"Yes, you've told me all about your Scottish ancestry before," I said, glancing at him over my shoulder.

He grinned at me. "Oh, sorry. I do seem to have a bad habit of repeating family history."

"It's not a bad habit," I said, "just a habit, and I don't mind."

Once outside we settled down at the circular table with the big white canvas market umbrella, where we usually ate meals in the summer months. We sipped our drinks and were silent for a while, comfortable in this silence, as happily married people frequently are, content simply to be together. Words were not necessary. We communicated without them, as we always had. Andrew and I usually seemed to be on the same wavelength, and often he would say something I had been thinking only a few seconds before, or vice versa. I found that uncanny.

It was not as stiflingly hot outside as I'd expected it to be, now that the sun had gone down. Although the air was balmy, there was a soft breeze moving through the trees, rustling the leaves. Otherwise everything was absolutely quiet, as tranquil as it always was up here atop our lovely Connecticut hill.

The lawn which flowed away from the terrace wall on this side of the house sloped down to a copse of trees; beyond were protected wetlands and a beaver dam. Soaring above the copse and the stretch of water were the foothills of the Berkshires covered with trees densely massed and of a green so dark they were almost black tonight under that midsummer sky now completely faded. Its periwinkle blue had turned to smoky gray edging into anthracite, with wisps of pink and lilac, saffron and scarlet bleeding into one another along the rim of those distant hills.

Andrew lolled back in the chair and breathed deeply, letting out a long, contented sigh. "God, it's so great here, Mallory. I couldn't get back fast enough… to you and this place."

"I know." I looked at him through the comer of my eye and said in the quietest of voices, "I thought you'd call me from Chicago…" I let my voice trail off, feeling suddenly rather silly for even mentioning it.

A half smile flitted across Andrew's mouth. He looked somewhat amused as he said, "And I thought you'd call me."

"Aren't we a couple of stubborn idiots." I laughed, and lifting my glass, I took a sip of my drink.

He said, "I don't know how my stubborn idiot feels about me, but I adore her."

"And I adore mine," I responded swiftly, smiling warmly at him.

He smiled back.

There was another small silence. After a short interval, I said suddenly, "Sarah's broken up with the Eastern seaboard's greatest snob."

Andrew chuckled. "Yes, he is that. And I know about it, be-"

"How?" I cut in peremptorily.

"Sarah told me."

"She did! When?"

"Today. I called her this afternoon, just before I left Chicago. I asked her not to come out here tonight, if that was what she was planning to do. I explained that I wanted to get you alone, to have you all to myself for a change, that I was a bit sick of sharing you with the world at large."

Leering at me wickedly, he continued, "That's when she said she wasn't coming at all, because she had just finished with Tommy Preston that very morning. I'm afraid I couldn't persuade her otherwise. She was quite adamant about staying in New York for the weekend."

"I got her to change her mind. She's going to drive out tomorrow sometime."

"That's good to hear, and I'm glad you had more success than I did. To tell you the honest truth, I'm not surprised in the least that she's finished with Tommy. He never measured up, in my opinion."

"I wish…"

"Wish what, darling?" Andrew leaned closer to me, searching my face, no doubt picking up on my wistfulness as he observed my sad expression.

"I wish that Sarah could find a really nice guy to fall in love with, so that she could get married and have babies, just as she wants to. I really do wish we knew somebody for her."

"So do I, Mal, but we don't. In the meantime, I think she's quite happy in her own way. She does love her job, you know, and that's quite a career she's carved out for herself as fashion director of Bergman's."

"That's true. Still, I do think she'd like to be married."

"I suppose she would." Andrew fell quiet. A thoughtful expression settled on his face; he finished his drink in a fast little gulp, put his glass on the table, and turned to me. "Talking of careers and jobs, I've just had another offer."

"From the Gordon Agency again?" I asked eagerly, knowing how much he admired this advertising group.

He shook his head. "No, from Marcus and Williamson."

I sat up a bit straighter, staring at him. "That's a fantastic agency. What's the offer?"

"A great one, as far as the money's concerned. But they didn't offer me a partnership. Unfortunately."

"Well, they should have, you're the best in the business," I shot back. "And I guess you didn't take it, did you?"

"No. I didn't want to move just for the money. In all honesty, it would have been worth considering only if Marcus and Williamson had offered me a slice of the pie. Also, to tell you the truth, I did have rather a pang at the thought of leaving Babs."

This was the name everyone on Madison Avenue used for Blau, Ames, Braddock and Suskind, and I did understand how Andrew felt. He had been with them for a number of years, and he was sentimentally attached. He also earned a big salary and had many privileges and benefits aside from being a partner in the firm. But I knew only too well that he thought the agency had begun to stagnate of late, and he had grown increasingly restless this past year.

I voiced this now.

He listened quietly to everything I had to say. He respected my opinion. I was ambitious for him; I always have been. Now I enumerated some of the reasons why I thought he ought to consider leaving, not the least of which was his frustration with Joe Braddock, the senior partner.

When I finished, he nodded. "You're right, you make a lot of sense. I agree that Joe is hardly the most visionary of men, and especially when it comes to the future of the agency. He's in a time warp these days, living in the past and on past glories."

After taking a sip of his drink, he went on, "Joe didn't used to be like that, and certainly not when I started there twelve years ago. I guess he's just getting too old." He gave me a long, rather thoughtful look. "Tell you what, I'm going to talk to him, mention the various offers I've had this past year. It can't do any harm."

"No, it can't," I agreed.

He hurried on, "Actually it might shake him up a bit. Perhaps he'll come around to my way of thinking about certain aspects of the agency. I know Jack Underwood and Harvey Colton would like me to have a go at Joe. Actually, Mal, they deem it high time he retired, and I'm afraid I have to agree with them. On the other hand, he is the last of the original founding quartet, the only one still alive, and something of an industry giant. It's going to be a tough situation to deal with."

I reached over and squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you've decided to talk to Joe. I've wanted you to do that for the longest time, and it'll work out, you'll see. Now, do you want another drink, or shall we go inside and I'll make supper?"

He nodded. "I'm starving! What's on the menu?"

"I was going to prepare spaghetti and a green salad for myself, but if you prefer something else, I can defrost-"

"No, no," he interrupted, "that sounds great. Come on, let's go inside and I'll help you."

Much later, when we had finished dinner and were drinking the last of the wine, Andrew said, "You remember that time my mother talked to you about the only man she'd been seriously attracted to since my father's death?"

"Of course I do. She said he was separated but not divorced-"