She went to the desk drawer, a lovely yellowish desk painted with palm trees and Indian figures, and pulled out a pile of travel brochures. He wants to go on a trip together, Irene said, as if this were the idea of an insane person. He thinks it would be good for me.

Oh, but a trip would be wonderful, Lilian said.

Irene handed Lilian a brochure with a distinct lack of interest. Some island, she said. The only good thing about it is the name of the hotel: the Blue Ruin. Irene laughed. Like me.

She downed her drink. Don’t you hear? A wild look passed over her face. There it is again. She turned to Lilian with her black eyes. I’m sure you think I’m quite mad, she said.

47 • The Blue Ruin

47 • The Blue Ruin

THAT SPRING Lilian Finch brought the girls to Florida for a week in March. They picked up shells in the wet sand and ate pineapple sherbet for dessert. She called the number she had for Arthur a few times and finally got a Hispanic gentleman who told her that Mr. Eliot was not aquí. He hung up before Lilian could leave a message. They were not so far from Palm Beach and Lilian felt his closeness but tried not to feel the keenness of it. The girls helped see to that.