“What about your business?”

“That’s gone. Or it soon will be.”

“What do you mean, gone? A business doesn’t just go away.”

“No, but I won’t own it anymore. What few assets there are will belong to my … partners.” He spat the word and then, as if to cleanse his mouth of its unpleasant residue, took a long swallow of gin. “Has Martin told you about our conversation?”

“Yes.” Ellen looked down at the frying pan and stirred the chicken.

“I imagine you don’t think very highly of me anymore.”

“It’s not up to me to judge you, Larry.”

“I never wanted to hurt anybody. I hope you believe that.”

“I believe it. How much does Eleanor know?”

“Nothing, poor dear. I want to spare her, if I can. That’s one reason I want to move away. She loves me, you know, and I’d hate to take that love away … from either of us.” Vaughan leaned against the sink. “You know something? Sometimes I think—and I’ve thought this from time to time over the years—that you and I would have made a wonderful couple.”

Ellen reddened. “What do you mean?”

“You’re from a good family. You know all the people I had to fight to get to know. We would have fit together and fit in Amity. You’re lovely and good and strong. You would have been a real asset to me. And I think I could have given you a life you would have loved.”

Ellen smiled. “I’m not as strong as you think, Larry. I don’t know what kind of … asset I would have been.”

“Don’t belittle yourself. I only hope Martin appreciates the treasure he has.” Vaughan finished his drink and put the glass in the sink. “Anyway, no point in dreaming.” He walked across the kitchen, touched Ellen’s shoulder, and kissed the top of her head. “Good-bye, dear,” he said. “Think of me once in a while.”

Ellen looked at him. “I will.” She kissed his cheek. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Vermont, maybe, or New Hampshire. I might sell land to the skiing crowd. Who knows? I might even take up the sport myself.”

“Have you told Eleanor?”

“I told her we might be moving. She just smiled and said, ‘Whatever you wish.’ ”

“Are you leaving soon?”

“As soon as I chat with my lawyers about my … liabilities.”

“Send us a card so we’ll know where you are.”

“I will. Good-bye.” Vaughan left the room, and Ellen heard the screen door close behind him.

When she had served the children their supper, Ellen went upstairs and sat on her bed. “A life you would have loved,” Vaughan had said. What would a life with Larry Vaughan have been like? There would have been money, and acceptance. She would never have missed the life she led as a girl, for it would never have ended. There would have been no craving for renewal and self-confidence and confirmation of her femininity, no need for a fling with someone like Hooper. But no. She might have been driven to it by boredom, like so many of the women who spent their weeks in Amity while their husbands were in New York. Life with Larry Vaughan would have been life without a challenge, a life of cheap satisfactions.