"He was supposed to be in Rome onAugust 20. The blackbird letter was answered from Amsterdam on August 30."

"You have an impressive memory, Mr.Archer, but I fail to see what you're getting at."

"Just this. There was a lapse of atleast ten days between the receiving and the answering of that letter—timeenough for an accomplice to pick it up in Rome, airmail it to Roy in Reno, gethis airmail reply in Amsterdam, and remail it to you here."

"I don't believe it." But shehalf-believed it. "Why would he go to such lengths to deceive hismother?"

"Because he was ashamed of what hewas actually doing—divorcing the Macready woman in Reno—and he didn't want you,or anyone else, to know about it. Has he been to Europe before?"

"Of course. I took him there soon after the war,when he was in graduate school at Harvard."

"And did you visit many of these sameplaces?"

"Yes. We did. Not Germany, but most of theothers."

"Then it wouldn't have been hard forhim to fake the letters. As for the postcards, his accomplice must have boughtthem in Europe and mailed them to him."

"I dislike your use of the word'accomplice' in connection with my son. There is, after all, nothing criminal aboutthis—this deception. It's a purely personal matter."

"I hope so, Mrs. Bradshaw."

She must have known what I meant. Her facewent through the motions of swallowing pain. She turned her back on me and wentto the window. Several white-eyed blackbirds were walking around on the tilesof the patio. I don't suppose she saw them. One of her hands combed roughly ather hair, over and over, until it stuck up like molting thistles. When sheturned around at last, her eyes were half-closed, and her face seemed tormentedby the light.

"I'm going to ask you to keep allthis in confidence, Mr. Archer."

Roy Bradshaw had used very similarlanguage last night, about his marriage to Laura.

"I can try," I said.

"Please do. It would be tragic ifRoy's career were to be ruined by a youthful indiscretion. That's all it was,you know—a youthful indiscretion. It would never have happened if his fatherhad lived to give him a father's guidance." She gestured toward theportrait over the fireplace.

"By 'it' you mean the Macready woman?"

"Yes."

"You know her then?"

"I know her."

As if the admission had exhausted her, shecollapsed in the platform rocker, leaning her head on the high cushioned back.Her loose throat seemed very vulnerable.

"Miss Macready came to see meonce," she said. "It was before we left Boston, during the war. Shewanted money."

"Blackmail money?"

"That's what it amounted to. Sheasked me to finance a Nevada divorce for her. She'd picked Roy up on ScollaySquare and tricked the boy into marrying her. She was in a position to wreckhis future. I gave her two thousand dollars. Apparently she spent it on herselfand never bothered getting a divorce." She sighed. "Poor Roy."

"Did he know that you knew abouther?"

"I never told him. I thought I hadended the threat by paying her money. I wanted it over with and forgotten, withno recriminations between my son and me. But apparently she's been haunting himall these years."

"Haunting him in the flesh?"

"Who knows? I thought I understood myson, and all the details of his life. It turns out that I don't."

"What sort of a woman is she?"

"I saw her only once, when she cameto my house in Belmont. I formed a most unfavorable impression. She claimed tobe an actress, unemployed, but she dressed and talked like a member of an olderprofession than that." Her voice rasped with irony. "I suppose I haveto admit that the redheaded hussy was handsome, in a crude way. But she wasutterly unsuitable for Roy, and of course she knew it. He was an innocent lad,hardly out of his teens. She was obviously an experienced woman."

"How old was she?"

"Much older than Roy, thirty at least."

"So she'd be pushing fifty now."

"At least," she said.

"Have you ever seen her in California?"

She shook her head so hard that her face went looseand wobbly.

"Has Roy?"

"He's never mentioned her to me.We've lived together on the assumption that the Macready woman never existed.And I beg you not to tell him what I've told you. It would destroy allconfidence between us."

"There may be more important considerations, Mrs.Bradshaw."

"What could be more important?"

"His neck."

© Alexander Sviyash, 2009