I’ll give you my office telephone number.”
“Right here,” Strand said and jotted down the number Hazen gave him over the phone. “By the way, Caroline tells me you still look a bit the worse for wear.”
“It’s nothing,” Hazen said quickly. “If I don’t look in the mirror or infants don’t scream in their carriages at the sight of me, I forget anything ever happened.”
“Caroline also mentioned something about the police,” Strand said, lowering his voice, so it wouldn’t carry into the kitchen.
“Yes. A useless formality, I’m afraid. But one of my partners is on the Mayor’s Juvenile Crime Commission and he says assembling accurate statistics is one of the hardest parts of the job and more to please him than for anything else, I…You don’t mind, do you?”
“I suppose not,” Strand said, but he knew he sounded reluctant.
“Well, I hope you can make it this weekend,” Hazen said. “I’ll await your call.”
They said their good-byes and Strand hung up. He went back into the kitchen.
“Well?” Caroline asked anxiously.
“It must be tough, filling those bedrooms,” Strand said, sitting down.
“You didn’t answer me,” Caroline wailed.
“I said I’d let him know later in the week,” Strand said. “Now let me eat my dessert.”
5
F ORGET THEM, FORGET THE men falling…
It was Conroy who came to pick them up on Friday afternoon, in a long Mercedes limousine with jump seats. Mr. Hazen sent his apologies, Conroy said, he was unexpectedly detained at the office, but would come down later in the evening. Strand sat in the front seat beside Conroy. Leslie, Eleanor, Caroline and Jimmy sat in the back. Strand had been a little surprised when Eleanor had said that she’d like to go. She loved the Hamptons, especially out of season, she said, and had a lot of friends there she’d like to see. That was another thing he hadn’t known about Eleanor, Strand thought, as he put down the phone—that she was familiar with the Hamptons and had many friends there. He wondered what other revelations she had in store for him and for that matter what information Leslie, Jimmy and Caroline, now all chattering briskly in the back of the car, would divulge to him when they thought it convenient to do so.
“By the way,” Conroy said, “there’s a station wagon in the garage you can use if you want to get around.”
“I don’t drive,” Strand said, “and neither does my wife. But Eleanor has a license.” She had owned a beat-up old Ford the last two years in college. He turned and said, “Eleanor, did you hear what Mr. Conroy said? There’s a station wagon in the garage you can use.”
“Does that go for me, too?” Jimmy asked.
“Of course,” Conroy said.
“I didn’t know you had a license, Jimmy,” Strand said.
“A friend loaned me his car for a few afternoons,” Jimmy said, “and I tootled around and took the test.”
Strand shook his head. Something else he hadn’t been told about his family.
Conroy asked if they wanted him to turn the radio on and get some music, but Leslie vetoed the idea. “We never can agree on what we want to hear,” she said, “and I don’t want my ride to be spoiled for Jimmy and Caroline and Eleanor nor theirs for mine.”
Strand enjoyed the trip. It was a balmy evening, the sun still shining. Conroy drove well and after they got out of Queens the traffic was light and the big Mercedes smoothly ate up the miles through the lines of trees of the Parkway. In a way Strand was glad that Hazen had been detained at his office. If he’d been along Hazen would have kept the conversation going and Strand preferred to ride in silence. Conroy didn’t speak and Strand felt no need to listen to the holiday babble going on behind him. He was glad they had all decided the weekend would be a treat and he looked forward to seeing the inside of Hazen’s house. You could tell a great deal about a man from seeing the way he lived. Hazen was a new
“Right here,” Strand said and jotted down the number Hazen gave him over the phone. “By the way, Caroline tells me you still look a bit the worse for wear.”
“It’s nothing,” Hazen said quickly. “If I don’t look in the mirror or infants don’t scream in their carriages at the sight of me, I forget anything ever happened.”
“Caroline also mentioned something about the police,” Strand said, lowering his voice, so it wouldn’t carry into the kitchen.
“Yes. A useless formality, I’m afraid. But one of my partners is on the Mayor’s Juvenile Crime Commission and he says assembling accurate statistics is one of the hardest parts of the job and more to please him than for anything else, I…You don’t mind, do you?”
“I suppose not,” Strand said, but he knew he sounded reluctant.
“Well, I hope you can make it this weekend,” Hazen said. “I’ll await your call.”
They said their good-byes and Strand hung up. He went back into the kitchen.
“Well?” Caroline asked anxiously.
“It must be tough, filling those bedrooms,” Strand said, sitting down.
“You didn’t answer me,” Caroline wailed.
“I said I’d let him know later in the week,” Strand said. “Now let me eat my dessert.”
5
F ORGET THEM, FORGET THE men falling…
It was Conroy who came to pick them up on Friday afternoon, in a long Mercedes limousine with jump seats. Mr. Hazen sent his apologies, Conroy said, he was unexpectedly detained at the office, but would come down later in the evening. Strand sat in the front seat beside Conroy. Leslie, Eleanor, Caroline and Jimmy sat in the back. Strand had been a little surprised when Eleanor had said that she’d like to go. She loved the Hamptons, especially out of season, she said, and had a lot of friends there she’d like to see. That was another thing he hadn’t known about Eleanor, Strand thought, as he put down the phone—that she was familiar with the Hamptons and had many friends there. He wondered what other revelations she had in store for him and for that matter what information Leslie, Jimmy and Caroline, now all chattering briskly in the back of the car, would divulge to him when they thought it convenient to do so.
“By the way,” Conroy said, “there’s a station wagon in the garage you can use if you want to get around.”
“I don’t drive,” Strand said, “and neither does my wife. But Eleanor has a license.” She had owned a beat-up old Ford the last two years in college. He turned and said, “Eleanor, did you hear what Mr. Conroy said? There’s a station wagon in the garage you can use.”
“Does that go for me, too?” Jimmy asked.
“Of course,” Conroy said.
“I didn’t know you had a license, Jimmy,” Strand said.
“A friend loaned me his car for a few afternoons,” Jimmy said, “and I tootled around and took the test.”
Strand shook his head. Something else he hadn’t been told about his family.
Conroy asked if they wanted him to turn the radio on and get some music, but Leslie vetoed the idea. “We never can agree on what we want to hear,” she said, “and I don’t want my ride to be spoiled for Jimmy and Caroline and Eleanor nor theirs for mine.”
Strand enjoyed the trip. It was a balmy evening, the sun still shining. Conroy drove well and after they got out of Queens the traffic was light and the big Mercedes smoothly ate up the miles through the lines of trees of the Parkway. In a way Strand was glad that Hazen had been detained at his office. If he’d been along Hazen would have kept the conversation going and Strand preferred to ride in silence. Conroy didn’t speak and Strand felt no need to listen to the holiday babble going on behind him. He was glad they had all decided the weekend would be a treat and he looked forward to seeing the inside of Hazen’s house. You could tell a great deal about a man from seeing the way he lived. Hazen was a new
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