for me,â Jay said. âIâm not very hungry.â
âNeither am I,â said Farley.
âThe ragout looks wonderful,â Fanny said, âin spite of cooking so long. I must learn how to make it.â
âWonât you have some?â Jay said. âThereâs more than enough.â
âI couldnât possibly. Iâll put some coffee on to perc.â
âThanks, Fanny. As long as youâre being useful, would you mind fixing your own drink? The stuffâs there in the cabinet,â
Fan put the coffee on and got a bottle of gin out of the cabinet. She couldnât locate any vermouth for a martini, but she found a bottle of quinine water and made a minimum gin and tonic, not bothering with lemon or lime. She carried it into the living room, where Farley and Jay were eating the good ragout with less enthusiasm than it deserved. Sipping her gin and tonic, she looked at a Picasso print on the wall; she went over and stared for a moment at the record player; she examined carefully, one by one, all the items on the telephone table; finally she drifted into the bedroom. When she returned her glass was empty, and so was Farleyâs plate. Jayâs plate, however, still held some of the ragout, pushed to one side as if it had been emphatically scorned and rejected.
âShall I serve you some more ragout?â Fanny asked.
âNo more for me,â said Farley.
âNo, thank you,â said Jay.
âHow was it?â
âDelicious,â Farley said.
âToo damn many onions,â Jay said. âTerry knows very well that I like her to use fewer onions than the recipe calls for. They donât agree with meâa soupçon is plenty. She did it deliberately. We havenât been exactly congenial lately.â
âOh, nonsense!â Fannyâs derision was palpable. âIf you ask me, Jay, you are simply being petty. There was nothing to compel her to fix your dinner at all.â
Jay said something impolite. âSee if the coffeeâs ready, will you, Fanny?â
Carrying the two plates, she went to see. The coffee was.
âSugar or cream?â she called.
âBlack,â they both said.
She delivered the coffee and returned to the kitchen. She found a plastic refrigerator dish and put the leftover ragout in it. Then she washed and dried the two plates, the silverware, and the electric skillet. She considered another gin and tonic, decided against it, and went back into the living room. She sat down on a sofa, raising her knees and hugging them to her chest, thereby creating a perilous tautness over a choice section of her anatomy.
âWhile you guys were eating,â she said, âI looked for clues.â
âClues to what?â Jay said.
âClues to wherever Terry might have gone.â
âOf all the colossal nerve!â Farley said. âI wondered what the devil you thought you were doing, prowling around and prying into everything.â
âLooking for clues is not prowling or prying. Obviously, Farley, youâre determined to put everything I do or say in the worst possible light. If Terry had an appointment, itâs reasonable to assume that she might have made a note of it somewhere.â
âNow that you mention it, it is,â Farley conceded.
âI couldnât find it, however. Not on the table by the telephone or on her dressing table in the bedroom. Can you think of any place else likely to look?â
Jayâs voice was quietly desperate. âTerryâs appointments are rarely the kind sheâd make written notes of to leave lying about. I donât want to appear ungrateful, but Iâd appreciate your just cutting it out. I have a notion where Terry went, if you must know, but I have no intention of proving myself right by going after her. Iâve become weary of painful scenes.â
âWell,â said Fanny, âI have no wish to intrude where Iâm not