A Fox Inside by David Stacton Page A

point in telling her that as far as the papers were concerned the truth was anything that would sell and remain unsueable.
    “How they must hate us,” she said.
    “It’s just policy.” He realized that public opinion was something she had never thought about. He leafedthrough the papers. It took him a long time to find what he was looking for, and when he did find it it didn’t tell him much. The obits were skimpy. Apparently only the Chronicle had an adequate morgue.
    That depressed him. If the newspapers knew no more about Charles than he did, perhaps there wasn’t anything else to know. And yet there must be, for someone had been at Bolinas. And if Maggie had been seen, he did not like to think what might come of it. As he re-read the best of the obits one phase caught his eye: “Before attending Stanford, Mr. Shannon was educated at the Sacred Heart Academy in San Francisco.” He stared at that thoughtfully, wondering if it was true, and if it was true, if it meant anything. It was not much, but it was the only thing he had seen about Charles that he had not known before. He went hastily through the other two papers, but there was no mention of it in them.
    Charles, of course, was Irish. So were the Barnes. He always forgot that, because they all made such a fetish of being respectable. It was not a thing that people usually forgot to boast about, and if Charles had made nothing of it, therefore perhaps it meant something. He stared down at the paper.
    Maggie lay back against the sofa and shut her eyes. It was clearly the only way she could hide, so he said nothing to disturb her. Perhaps sitting there quietly with him might do her some good.
    They were still sitting like that when they heard the car drive up and its door slam. Maggie opened her eyes and stood up. “I’ll go get my coat and bag,” she said. She gave him a sudden, crooked smile. “I’m all right now. Really.” She looked round the room. “It’s betterto go. I used to love this house, and he made me hate it.” She went out of the room.
    He heard Lily come in and the two women speak briefly in the hall. He could not hear what they were saying. Lily came in quietly. Under her veil and under her makeup her face looked unexpectedly severe and old. For a moment it seemed that her eyes no longer dominated her face. He saw that she had at last realized that Charles was really dead. She glanced at the papers, but made no attempt to look at them. She looked genuinely frightened.
    “Luke,” she said, “the cat’s gone.”
    “What cat?”
    “Charles’s. He kept one up there. A Siamese or something . Some people took care of it during the week. It’s gone.”
    “Cats come and go.”
    “You don’t understand. Charles liked it. It had a bassinet and a coat, and I don’t know what all. It’s all gone.”
    “Oh.”
    “You’d better follow us down,” she said, not sitting down. “I’ll get you a room at the hotel in Palo Alto.” He saw that she was badly shaken.
    They heard Maggie come down the stairs. They moved towards her in unison and Luke let them out of the door. Just as he held the door open the telephone began to ring. It rang insistently and for a long time, and they stood staring at one another, wondering. Through the open doorway he could see the maid settling one of the bags into the rear of the car. With a glance at Luke, Lily went down the path and Maggie followed her.
    The preliminaries were over. It wasn’t a private matterany more. Reluctantly Luke shut the door and went to answer the phone. Before he could reach it it had stopped, but he knew it would ring again. Faintly perplexed , he got his hat and left the house. The reporters could wait. 

IX
    H E HAD DECIDED TO TRY THE seminary. They might know something there. On the way, in the taxi, he found that he did not know how to begin. He knew nothing of Irish Catholic life and did not feel at ease in it. It had not occurred to him before that Charles, despite the