"You should have taken the Concorde," she said. "You'd have been here earlier and you'd have been a lot fresher, too."

"Tell you the truth, it never crossed my mind. Anyway, Jock would have had another stroke if he'd thought I'd spent that much money on a flight to see him."

She smiled. "You're right about that, I guess."

He sat down on the edge of the bed and untied his shoes. "I still can't believe it's happened."

"Neither can I."

"How's Laddie taking it?"

"Like a Scot. He's worried, of course, but he's at the office today."

"I guess I'd better go down there tomorrow and talk to him about what to do."

"What to do?"

"About the business; how to divide up the responsibilities. With Jock out of the business, it's going to take some redrawing of the lines of authority. I mean, Jock was doing as much as ever, you know, running the place with an iron hand."

"Yes, I suppose he was. Well, Laddie can handle it, can't he?"

"He won't have to handle it all, you know. I can take up a lot of the slack."

"Mmmm, I suppose," Joan said absently. "You get some sleep. Shall I wake you for some dinner?"

"No, let me sleep straight through, if I can. I'll be fine tomorrow."

"As you wish." She left the room, closing the door silently behind her.

Sandy hung up his suit in his dressing room, stuffed the trees into his shoes, got into a nightshirt and went to bed.

His last conscious thought was of Jock's shining infant's eyes.

Sandy woke in a dark room and got up to go to the bathroom. He didn't notice until he returned that Joan had not been to bed. He picked up the bedside clock and looked at its luminous face. Just after 3:00 a.m. He switched on a lamp and saw a folded note on his bedside table.

I'm at the hospital. J.

Sandy started getting dressed.

As he got off the elevator Sandy saw the little group standing in the hall outside Jock's room. Joan, Laddie and his wife, Betty, and Angus, still in his white coat.

"What's happened?" he asked as he walked up to them.

Nobody seemed inclined to reply.

"Daddy had another stroke," Joan said, brushing away a tear.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"I didn't think it was necessary."

"Well, how is Jock?"

Angus spoke up. "Dad, the stroke cost Grandad even the most basic functions; we had to put him on a respirator."

"Oh, no," Sandy breathed.

"We disconnected the respirator ten minutes ago. Grandad died almost immediately."

"What?" Sandy said.

Joan spoke. "Daddy had a living will; it expressly said that he wanted no dramatic measures to keep him alive. We all talked about it and decided to honor his wishes. Doctor Warner agreed."

Sandy sank onto a bench and stared at the wall opposite him. "Poor Jock," he said.

Laddie spoke for the first time. "He had a long and productive life, and he was never ill, until the end. I think this is exactly how he would have wanted to go."

"Perhaps you're right," Sandy agreed.

"I think we should all go home and rest," Laddie said. "I've already phoned the funeral directors, and they'll collect the body in the morning. Let's meet tomorrow for lunch and discuss the arrangements."

"Fine," Sandy said.

"Come to lunch at our place," Joan said.

Laddie nodded his agreement and bade them goodnight.

Sandy stood and put a hand on his son's shoulder. "If your shift is finished, why don't you come home with us and stay for lunch tomorrow? You should be in on this."

The three of them took a cab back to the Fifth Avenue apartment. All the way, Sandy tried to think about the future, but he couldn't manage it; he was too sad.

The following morning, Sandy rose early, slipped into some jeans and went for a walk. A couple of blocks away he stopped at a pay phone and dialed a number.

"Hotel Pierre," the operator said.

"Mr. Peter Martindale," Sandy said.

"Hello?" Peter's voice.

'It's your traveling companion of yesterday."

"Oh, yes, how are you?"

"I'm not sure. Perhaps we could meet? Very discreetly?"

"Of course," Peter replied. "I'm looking out the window at Central Park. If you enter the park from the corner of Fifth Avenue and Central Park South, you come to a long row of benches. I'll be sitting on one at four o'clock; you sit at the other end and read a newspaper; don't acknowledge me at all."

"Four o'clock, then," Sandy said. He hung up the phone and walked slowly back to his apartment house.

They sat down to lunch at one o'clock. When the food had been served the servants left the room and the family was alone. They ate nearly silently, and when the dishes had been cleared and coffee served, Laddie, who sat at the head of the table, in Sandy's usual place, took a document from his pocket.

"Father left explicit instructions," he said. "They're brief; I'll read them to you: 'I wish my body to be cremated as soon as possible after my death and my ashes to be buried in my family's plot in Aberdeen, Scotland, without ceremony. If my family and friends wish to hold a memorial service at a later date, they may do so. All my other intentions have been outlined in my will, which is in my office safe, and a copy of which has been deposited with my attorney.' It's signed and dated January first of last year."

Laddie laid the document on the table. "I have already given the funeral directors their instructions. The ashes will remain with them until I can get away to take them to Aberdeen. I'll try to do it next week.

"I went to the office this morning, and in the presence of Father's secretary and two other employees, opened his safe and removed the will." He removed another document from his pocket and laid it on the table. "I don't know that we need a formal reading, as its instructions are very simple. There are approximately a million and a half dollars in bequests to servants and charities. Apart from that, there is a bequest to Angus of five million dollars, in trust until his thirtieth birthday, and one to Sandy of half a million dollars, to be paid outright. He left the company to Joan and me in equal shares. I am his executor. I will set up your trust as soon as possible, Angus, and I'll disburse your bequest as soon as the will has been probated, Sandy. Does anyone have any questions?"

Everyone was silent.

"The will is here, if anyone wishes to read it," Laddie said. With that, he rose. "If you'll excuse me, I think I should get back to the office to begin overseeing the necessary changes there." He nodded to them all and left, his wife on his arm.

Angus rose and kissed his mother on the cheek. "If you'll excuse me, Mother, Dad, I have to be back at the hospital." He left Sandy and Joan sitting at the table.

Joan spoke first. "I expect this must come as something of a shock to you, Sandy."

"What?" Sandy said, popping out of a daze.

"The will, and the bequest to you."

"Well, it wasn't what he had intended to do as recently as last week," he replied.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that he called me into his office and said that he was grateful to me for my loyalty to him and the company, and that he intended to leave me the wine division. He said he would be making a new will shortly."

"Did anyone else overhear this conversation?" Joan asked.

"No, but he said he would tell Laddie about it. And, of course, his lawyer."

"Laddie has said nothing of this, and when I spoke to the lawyer this morning, he made no mention of it, either. Not that it matters, of course. That document there," she pointed at the will, "is his last and very legal testament."

Sandy folded his napkin and placed it on the table. "I'd better get down to the office and help Laddie." He started to rise.