“Pop wanted to say that. Wait a second. Do either of you have any thoughts about that? Serious thoughts—about me being on television?”

“Thoughts? You mean opinions? No, of course not. Is something wrong?”

“No, no. As long as I’m thinking about it, did you ever hear anybody—ever—say anything about the stories in the newspapers or anything like that?”

“No. Why? Did something happen?” She decided not to wait for an answer. “I’ve never heard anything, Joe, and to my knowledge, neither has your father.”

“Okay. It’s not important. I’m going to try to get hold of Pop. I’ll see you later.”

He had tried to get busyness into his tone. He stared at the telephone. It was impossible to imagine how he had sounded to her. He prepared another cup of coffee and sat back in the armchair and looked out the window. There was a view of the bay and Bay Slope and for miles beyond to the mountains. Years ago, it had been the style for newlyweds to check in at hotels downtown before going on to the resorts, and he and Karen had heard about the view. He imagined that the rooms themselves had not changed much since those days. The carpets had to be new. They were thick, sculptured broadlooms, green in here, rose in the bedroom. The furniture in both rooms was mahogany and plush brocade—irreplaceable today, for all he knew. The place was beautifully cared for. It gave off a warmth of color and polish that would delight anyone. When he had told Mike the Regent, Leland had not thought of any of these things; he had seen a chance to do something different. He had not remembered the honeymooners until he had registered for “Mr. and Mrs. Joseph M. Leland,” and then he had had a reaction, an eerie and unpleasant physical sensation. He felt as if he did not belong, and as if he were not fooling any of the people he passed. He had not asked himself when exactly he had begun to think of the events of the war and the years after, but he knew now that they had been touching him for days. As he had ridden up in the elevator some of those events had come on him in a rush. By the time he had closed the door on the bellboy they had been suppressed again, but now he could not deceive himself about the push they had given him. He had been working steadily since he had arrived. Unfinished coffee to the side, he reached again for the telephone.

His father was in his office.

“I would have called you, if I knew where you were.” He sounded as if he were sick. “You showed up here too soon, yesterday. Maybe you wouldn’t have done what you did in front of that camera.”

“What happened? Are you all right?”