Rob finally sauntered in, magnificent in designer jeans and shirt, his hair newly styled. "Like it? There's the dearest little person in a new place on M Street; he could do wonders for you, duckie, you ought to give him a try."

He then retreated to the office and his paperback. Karen watched him go, lean hips swaying, muscles rippling, hair gleaming, and smiled ruefully as a familiar sensation rippled through some of her own muscles. No wonder women found Rob so devastating. He must work like a fiend to keep that body looking the way it did. Too bad he had such a feeble little mind to go with it.

During the next lull in business she opened her notebook, which she had decided to carry with her-as if it were a magic talisman promising success, or as if some variety of osmosis would magically transfer onto its blank pages the information she needed to put there. Lists, she thought. Why is it I can't make lists? Some people love to make them. Sometimes they even get around to doing the things on the lists.

She had accomplished one thing that morning; she had called one of the lawyers on the list Mr. Bates had given her, and she had an appointment for the following day. But her brief sense of accomplishment faded when she began listing her other chores. They weren't small chores, quickly done. Find a suitable building; see what work needs to be done; call contractors, plumbers, electricians; apply for a permit-permits, rather-heaven only knew how many she would need and for what…

Karen groaned and dropped her head into her hands. That was just the beginning. She ought to be attending auctions and flea markets and yard sales. Visiting museums. Reading her reference books. Washing, mending, finding sewing supplies.

And dealing with the most basic question of all: What was she going to use for money?

The solution slipped into her mind so smoothly and gently that she knew it must have been there all along. What she needed was a partner. Any business enterprise-including marriage, she told herself wryly-requires two people if it is to succeed. Two bodies, since one person can't be in two places at the same time; two pairs of hands to lighten burdens and carry twice the number of loads.

Cheryl's talents complemented her own. Cheryl had, or would soon have, the business training she lacked. Cheryl didn't wince when the word "computer" was mentioned. She was fascinated by the old garments, good with a needle, intelligent. She was easy to get along with. She had a sense of humor. (After dealing with Julie, Karen appreciated the importance of the last two attributes.) Cheryl had even mentioned that she had a little money saved and that eventually she hoped to invest it in her own business.

It was the perfect solution. In fact, as she remembered some of the things Cheryl had said, Karen realized that she had dropped several broad hints. So why had it taken her so long to recognize it?

She knew the answer. One word. A name.

It was high time she got the name and the complex, difficult emotions it aroused, out of her system. She could now admit that Mark also had some right to feel injured. If he could forgive and forget, she could do no less. There was no reason why they couldn't be friends. "Friendly" was the word for his behavior the other night. Strange that a word so warm and comforting when applied to one person should sound so cold when applied to another…

Men seemed to prefer the kind of life he was presently leading, without commitments, flitting from woman to woman as the King of Siam had advised, having casual extramarital flings with the wives of colleagues and associates.

There's plenty of that going on, Karen reminded herself with a sour smile. Men weren't the only ones who had no qualms about the Seventh Commandment.

She decided she would talk to Cheryl that evening. Of course she might be mistaken; Cheryl might not be interested. But even the possibility lifted Karen's spirits. She gathered up her despised lists with new determination and carried them back to the office, ordering Rob to man the shop.

She was at Julie's desk scribbling busily when she heard the doorbells tinkle, and Rob's saccharine coo, which he reserved for old customers. "Darling, how divine to see you. I do hope you want to buy lots and lots of expensive goodies."

Rob had a lot in common with anchovies-either you adored him or he made you slightly nauseous. Karen decided she had better go out and see which category the customer belonged to.

Judging by her expression, she belonged to the second category. Her frown smoothed out when she saw Karen, and then Karen recognized her. The old school ties were strengthening; it was Miriam Montgomery, who had been with Shreve on an earlier visit to the shop, and who had snubbed her almost as thoroughly as Shreve. Though she wore a well-cut linen dress, she didn't have Shreve's style; the garment hung from her slumped shoulders like any cheap copy from a department-store rack. Her flat, rather doughy features showed the same combination of expensive equipment improperly employed; her mascara was too dark for her pale-blue eyes and her lipstick was smeared.

She returned Karen's cautious greeting and then gave Rob a casual, dismissive glance as definitive as a royal "We give you leave to go." Rob winked at Karen and discreetly faded away.

"How can you stand working with that man?" Miriam asked. Her voice was high-pitched and rather whiny. "He's such a poseur."

"Oh, Rob's not so bad," Karen said, knowing full well that the office door had been left open a crack. "Are you looking for something in particular, Miriam, or would you rather browse in peace?"

"I came to talk to you." Miriam frowned at an almost invisible spot on her white handbag. "I hope you don't think I was rude the other day."

"Why, no."

"I'm afraid I was. I didn't mean to be. It's Shreve's fault. Of course she's an old friend and I'm terribly fond of her, but she is awfully bossy. And tactless. You'd think that after all these years in Washington she would have learned a little discretion. But no, she just charges straight ahead like a bull in a china shop, without realizing that she antagonizes people."

Nothing like an old friend who is terribly fond of you to cut you down, Karen thought. Aloud she said carefully, "Shreve always had a-a strong personality."

"Anyway, I thought I ought to explain why I behaved so rudely."

"You weren't rude. Don't give it another thought."

"I don't like people to think badly of me," Miriam murmured.

Karen reassured her again. Miriam seemed to require a lot of reassurance. Who would have supposed that a woman so richly endowed with worldly goods could be so insecure? According to Julie, Mr. Montgomery was one of the wealthiest men in the Southeast.

"I'm so glad you understand," Miriam said. "Now I hope you can help me. I'm thinking of giving a little party next month. Everyone seems to be into nostalgia these days-though I can't imagine why…"

Her voice trailed off indecisively.

"The good old days," Karen said.

"What was so good about them? I wouldn't want to live my high school years over-would you?"

"No," Karen said, with an involuntary grimace. "I guess not. So you want a theme for your party, is that it?"

"How clever of you! And I suppose I'll need a dress, won't I?"

"From the seventies?" Karen asked doubtfully. She was getting used to customers who took forever to tell her what they wanted, possibly because they didn't know themselves.

"I need something really smashing. I guess the seventies aren't really 'in,' are they?"

"Not in terms of vintage clothing, no. I have a few fifties and sixties dresses, but I wouldn't call them smashing. Some of the younger girls like those styles, but they aren't old enough to be vintage or quaint."