Ten minutes later I came down the stairs. She had been accurate in her description of herself, but when she beheld my somewhat lumpy countenance, she chirped, “Wow, is it too late to cancel our budding relationship? I mean, I could be back in Berkeley in less than half an hour if I catch the right trolley, and we could pretend we never met and go our own ways. Gosh, Ray.” I grimaced as she ran her cool hand over the bump on my forehead and the small swelling on my upper left jaw. “What the Sam Hill happened?”

I told her the story about my dispute with a sideshow barker, omitting any reference to Linney, and she seemed to accept it. But I still hadn’t figured out how to explain that I’d been temporarily banned from seeing her.

What exactly was it that her mother had warned me against? Her emphasis had been on when we started the work, hadn’t it? My memory was conveniently blurry about this. If so, maybe she simply didn’t want us alone in the house together, at least not until she knew more about me. Perhaps she was making arrangements to not be working on those days when Gail and I were, so that she could serve as our de facto duenna.

But if Gail and I were simply out, in public . . . what possible objection could she have? The hell with Martha’s railroad tracks across my garden path.

We stepped outside. The forecast had been for rain in the afternoon, but the morning was as lovely as Oakland could be. I assumed Gail was largely responsible for this.

I turned to Gail and said, “Listen, when we made our plans, I forgot that I have to meet with a booking agent here at the hotel at one. Between getting banged up yesterday and having to be back here in a couple of hours, we’re not going to get as much accomplished as I’d like. While it’s still sunny, why don’t we just sort of lark around, go to a zoo or a park or something?”