“At the embassy, you mean,” she said, fixing the geography in her head. Then, looking at him, “You were there?”

Nick nodded.

“Oh, Nick, you didn’t. It’s not fair to Larry, it really isn’t. Think how it looks.”

“I wasn’t thinking about that,” he said, glancing at Larry.

“Darling, you have to. It’s just what the papers—”

“Nobody was looking at me,” he said. “Vanessa Redgrave was there.”

“What’s it got to do with her?” his mother said sharply.

Nick shrugged. “What’s it got to do with anybody?”

His mother sighed. “I’m not talking about politics. I’m talking about this family. Larry’s in a sensitive position right now—”

“I’m going to be a lot more sensitive if I don’t get something to eat,” Larry said. “Anybody else hungry? I’ll just go get my tie.” He ducked into the bedroom.

Nick’s mother followed him with her eyes, saying nothing, then went over to the coffee table and lit a cigarette. “It’s just–I don’t want anything to go wrong. He’s so happy being back. It might even do some good. This war,” she said, exasperated, as if she’d been given another inferior room. Then she paused, hearing herself, and lowered her voice. “You know what they’re like at the White House -they don’t trust anybody, and they hate the protests. They think it’s about them.”

“It is about them.”

“You know what I mean. They take it all personally.”

“They should.”

She glanced up at him, stubbing out the cigarette. “Oh, I can’t talk to you. Do you think you’re the only one against the war? Everybody’s against the war.”

“Not everybody.”

“Well, Larry’s trying to do something about it.” She softened. “Look, I’m not trying to tell you what to do. As if I ever could. But–well, Larry’s who he is. He’s public. And that makes you public too. They’ll use you to embarrass him.”

“Mother, nobody even knows who I am. There were thousands of people there today. Thousands.”

“But only one of them has a father going to the peace talks.”

He stopped, amused in spite of himself at the end run. “Well, I can’t argue with you there.”

She blushed, taking the salute, then said, “Oh, let’s not argue at all. I can’t bear it. Nobody talks about anything else anymore. I haven’t come all this way to argue about Vietnam.” She stopped, catching herself in the glint in Nick’s eyes, almost laughing. “Oh. Actually, I have, haven’t I? Well, Larry has. No wonder he doesn’t want me to stay. I suppose I cramp his style or something. Anyway, I just came to see you.”

“Between fittings.” He grinned.

She smiled back and came over to him. “Nick, I am on your side, you know. How do you think I felt when you went there? If anything had happened—”

“It didn’t. I was transferred out of the field, remember?” he said, a trial balloon, because he had always suspected Larry had arranged it. But if so, he could see from her expression that Larry had kept it a secret from her too.

“What difference did that make? You don’t stop worrying just because– Anyway, never mind. You’re here.”

“And now it might happen to somebody else. Lots of them.”

She took his point but ignored it, following her own thought. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. I never understood it. Everybody else got a deferment. Why didn’t you? If you feel the way you do?”

“I didn’t know I felt it then.”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Something else. Proving yourself, I suppose. Men. And we’re the ones who end up worrying.”

Nick looked away, seeing himself for a minute as he had been, the blind desperation to be thought loyal, beyond reproach. Like everyone else. His friends, who were safe, without a past, could afford to be different. So he’d gone, not fighting for his country, just asking for its good opinion. Not that that was any excuse. He turned back. “You know why.”

Her eyes widened, as if they had felt the crack that opened up in her, and for a moment he thought the crack would widen, that at least she could admit this. But the lacquer worked; she came back together, sealed up. He saw that he had frightened her and he retreated, literally taking a step back.

She looked at him for a moment but didn’t answer, and then began her own retreat, walking back over to the coffee table.

“Would you do something for me? Could we just not talk about any of this at lunch? I don’t think I’m up to it. I really don’t.”

Nick spread his hands. “No politics. No religion.”

“Oh God, that reminds me. Did I tell you? Father Tim had a heart attack. You might send him a note.”

“Serious?”

“Well, he thought it was indigestion,” Larry said, coming out of the bedroom, smoothing his tie.

Nick laughed.

“You’re both terrible,” his mother said indulgently. “I don’t know why you’re so mean about him,” she said to Nick. “He’s very fond of you.”

“He means well,” Nick said, tongue-in-cheek.

“Well, he does. Anyway, at his age anything’s serious. It would be sweet if you did write.”

“I thought you were the same age,” Nick said.

“Not quite,” his mother said. But her eyes were happy again, enjoying herself.

“What gets me,” Larry said, “is how anybody dares to confess anything to him. Man’s the biggest gossip I’ve ever met.”

“That’s because you’re not a Catholic. You don’t confess to a man–a priest is someone else then. Tim takes that sort of thing very seriously, you know, whatever you might think.”

“Come on,” Larry said. “I’m starving. You two solve all the problems of the world while I was in there?”

“We left a few for you,” Nick said.

“You go ahead,” his mother said. “I just want to fix my face.”

“Should we start without you?” Larry said, implying the usual long wait.

“Don’t be fresh. Five minutes. Not everybody slept all the way over. I need a little armor.”

“Don’t do any damage.”

“Go on. Off,” his mother said, shooing them out the door.

They passed up the elevator for the thick-carpeted stairs, Nick quickening his step to keep up.

“So how are things, Nick?” Larry said, putting a hand on his shoulder as they walked. “Do you like it here?”

“It beats law school.”

Larry stopped. “You can always go back and finish, you know,” he said seriously.

“Larry—”

Larry held up his hand. “Withdrawn,” he said, smiling, and started down the hall again. “But what are you actually doing? Except having a good time. You are, I hope. When I was your age— You seeing anybody?”

Nick shook his head. “You know, a girl tried to pick me up this morning. At least I think she did.”

Larry grinned. “If you don’t know, then it’s time to get out of the library.”

“I guess,” Nick said, returning the grin. “It suits me, though. For now,” he added, wondering if it did, if the long afternoons in the stacks were anything more than an academic time-out.

“Well, it’s your life. Sounds a little quiet to me. What do you do all day?” Larry said, his voice filled with telephones and secretaries and agendas.

Nick smiled to himself. “At the moment I’m doing some research for Aaron Wiseman.”

“So he said.” Then, catching Nick’s look, he smiled. “I ran into him when he was in the States last month.”

“Checking up?”

“Just a little. Old habits.” He brushed it aside. “What exactly are you writing?”

“He’s writing. I look things up. He says history’s like a criminal investigation. The documents are the clues.”

“And you’re the detective?”

Nick heard it, the tiny edge under the geniality. Instinctively he glanced over, but Larry was nodding to the bellman at the bottom of the stairs, ignoring him.

“So the students do the spade work,” Larry said easily. “The old fox. No wonder he keeps churning them out.” They turned into the long corridor of the lobby. “What’s this one? Something about HUAC, I gather.”