She turned to him.

“Hello,” he said. “You look well. Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. Were you in Port Smith yesterday? I’m sorry to bother you. I feel awfully guilty.”

“Don’t. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you could help.” She wore a light lipstick. Her makeup was sparingly applied, neat, a mite proper, and attractive. He saw that it contributed to her air of vulnerability. Her perfume, now, too: something mild, different. “Did you pick this place for the restaurant? I don’t care where we eat.”

She looked around, her hair tossing on her shoulders. “The important thing is the quiet. I’m not hungry. After a cold it takes me days to regain my appetite.”

“You drink a lot of tea,” he said.

She smiled. “You remembered. No, I drink tea all the time.”

The hotel was old-fashioned, plush and potted palms, the style from which the old movie palaces had been derived. Perhaps MacIyer’s mother patronized the restaurant and her former daughter-in-law had learned of it from her.

The restaurant was nearly empty: a middle-aged couple by a window overlooking the avenue, three businessmen in the most distant corner. The room needed paint and new flooring. By modern standards the tables were too big and the aisles too wide. There were three waiters in sight, and the youngest, a hawk-faced man in his forties with shining slicked-down hair, motioned them to a table in the center section.

Betty Kaminsky said, “I didn’t think you were the type to remember things. What I’ve seen of your wife makes me think that she’s not one who cares about having her birthdays remembered, or anniversaries.”

“She’s not, but I am,” he said. “I remember everything. Tell me, is this the lunch crowd?”

“No, no. There’ll be more. You remember everything?”

“I can tell you what you were wearing Tuesday. Your husband, too.”

She smiled. “You gave that and took it away. That’s like your wife. When she speaks before a group she plays with them, pulls and pushes. She’s not afraid of people.”

Leland enjoyed hearing it. The waiter returned with the water pitcher, fine thin glass. Leland asked him, “What’s good today?

“Everything, sir. Everything is good.”

“Thanks. Give us a minute.”

“He was a big help,” she said when he was gone.

“I wanted to know where we stood.”

“Did he do anything when we came in? I didn’t notice anything.”

“There was nothing. I didn’t like his face.”

“You made a decision on the basis of that?”

“I checked,” he said. He gave her a friendly smile. “I did, didn’t I?”

“Yes, I suppose so. I don’t have the courage for that.”

“You really mean nerve,” he said.

“No. Well, maybe I do. Anyway, you’re not afraid of people either.”

“Sometimes I am, Mrs. Kaminsky.”

“Betty.”

“Betty. My name is Joe. Sometimes I’m even afraid of dead people.”

“You’ve done better than that. Why?”