As for people like his own family, he thought, you know what they say: old money, no money. Old money was genteel and had nice manners, and he liked those things. It was fine to talk the talk; but at the end of the day, if you couldn’t walk the walk, what were you? A little pretentious, perhaps, if the truth were told.

He caught sight of another parent, Mrs. Blum. Her daughter was at the party and she had promised Maggie that she’d give the boys a ride home with her. He went over, thanked her, and confirmed the ride.

That just left the Cohens. He saw them standing near the entrance. David Cohen, the father, was a nice guy. He liked to go deep-sea fishing in Florida.

“Congratulations. A terrific party.”

“It was all Cindy’s doing,” said David with a smile, indicating his wife.

“You did an amazing job,” Gorham said to Cindy.

“I had a great designer,” said Cindy.

A gray-haired couple were standing beside them.

“Gorham, do you know my parents, Michael and Sarah?”

Gorham shook hands. David’s mother seemed to be studying him.

“I didn’t catch your name,” she said.

“Gorham Master.”

“Sarah Adler Cohen.”

A signal. She was telling him she had a professional name. He thought quickly. She saved him.

“I have the Sarah Adler Art Gallery. And would you be the son of Charlie Master, who had the Keller photography collection?”

“Yes, I am.”

And then he remembered, with a feeling of sinking horror. This was the lady he was supposed to deliver the Motherwell to. The drawing that still graced the living room in the apartment. Was she expecting it? Did she know that his father had told him to go and see her? A terrible feeling of guilt overcame him.

But the old lady was chatting to him quite happily. What was she saying?

“Well, when I was young, before I had my own place, your father came to the gallery where I worked and arranged a show of Theodore Keller’s work there. And I was put in charge of it. The first show I ever did. So I got to meet your father. I was very sorry to hear he died.”

“I never knew that. I’m so delighted to meet you,” he stammered. She must be in her seventies, he supposed. She had a nice face, intelligent. She glanced at her husband and son, but they had been distracted by other guests.

“You like this party?” she asked.

“Of course. Don’t you?”