“I don’t believe you’re doing this,” Marilyn shouted over the phone to Hazel. “And Peter doesn’t believe it either.”

“How do you know what Peter thinks?”

“I saw him this afternoon. I saw him yesterday afternoon. I see him rather often if you want to know the truth.”

Hazel offered the Kitchen Kult earrings to Maxine who snorted and said, “Come off it, Hazel.”

Rosie in Vancouver sent a short note saying, “Marilyn phoned about your new position, which is really marvelous, though Robin and I are wondering if you aren’t getting in deeper than you really want to at this time.”

Brian’s mother said nothing. A series of small strokes had taken her speech away and also her ability to leave her bed. Nothing Hazel brought her aroused her interest, not chocolates, not flowers, not even the fashion magazines she used to love.

Hazel phoned and made an appointment to see Mr. Cortland. She invented a pretext, one or two ideas she and Maxine had worked out to tighten up the demonstrations. Mr. Cortland listened to her and nodded approvingly. Then she sprang. She had been thinking about Peter Lemmon, she said, how much the sales force missed him, missed his resourcefulness and his attention to details. He had a certain imaginative flair, a peculiar usefulness. Some people had a way of giving energy to others, it was uncanny, it was a rare gift. She didn’t mention Peter’s dental work; she had some sense.

Mr. Cortland sent her a shrewd look, a look she would not have believed he had in his repertoire. “Well, Hazel,” he said at last, “in business we deal in hard bargains. Maybe you and I can come to some sort of bargain.”

“Bargain?”

“That insurance form, the release. The one you haven’t got round to signing yet. How would it be if you signed it right now on the promise that I find some slot or other for Peter Lemmon by the end of the week? You are quite right about his positive attributes, quite astute of you, really, to point them out. I can’t promise anything in sales though. The absolute bottom end of management might be the best we can do.”

Hazel considered. She stared at the conch shell for a full ten seconds. The office lighting coated it with a pink, even light, making it look like a piece of unglazed pottery. She liked the idea of bargains. She felt she understood them. “I’ll sign,” she said. She had her pen in her hand, poised.