She said, “I can’t get excited about going to Port Smith under any circumstances. Call it an aberration if you want, but it’s the way I want to keep things.”

“It’s hardly an aberration when you put it in your head deliberately. You know that better than I do.”

“Please don’t try to push me into anything. I said last night that I would think about it—isn’t that enough? I don’t want to fight.”

“I don’t want to fight with you,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to push you, either. You know that.”

“Don’t let anything happen,” she said.

“No.”

“Joe?”

“No, nothing will happen. I promise you, Karen.”

“Are you all right?”

“You can bet on it. You seemed all right this morning yourself.”

“I was. Still am. Do you love me?”

He thought of Kaminsky. “More every day.”

“That’s right. Be careful, honey. Don’t take chances.”

Those days were over. He said that he wouldn’t take chances and they made their goodbyes. Putting down the receiver, he realized that he hadn’t given her a message for Steffie. That was something to regret. The conversation had come apart and he could not tell who had made the first mistake. He was sure she knew it now. There was nothing he could do and he did not see himself staying bothered by it. For the first time in years he was too absorbed in the job he was doing. He pushed the button on the intercom.

“What’s the number at Mrs. MacIver’s hotel?”

“It’s on your desk,” Florence said.

“Where? I don’t see it.”

“I’ll be right in,” she said.

The slip of paper with the telephone number was under the photographs that had come from Florida. While Florence called the hotel Leland slipped the photographs into the file. That alone cleared his desk of clutter. Florence gave him the receiver.

“Give me room four twenty-one, please,” he said.

“I’m sorry, but four twenty-one checked out at noon. May I have your name, sir?”

“Hold on.” He covered the mouthpiece and said to Florence, “She checked out at noon. She didn’t call here, did she?”

“No, sir. I’m certain of it.”

“My name is Joseph Leland,” he said to the hotel operator.

“There’s a message for you. Just a minute.” Leland turned to Florence and made a sour face. He tucked the receiver against his shoulder and scratched his knuckles. The cold air of yesterday and this morning had caused the skin to crack. “Hello? Here’s the message: ‘Your book is with the desk clerk. I’ve taken the twelve-thirty train and will meet you at the airport with the car.’”

“Anything else?”

“No, sir. That’s it.”

He hung up and repeated the message to Florence.

“Does she know which airport?”