The Edge of Doom Read Online Free PDF

standing, and she sat, as did the other two. Laurence waved for a server. Kate asked for Scotch, as did Laurence. They both turned to Jay.
    “Might I have tea?” he asked.
    “Tea it is,” Laurence said. “Tea for you, Kate, or will you stick to Scotch with me?”
    “Scotch, please,” she said. Some old-time family loyalty seemed called for. “Do you not drink,” she asked Jay, “or only not in the afternoons?”
    Aware that this was an impertinent inquiry, Kate shrugged to herself and waited to see how he would answer the question.
    “I don’t drink,” he said. “A matter neither of principle nor addiction. I simply don’t care for it.”
    “Fair enough,” Kate said. A tea-drinker for a father; well, the resemblance was hardly likely to cover all elements. But she did feel disappointed, which was ridiculous.
    “May I tell you the reason for my dislike, or what may be the reason?”Jay asked.
    “Please do,” Kate said, certain this promised to be the most bizarre conversation she had ever had in a life hardly devoid of oddball conversations.
    “My mother was an alcoholic. As is not uncommon with the children of such parents, I came to loathe the smell of drink. Even wine, I’m afraid. I haven’t, however, become a fighter for temperance or an advocate of prohibition. Liquor doesn’t bother me now when others drink it, and hasn’t for a long time; I just don’t wish to join in. You, may I guess,” he said, smiling at Kate, “are of quite the opposite view, finding drink a happy companion to food and good conversation. I wish I could join you in that.”
    And, Kate thought to herself, I shall tell Reed that we began by speaking of drink. Jay’s mother drank. Perhaps he was attracted to my mother because she didn’t; it wasn’t, of course, ladylike then, except for the careful sip of wine with dinner, and I don’t even remember her doing that. Another unsummoned memory; this could become tedious.
    Laurence seemed to feel that such an odd subject—even if Kate, in his opinion, always seemed to have peculiar conversations—needed some alteration.
    “Kate is a professor; teaches literature. What do you do, Jay?” Thus Laurence commanded the dialogue onto another plane.
    “I’m an architect; I specialize in the reconstruction of landmarks and other beautiful aging buildings. To combine modern convenience with the elegance of an earlier time is a challenge I find exciting.”
    “Can you really make a decent living doing that?” Laurence asked. Kate stared at him, only just remembering that when Laurence was nervous in a family situation, he was likely to say something downright rude, though he didn’t realize it.
    Jay looked unabashed. “A decent living, yes,” he said, as his tea arrived, and he put sugar into the cup and stirred. Kate, who seemed currently given to unexpected recollections, recalled having been told that nondrinkers liked sugar, while drinkers, who often didn’t, found their sugar in liquor. “But not a lavish one,” he added. “No one, you see, is reliant on me for financial support, so I can do what I love to do—a great blessing.”
    This, the man’s second private revelation, woke Kate to the fact that he might feel as though he were being interviewed, judged whether or not he was qualified for a position he did, after all, already occupy. She turned the conversation around to a comparison of architecture and literature, made easier for her by the fact that architecture had become a popular subject in academic literary departments. When it became clear that no other provocative matters were to be discussed, Laurence announced his intention to leave. It was, however, evident that he had not the smallest intention of retreating while they were still there. And so, shortly, they all stood up, ready to depart. While they were claiming their coats downstairs, Kate and Jay managed unobtrusively to exchange telephone numbers.
    Outside on the street, Kate and Laurence