Shirley had put herself alone in a corner and Marianne thought with distaste that her mind was probably still busy planning an ostentatious wedding reception. Well, half of her mind.

‘Uncle Nat’s been gone for a long time,’ Shirley said, glancing at her Cartier wristwatch. ‘And oughtn’t we to call Kate?’

‘My sister’s only just returned to Israel,’ said Howard, ‘and I’m not bringing her back unless I have to.’

‘Who are you to make such decisions!’ his mother said stridently. ‘If you’d listened to your parents in the first place, your father wouldn’t now be lying where he is!’

Howard got up and left the room.

‘He didn’t need you to remind him of that,’ Marianne said to Ann.

‘Whose side are you on?’

‘This doesn’t seem to me the time to be taking sides. Or for recrimination.’

‘I agree,’ said Leona.

By then Ann had disengaged herself from Marianne’s arm and Howard, shepherded by Nathan, was re-entering the room.

With them was the consultant called from his home to attend Harry. No, he must have been at a dinner, thought Marianne, noting his formal attire.

‘The good news is there is no immediate danger, Mrs Klein,’ he told Ann.

She rose to face him. ‘And what is the bad news, Doctor?’

He removed his pince-nez and replaced them on his nose. ‘Well, let me put it this way—’

‘I’d like you to tell me straight.’

‘Your husband is likely to be confined to a wheelchair.’

After he had bade them good night and departed, Ann said to Howard, ‘So you’ve lost a son and gained a business.’

But Marianne silently wagered that it would take more than being in a wheelchair to keep Harry from minding the store.

Chapter Six

Martin arrived home from an all-night work stint with his partner, Andy Frolich, the song they still had not succeeded in getting right beating like a drum in his head.

His wife came downstairs in her dressing gown and said, ‘How nice to meet you!’ passing him on her way to the kitchen.

Martin followed her, got himself some juice from the refrigerator and watched her make coffee.

‘Gone are the days when we lived in a commune and everyone did their bit,’ she remarked.

‘If I had to make breakfast right now, Moira, there wouldn’t be any,’ he replied. ‘I’m bushed. But you don’t have to make any for me. Just coffee will do.’

‘Since I’m making it for Abraham Patrick and me, I may as well include you. I don’t mind doing it, Martin.’

‘Then why the sarcasm? You hit me with it the minute I stepped into the house. And yearning for the days when we lived in a commune is like saying you wish we could get back our youth. Who doesn’t?’