“I’m in love with Lisa Tambor,” he said simply. “Look, we just went—” Tarragon cut himself off. “Nothing I can say will change your mind, will it?”

“I was wondering when you were going to realize that.”

“I had hopes,” he muttered. “Stubborn, so stubborn.”

“It’s been a saving quality. Other designers would get frustrated by their inability to solve a particular problem. I never did.” He smiled thinly. “You see, I’m not inimical to all the qualities that have made me a success.”

“Enough of them.” Tarragon rose and Eric tensed. “Enjoy your food, Mr. Abbott. I told you, I’m not a cop.” He sounded irritated now, though whether at Eric or himself, Eric couldn’t tell. Perhaps both. He spoke to himself as much as to Eric.

“I tried. I did what I could. They’ll be disappointed, but I can’t help that. It’s out of my hands now. I can’t say it was nice talking to you, Mr. Abbott, but it certainly was interesting. I can’t help you anymore.”

“I don’t want your help. Is that how you helped Polikartos?”

“Who?” Tarragon frowned, then remembered. “Oh, yes. I suppose one could blame him for all this. I didn’t like him. You I like.”

“Did you order his death?”

“It’s time for me to go, Mr. Abbott. You’re certain I can’t buy you a ticket back to Phoenix? First class?”

“Not right now,” said Eric with enforced casualness. “Get back to me in a couple of weeks. Maybe you can buy me two tickets.”

“That’s really the saddest part of this, the fact that you really believe there’s some kind of possible hope for you. It’s insane for you to love Lisa Tambor. No matter how much you love her, she can’t love you.”

“We’ll see about that. This morning she was in my arms, and nothing seemed impossible. I don’t expect you to understand that, Tarragon, because despite your carefully acquired veneer of chumminess, you’re far more cold-blooded than I could ever be.”

“Good-bye, Mr. Abbott. Enjoy your meal." He turned and made his way through the crowd toward the street.

Eric sat a long time at the table. No one eased past him to spike his water glass or remove him from his chair. There was no rear entrance to the restaurant, and in any case, it would be safer to step out onto the busy street than retreat to some dark alley where he could be spirited away out of sight of encumbering witnesses.

He spent the rest of the day wandering through the Museum of Science and Industry, hugging shoals of exuberant schoolchildren, listening with half an ear to the patronizing spiel of the guides as they tried to explain insect wings and dinosaur bones to their enthralled charges.

When the clock crept up on evening, he exited the old stone complex, afraid of waiting until dark. He didn’t think he was followed, and he took the precaution of changing tubecars and cabs several times.

He saw animosity now in every face, viewed anyone who happened to glance in his direction with suspicion. Were they still watching him? It seemed unlikely they’d decided to leave him alone, but Tarragon had been so ambiguous that he couldn’t be sure. Was he waiting, giving Eric a last chance to change his mind? Or was that just wishful thinking?

Of one thing he could be sure. His freedom was circumscribed and his hours numbered. Better then not to linger on paranoid thoughts.

X

No one confronted him when he emerged from the tube chute and walked the last block to Lisa’s building. Nor was there anyone waiting to accost him in the lobby. Once again he was grateful for the electronic doorman, whose memory would encompass only residents and regular visitors. There was no fear in him as he approached the flat, glowing wall and its stereoscopic eyes.

“Can I help you, sir?” The voice was as pleasant and polite as it had been on his previous visit.

He struggled to conceal his nervousness. “Lisa Tambor, please.”

“Who shall I say is calling?”

“Eric Abbott.”

The machine processed, since it evidently and expectedly had not stored his identity in its file. “If you’ll wait one moment, please, sir.”

He turned to stare at the glass entrance to the building. Any second now he expected Tarragon to rush in, accompanied by a coterie of muscular, heavily armed, blank-faced men, to escort him forcibly to the airport. His concern was reinforced by the delay. It seemed the machine was taking much longer than necessary, though the delay was likely only in his mind. Since he’d left the museum the world had slowed down. Every step was taken through wet concrete, every word slowed down by half.

Off in the distance he heard the doorman’s voice. “I’m sorry, sir. Ms. Tambor does not wish to be disturbed.”

“Did she say that?” he asked bluntly, all thoughts of diplomacy fled. It would be wasted on the machine anyhow.

“Yes sir, she did.”

“Try again, please. That’s Lisa Tam-bor.” He supplied the codo number.

A brief pause, then, “I’m sorry, sir, she does not wish to be disturbed.”

“Tell her that I’m not leaving until I see her.”

“As you wish, sir.” Another, longer wait, and the reply, “She requests that you leave, sir. I am not equipped to compel you, but I am to add that she asks this out of concern for your own safety and well-being.”

“Tell her it’s her safety that concerns me right now, not mine. I’m not leaving until she sees me.” Were those shapes milling about just outside the main entrance watching him covertly now, or were they just passersby lingering in the shelter of the drive-up, staying clear of the light drizzle that had begun to fall? He kept his eyes on the doorway.

“She asks me one more time to request that you leave, sir.”

“I will not.”

“Then I am instructed to allow you up.”

“Allow me, then.”

“Very well, sir. The elevators are—”

“I know where they are.”

The decorative grillework parted to admit him. As he waited for the lift, he kept his attention on the entrance. He stepped into the cab without any sign of pursuit, however.

I’ve gotten this far, he told himself tightly. This far. Let me see her again, let me touch her one more time, and nothing, nothing, will put us apart!

What peculiar thoughts for a sober, stable design engineer. He tried to make the cab rise faster, found himself leaning against the doors as it slowed. He peeked out cautiously into the circular lobby chamber, found it deserted. No one was waiting for him.

The doors started to close and he darted out, walked quickly across the thick carpet to touch the chimebell outside Lisa’s home. Again the minutes stretched interminably; again he feared he’d gained this much only to be denied sight of her at the final moment.

He need not have worried. The lock went snick and the door moved aside. He stepped in fast, fearful that even then a hand would reach out to grab his collar and yank him away. The door closed softly behind him.

Immediately he saw the evidence of a profound internal struggle on her exquisite face. She looked drawn, tired, but not angry. Obviously his presence was hard on her. She’d tried very hard to send him away.

“You shouldn’t have come back,” she told him, confirming all his thoughts. “Eric, you shouldn’t have come back.”

Eric, he thought with a surge of pleasure. Still Eric, not Mr. Abbott. Never again, Mr. Abbott.

He followed her into the living room. Through the broad window the far side of the East River was ablaze with light.