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at Millennium House, a publisher with which Jane had done a good bit of business, seemed pleased to see Jane, though with the habitually dour, deadpan Arliss, that wasn’t saying much. She actually smiled a little as she greeted Jane, who noticed that Arliss was dressed for the lodge in brown wool slacks and a pretty tan corduroy shirt with the tails out.
    â€œGood to see you, Arliss. Thanks so much for agreeing to do this at such short notice.”
    â€œNo problem,” Arliss said in her monotone voice. She turned to the man with whom she’d been chatting. He looked about sixty. He was tall and slim, with neatly trimmed graying brown hair. Jane saw kindness in the brown eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses. “Jane Stuart,” Arliss said, “I’d like you to meet Brad Franklin.”
    So this was Brad Franklin. When Jane recruited Arliss, Arliss had recommended Brad, one of her authors, as an instructor. Brad, she told Jane, had written several novels under his own name but now made a handsome living ghostwriting novels for celebrities.
    Brad said, “A pleasure, Jane,” and shook her hand warmly. “Thanks for having me.”
    â€œThank you for coming,” Jane said, and excused herself to say hello to the others.
    She decided to grab a bagel and a cup of coffee first, and made her way to the refreshment table, where Rhoda was straightening up.
    â€œMorning, Jane darling. Glad you made it. Did you have any problems with the snow?”
    â€œNah. Piece of cake, ” Jane replied, smearing her bagel with cream cheese.
    â€œUh-uh-uh,” came a whiny voice behind her, and forcing a smile, Jane turned.
    â€œHello, Bertha.”
    â€œGood to see you too, Jane.” Chubby Bertha Stumpf pursed her lips and lightly fluffed her hair, which instead of its usual wrong shade of blond was now an odd assortment of blond and brown streaks. “How do you like the do?”
    â€œLove it, ” Jane said. “How’ve you been, Bertha?”
    Bertha tilted her head to one side and rolled her eyes heavenward. “Okay, I suppose. You know I finally persuaded that girl to accept Shady Lady .”
    â€œOh? When was this?”
    â€œLate Friday. She’ll be calling you.”
    Jane guessed Bertha had done more bullying than persuading to get Harriet Green to accept her manuscript.
    â€œBe a doll and see if you can get her to put a rush on my acceptance check, would you?” Bertha said.
    Jane gave her a tight smile. “I’ll see what I can do.”
    â€œWe’re going to have to have a serious talk about her, Jane. I can’t go on with Bantam if they make me work with this girl.”
    â€œStop calling her a girl, Bertha. She’s a woman. She’s also a very fine editor. And I’m afraid I won’t be able to discuss your work here. We’re here for the retreat, remember?”
    Bertha clamped her mouth shut, as if a fury were building. “Of course I remember, Jane, I’m here because you asked me to be here. And let me tell you, getting out here from New York City was no easy game. Anyway, what I meant was that we could maybe discuss my career in our down moments—you know, when we’re not teaching. Surely we won’t be teaching every minute.”
    My career . . . If Bertha had used those words once since Jane had begun representing her five years earlier, she’d used them a hundred times. “You’re right,” Jane said placatingly. “I’m sure we’ll find time to talk in our down moments. Oh,” she said, pointing across the room. “There’s Vick Halleran. Excuse me, I have to say hello to him.”
    â€œOkay,” Bertha said, though her tone made it clear she felt it was not okay at all.
    Tough, Jane thought, making her way toward Vick.
    Though Jane had never represented V. Sam Halleran, they traveled in the same circles and she had known him for years. Kenneth had also known