larder is on its last legs. Butsit down, and I'll make you some sandwiches. I'll make a pot of coffeetoo--the gas hasn't been turned off yet."
* * * * *
The living room had precisely three articles of furniture to itsname--two armchairs and a coffee table. After Judith left him, Philipset his brief case on the floor and sat down in one of the chairs. Hewondered idly how she expected to make the trip to Pfleugersville. Hehad seen no car in the driveway, and there was no garage on the propertyin which one could be concealed. Moreover, it was highly unlikely thatbuses serviced the village any more. Valleyview had been bypassed quitesome time ago by one of the new super-duper highways. He shrugged.Getting to Pfleugersville was her problem, not his.
He returned his attention to the living room. It was a large room. Thehouse was large, too--large and Victorianesque. Judith, apparently, hadopened the back door, for a breeze was wafting through the downstairsrooms--a breeze laden with the scent of flowers and the dew-damp breathof growing grass. He frowned. The month was October, not June, and sincewhen did flowers bloom and grass grow in October? He concluded that thescent must be artificial.
Zarathustra was regarding him with large golden eyes from the middle ofthe living-room floor. The animal did somehow bring to mind a little oldman, although he could not have been more than two or three years old."You're not very good company," Philip said.
"Ruf," said Zarathustra, and turning, trotted through an archway into alarge room that, judging from the empty shelves lining its walls, hadonce been a library, and thence through another archway into anotherroom--the dining room, undoubtedly--and out of sight.
Philip leaned back wearily in the armchair he had chosen. He was beat.Take six days a week, ten hours a day, and multiply by fifty-two and youget three hundred and twelve. Three hundred and twelve days a year,hunting down clients, talking, walking, driving, expounding; trying inhis early thirties to build the foundation he should have begun buildingin his early twenties--the foundation for the family he had suddenlyrealized he wanted and someday hoped to have. Sometimes he wished thatambition had missed him altogether instead of waiting for so long tostrike. Sometimes he wished he could have gone right on being what heonce had been. After all, there was nothing wrong in living in cheaphotels and even cheaper rooming houses; there was nothing wrong in beinga lackadaisical door-to-door salesman with run-down heels.
Nothing wrong, that is, except the aching want that came over yousometimes, and the loneliness of long and empty evenings.
Zarathustra had re-entered the room and was sitting in the middle of thefloor again. He had not returned empty-handed--or rather,empty-mouthed--although the object he had brought with him was not thesort of object dogs generally pick up. It was a rose--
A green rose.
* * * * *
Disbelievingly, Philip leaned forward and took it from the animal'smouth. Before he had a chance to examine it, however, footsteps soundedin the next room, and prompted by he knew not what, he thrust the roseinto his suitcoat pocket. An instant later, Judith Darrow came throughthe archway bearing a large tray. After setting it down on the coffeetable, she poured two cups of coffee from a little silver pot andindicated a plate of sandwiches. "Please help yourself," she said.
She sat down in the other chair and sipped her coffee. He had one of thesandwiches, found that he didn't want any more. Somehow, her proximity,coupled with her silence, made him feel uncomfortable. "Has your husbandalready left for Pfleugersville?" he asked politely.
Her gray-green eyes grew cold. "Yes, he left quite some time ago," shesaid. "A year ago, as a matter of fact. But for parts unknown, notPfleugersville. Pfleugersville wasn't accessible then, anyway. He had abrunette on one arm, a redhead on the other, and a pint of Cutty Sark inhis hip pocket."
Philip was distressed. "I ... I didn't mean to pry," he said. "I'm--"
"Sorry? Why should you be? Some men are born to settle down and raisechildren and others are born to drink and philander. It's as simple asthat."
"Is it?" something made Philip ask. "Into which category would you say Ifall?"
