witness, all the while trying to fill in the blanks for himself. Had I been more observant, I might have
seen early signs of the envy that would erupt so many years later in violence—but at the time there was so much else to keep
track of, I ended up more or less ignoring Phil. As I usually did. As everyone usually did.
Two hours after the readings ended—the kitchen cleaned, Glenn and Phil gone, and the Boyds put to bed—I climbed into my notoriously
bad-tempered Dodge Dart, turned the key in the ignition, and found that it would not start.
Cursing, I returned to the kitchen. Nancy was sitting at the tulip table in her bathrobe, smoking a cigarette and thumbing
rather listlessly through the recipe pages of Sunset.
She looked up. “What are you doing back here?” she asked.
“The car won’t start.”
“Oh, how annoying. Ernest!”
He too was in his bathrobe. Together, we went outside to look under the hood.
“Nothing wrong that I can see,” Ernest said, slipping his hand down the back of my skirt. “But then again, I’m no mechanic.”
“I’ll call a taxi.”
“No need for a taxi. I can drive you home.” He started to kiss me.
“Wouldn’t it be simpler if Denny just stayed the night here?” Nancy called from the kitchen door. “She can sleep with Daphne
on the fold-out bed in the study. And that way she’ll be here in the morning when the tow truck comes.”
Ernest withdrew his hand. In the dark, had she seen?
“That’ probably a better plan,” he said, moving away from me into the moonlight.
Back indoors, Nancy led me to the study, the door to which she simultaneously rapped on and pushed open. “Daphne, Denny’ car’
broken down, so she’ going to bunk with you . . . Oh.” Daphne was not in bed; she was sitting at the table near the window,
in jeans and a sweater set, putting on makeup.
“Can’t you wait for a person to say ‘Come in’?” she asked.
“Sorry,” Nancy said. “Listen, I’m exhausted. Be a sweetheart and show Denny where the extra towels are, will you?” As if in
compensation for her earlier brusqueness, she patted Daphne’ head rather as she might have Little Hans’. “Well, good night,
girls. And thanks again for all your help today.”
“Nancy—”
“What?”
“Are you happy how things turned out? I mean, seeing Anne?”
“Oh, delighted, delighted.” But her smile was weary. “Of course, I have to admit, the drinking worries me . . . Well, no need
to think about that now. Try and get a good night’ sleep.”
She left, closing the door softly.
I sat on the daybed. “So,” I said to Daphne, “I’ll bet you weren’t expecting to have a roommate tonight, were you?”
Daphne had resumed her makeup. “I wasn’t, actually.”
I took off one shoe. “Going out?”
She turned to face me. “Can I trust you? You’re younger than my parents. I hope I can trust you.”
“Of course you can.”
She leaned closer. “The fact is, I do have plans tonight—only they’re ones I don’t want anyone to find out about. You see,
for some time now—a few months—I’ve been involved with someone, and for all sorts of reasons, for the time being at least,
we need to keep it quiet—”
“You mean Glenn.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You mean you knew?”
“Well, if you’ll pardon my saying so, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist—”
“Oh, but do you think that means my parents have guessed? Because if my dad found out, it could be awful for Glenn. Dad wouldn’t
approve. The age difference and all, and the fact that Glenn’ his sort of, you know, protege.”
“I don’t think your father knows. You mother, on the other hand—well, you may have noticed that she didn’t even ask you why
you were putting on makeup at eleven o’clock at night.”
“Dear mother. She can be so—well, you know, difficult sometimes, and then sometimes she can sense something, and be totally cool without even
seen early signs of the envy that would erupt so many years later in violence—but at the time there was so much else to keep
track of, I ended up more or less ignoring Phil. As I usually did. As everyone usually did.
Two hours after the readings ended—the kitchen cleaned, Glenn and Phil gone, and the Boyds put to bed—I climbed into my notoriously
bad-tempered Dodge Dart, turned the key in the ignition, and found that it would not start.
Cursing, I returned to the kitchen. Nancy was sitting at the tulip table in her bathrobe, smoking a cigarette and thumbing
rather listlessly through the recipe pages of Sunset.
She looked up. “What are you doing back here?” she asked.
“The car won’t start.”
“Oh, how annoying. Ernest!”
He too was in his bathrobe. Together, we went outside to look under the hood.
“Nothing wrong that I can see,” Ernest said, slipping his hand down the back of my skirt. “But then again, I’m no mechanic.”
“I’ll call a taxi.”
“No need for a taxi. I can drive you home.” He started to kiss me.
“Wouldn’t it be simpler if Denny just stayed the night here?” Nancy called from the kitchen door. “She can sleep with Daphne
on the fold-out bed in the study. And that way she’ll be here in the morning when the tow truck comes.”
Ernest withdrew his hand. In the dark, had she seen?
“That’ probably a better plan,” he said, moving away from me into the moonlight.
Back indoors, Nancy led me to the study, the door to which she simultaneously rapped on and pushed open. “Daphne, Denny’ car’
broken down, so she’ going to bunk with you . . . Oh.” Daphne was not in bed; she was sitting at the table near the window,
in jeans and a sweater set, putting on makeup.
“Can’t you wait for a person to say ‘Come in’?” she asked.
“Sorry,” Nancy said. “Listen, I’m exhausted. Be a sweetheart and show Denny where the extra towels are, will you?” As if in
compensation for her earlier brusqueness, she patted Daphne’ head rather as she might have Little Hans’. “Well, good night,
girls. And thanks again for all your help today.”
“Nancy—”
“What?”
“Are you happy how things turned out? I mean, seeing Anne?”
“Oh, delighted, delighted.” But her smile was weary. “Of course, I have to admit, the drinking worries me . . . Well, no need
to think about that now. Try and get a good night’ sleep.”
She left, closing the door softly.
I sat on the daybed. “So,” I said to Daphne, “I’ll bet you weren’t expecting to have a roommate tonight, were you?”
Daphne had resumed her makeup. “I wasn’t, actually.”
I took off one shoe. “Going out?”
She turned to face me. “Can I trust you? You’re younger than my parents. I hope I can trust you.”
“Of course you can.”
She leaned closer. “The fact is, I do have plans tonight—only they’re ones I don’t want anyone to find out about. You see,
for some time now—a few months—I’ve been involved with someone, and for all sorts of reasons, for the time being at least,
we need to keep it quiet—”
“You mean Glenn.”
She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You mean you knew?”
“Well, if you’ll pardon my saying so, it wouldn’t take a rocket scientist—”
“Oh, but do you think that means my parents have guessed? Because if my dad found out, it could be awful for Glenn. Dad wouldn’t
approve. The age difference and all, and the fact that Glenn’ his sort of, you know, protege.”
“I don’t think your father knows. You mother, on the other hand—well, you may have noticed that she didn’t even ask you why
you were putting on makeup at eleven o’clock at night.”
“Dear mother. She can be so—well, you know, difficult sometimes, and then sometimes she can sense something, and be totally cool without even
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