"I find it amusing," Sylvia said. "And ugly. People back then-their minds were tepid."

"I guess so," Anna agreed, trying to shake the painting from her gaze.

"I hate the past," Sylvia said with feeling.

"Yes, but I came here to tell you-"

"You don't drink?" Sylvia, empty and silent, stood above her, looming like a grinning bird of prey.

"Yes, yes, I do." She eagerly clutched the proffered straw. "Please-anything."

Smiling, Sylvia disappeared into the second room. Glass clinked-ice rattled.

Is it me? Anna thought. She concentrated but-no-she could feel them: the others in the building. It was Sylvia---there was just nothing there.

"Here you are," Sylvia said, returning with a glass. Anna drank tentatively, failing to recognize the liquor. It was sweet.

"Alec is in New York," she managed.

"Yes-yes, I know."

"He wanted to call you but wasn't able to get through."

"Of course."

Anna recited her lines the way Astor had stated them: "An overload on the New York to San Francisco circuit. But he was able to reach me on a private line."

"I see, but-"

"He didn't want you to worry. He's sorry about missing work, especially at this time. But he'll be back. Soon. Very soon."

"When?" Sylvia asked, bluntly. Anna wished she would sit down, do anything, not just stand looming there.

"I'm sorry-I don't know."

"Why is he in New York?"

"I don't know that either."

Sylvia smiled and for the first time Anna caught a firm radiation. It was strong too-there was no way of missing it: pity.

"But he'll be back," Anna said, desperately trying to retain control of the situation.

Sylvia nodded and backed suddenly away, coming to rest underneath the painting of the hollow-eyed children. "Why don't you tell me something about Alec? We'll be working together now-I ought to get to know him."

"What do you want to know?" Anna asked, helplessly. Sylvia was radiating clearly now, but each emotion came so strongly that Anna had no chance to identify it before another had taken its place. It was like standing on the beach in the middle of a storm. Wave after wave of feeling came crashing relentlessly down upon her.

"Oh, anything. The kind of food he likes. His favorite color. Or, astrology? Do you believe in that?"

"No," Anna said, trying to watch her words carefully. It seemed-no matter what she said-that it was wrong. "I don't see any sense to it."

"But that's just the point," said Sylvia. She wore a long, tight, black gown that bared her arms and neck while keeping her legs concealed down past the ankles. As she spoke, she moved back and forth underneath the painting, shifting sidewise, not pacing, almost dancing, a graceful mocking motion. "I believe in anything that doesn't make sense. Astrology. Magic. Numerology. Any form of fortune-telling. Even the bumps on a man's head. Or Ah Tran and his cyclic theories. Do you know him?"

"Yes. I mean, no."

"That's why I appreciate paintings such as-" she gestured at the wall above "-that one. People tell me that art is a way of bringing meaning into life. I don't see that. I want my art to drive it away. That's why I cannot appreciate your sculptures-and I've seen every one you've done. They make too much-way too much-sense for me."

"I'm sorry," Anna said.

"Then do tell me about Alec."

"I-I wouldn't know where to begin." The truth was that Anna couldn't remember Alec. Underneath the awful assault of this woman's radiations, she could remember nothing.

Sylvia smiled and moved away from the wall at last. Once more she was standing in front of Anna. "I want to do you a favor."

"What?"

"Oh, nothing." She went to a small table in the center of the room and scribbled a note, which she brought to Anna. "Here you go."

Anna did not look. "What-what is it?"

"Where to find your father."

"My father? You know about-?"

Sylvia held up a hand. It was the same as a command. Anna fell silent.

"And now that you know," Sylvia said, "you can tell Inspector Cargill that you will need his services no longer. He is an evil man, Anna. You should best beware of him. You will tell him to drop the search."

"Yes." There was no other choice.

Sylvia laughed. "Not that he would ever have found him anyway."

Anna said, "Yes." It was the only word she knew. She was suffering from an awful headache. It felt as if someone's fingers had penetrated her skull, that they were moving across her mind, smoothing the wrinkles, crushing her feelings. "Yes," she said, with sudden conviction. "You are right. Yes, I understand. Yes, yes, yes."

When Anna met Eathen beside the elevator, she did not give him a chance to ask questions. She told him straight-out: "It was easy."

"You told her?"

"Oh, yes."

"And she didn't ask any questions? Why he hadn't called her? What he was doing in New York?"

"She accepted everything I told her." She laughed, signaling for the elevator to come and take them down. "She's just a woman."

"What's that?" Eathen asked, suddenly. He was pointing at her hand.

"Oh, that." Anna raised the note and read the now familiar name and address written there. It was important- wasn't it?-she tried to remember. "Oh, that's my father."