"You're in a class by yourself." Tiny silver flecks had come into hereyes, and he realized to his astonishment that they were flecks ofmalevolence. "You've never married, but playing the field hasn't madeyou one hundred per cent cynical. You're still convinced that somewherethere is a woman worthy of your devotion. And you're quite right--theworld is full of them."
His face tingled as though she had slapped it, and in a sense, she had.He restrained his anger with difficulty. "I didn't know that my celibacywas that noticeable," he said.
"It isn't. I took the liberty of having a private investigator checkinto your background. It proved to be unsavory in some respects, as Iimplied before, but unlike the backgrounds of the other real-estateagents I had checked, it contained not the slightest hint of dishonesty.The nature of my business is such that I need someone of maximumintegrity to contract it with. I had to go far and wide to find you."
"You're being unfair," Philip said, mollified despite himself. "Mostreal-estate agents are honest. As a matter of fact, there's one in thesame office building with me that I'd trust with the family jewels--if Ihad any family jewels."
"Good," Judith Darrow said. "I gambled on you knowing someone likethat."
He waited for her to elaborate, and when she did not he finished hiscoffee and stood up. "If you don't mind, I'll turn in," he said. "I'vehad a pretty hard day."
"I'll show you your room."
She got two candles, lit them, and after placing them in giltcandlesticks, handed one of the candlesticks to him. The room was on thethird floor in under the eaves--as faraway from hers, probably, as thesize of the house permitted. Philip did not mind. He liked to sleep inrooms under eaves. There was an enchantment about the rain on the roofthat people who slept in less celestial bowers never got to know. AfterJudith left, he threw open the single window and undressed and climbedinto bed. Remembering the rose, he got it out of his coat pocket andexamined it by candlelight. It was green all right--even greener than hehad at first thought. Its scent was reminiscent of the summer breezethat was blowing through the downstairs rooms, though not at all inkeeping with the chill October air that was coming through his bedroomwindow. He laid it on the table beside the bed and blew out the candle.He would go looking for the bush tomorrow.
* * * * *
Philip was an early riser, and dawn had not yet departed when, fullydressed, he left the room with the rose in his coat pocket and quietlydescended the stairs. Entering the living room, he found Zarathustracurled up in one of the armchairs, and for a moment he had the eerieimpression that the animal had extended one of his shaggy ears and wasscratching his back with it. When Philip did a doubletake, however, theear was back to normal size and reposing on its owner's tawny cheek.Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he said, "Come on, Zarathustra, we'regoing for a walk."
He headed for the back door, Zarathustra at his heels. A double doorleading off the dining room barred his way and proved to be locked.Frowning, he returned to the living room. "All right," he said toZarathustra, "we'll go out the front way then."
He walked around the side of the house, his canine companion trottingbeside him. The side yard turned out to be disappointing. It containedno roses--green ones, or any other kind. About all it did contain thatwas worthy of notice was a dog house--an ancient affair that was muchtoo large for Zarathustra and which probably dated from the days whenJudith had owned a larger dog. The yard itself was a mess: the grasshadn't been cut all summer, the shrubbery was ragged, and dead leaveslay everywhere. A similar state of affairs existed next door, andglancing across lots, he saw that the same desuetude prevailedthroughout the entire neighborhood. Obviously the good citizens ofValleyview had lost interest in their real estate long before they hadmoved out.
At length his explorations led him to the back door. If there were greenroses anywhere
, the trellis that adorned the small back porch was thelogical place for them to be. He found nothing but bedraggled Virginiacreeper and more dead leaves.
He tried the back door, and finding it locked, circled the rest of theway around the house. Judith was waiting for him on the front porch."How nice of you to walk Zarathustra," she said icily. "I do hope youfound the yard in order."
The yellow dress she was wearing did not match the tone of her voice,and the frilly blue apron tied round her waist belied the frostiness ofher gray-green eyes. Nevertheless, her rancor was real. "Sorry," hesaid. "I didn't know your back yard was out of bounds." Then, "If