“The boys at the shop are taking care of things. I’ll make an appearance as soon as I feel up to it, to calm the clients, but I think I’m going to pack it in as soon as we can work out a price and a smooth transition. I hear they’re already looking for financing.”

“You can spend more time out here, then.”

Derek shook his head. “I won’t be able to afford it without a big salary coming in, so I think it will have to go. We might be able to manage the London house, but if not, then we’ll sell that, too, and take a flat.”

“Derek, don’t trouble yourself about all that, just rest and get well. I can help you.”

“You, help me?”

“Dad left me well fixed. Trust me, I can help.”

“And I thought you’d be playing piano in some dive for the rest of your life, while teaching pubescent schoolboys in the daytime.”

“Maybe not.” He kissed him on the forehead and went back downstairs.

“Was he talking about selling everything?” his mother asked.

“Yes, but don’t worry, you won’t be moving house.”

“We won’t? That’s not what Derek was saying.”

“Please trust me, Mom. Derek and I will sort it all out together.”

“If you say so, darling.”

“I do say so, and it will be so.”

They had a cognac together, then everyone went to bed.

Laurence and Theresa walked back to the cottage in the moonlight. “They’re such nice people,” she said.

“They are, and I’m glad to have them as my family.”

“I envy you that,” she said. “My family has always been such a mess.”

“Butch, too?”

“Especially Butch. I worry about him.”

“You’ll have to tell me all about it when I’m sober,” he said.

15

MARGE MASON let herself into apartment 15 and went directly to her new office. She had spent the day before arranging the room and making file tabs and ordering office supplies. As she sat down the morning light struck the little check-writing machine on her desk. It wasn’t where she had left it, and the angle of the light revealed a fingerprint on the metal surface. She held her own fingers near it and compared: it was larger than any of her prints.

She remembered something she had once seen on television; she found a roll of cellophane tape in her desk drawer, applied a length of it to the print on the check writer, then peeled it off, taking the print with it. She took an index card from the drawer and applied the tape to it, then noted the date, time, and circumstances on the card and signed it. Her phone rang.

“Good morning, Mr. Hayward’s office.”

“Good morning, Marge, it’s Laurence.”

“Are you up? I didn’t hear you when I came in.”

“I’m up, and I’m in England.”