ghost of a smile---"who was adopted. Now, whatever happens there's always someone, somewhere, that's you again."
He remained silent.
Gwen asked, "Do you ever think about her? Don't you ever wonder where she is, what she's like?"
There was no reason to lie. "Yes," he said. "Sometimes I do."
"You've no means of finding out?"
He shook his head. He had once inquired, but was told that when an adoption was sealed, they threw away the files. There was no way to know---ever.
Gwen drank from her teacup. Over its rim she surveyed the crowded coffee shop. He sensed that her composure had returned; the trace of tears was gone.
She said with a smile, "Oh dear, what a lot of trouble I'm causing you."
He answered, and meant it: "It isn't my worrying that matters. It's what's best for you."
"Well, I suppose in the end I'll do what's sensible. I'll have an abortion. I just have to think it through, talk it out, first."
"When you're ready, I'll help. But we shouldn't lose much time."
"I suppose not."
"Look, Gwen," he assured her, "the whole thing is fast, and I promise you it'll be medically safe." He told her about Sweden; that he would pay whatever the clinic cost; that the airline would cooperate in getting her there.
She acknowledged, "I'll make up my mind, for sure, before we get back from this trip."
He picked up their check, and they rose to leave. It was nearing time for Gwen to be on hand to greet passengers boarding Flight Two.
As they left the coffee shop, she said, "I guess I'm pretty lucky you're the way you are. Some men would have walked away and left me."
"I won't leave you."
But he would leave her; he knew that now. When Naples and the abortion were over, he would finish with Gwen, break off their affair---as considerately as he could, but completely and definitely just the same. It would not be too difficult. There might be an uncomfortable moment or two when Gwen learned of his intention, but she was not the kind to make a fuss; she had demonstrated that already. In any event, he could handle the situation, which would not be a new one. Vernon Demerest had disentangled himself successfully from amorous affairs before.
It was true that this time there was a difference. No one before had ever had quite the same effect on him as Gwen. No other woman had stirred him quite so deeply. No one else---at least, whom he remembered---had caused him to enjoy her company, just being with her, quite so much. Parting, for himself, would not be easy, and he knew he would be tempted, later on, to change his mind.
But he would not. Through all his life so far, once he had decided on a course of action, Vernon Demerest had seen it through. Seff-discipline was a habit he enforced.
Besides, commonsense told him that if he did not break with Gwen soon, the time might come when he could not, when---self-discipline or not---he could never bring himself to give her up. If that happened, it would entail a need for permanence and, along with that, the kind of catastrophic upheaval---marital, financial, emotional---which he was determined to avoid. Ten or fifteen years ago, maybe; not now.
He touched Gwen's arm. "You go on. I'll follow in a minute."
Ahead of them, as the crowds in the central concourse parted briefly, he had observed Mel Bakersfeld. Vernon Demerest had no particular objection to being seen with Gwen; just the same, there was no sense in advertising their relationship around the family.
His brother-in-law, he noticed, was talking earnestly with Lieutenant Ned Ordway, the efficient, amiable Negro who commanded the airport police detachment. Perhaps Mel would be too absorbed to notice his sister's husband, which was perfectly all right with Demerest, who had no particular wish for a meeting, though at the same time he had no intention of avoiding one.
Gwen disappeared into the crowd; his last glimpse of her was of shapely, nylon-sheathed legs, and ankles equally as attractive and proportionate. O Sole Mio... hurry up!
Damn! Mel Bakersfeld had seen him.
"I WAS LOOKING for you," Lieutenant Ordway had told Mel a few minutes earlier. "I've just heard we're having visitors---several hundred."
Tonight the airport police chief was in uniform; a tall, striking figure who looked like an African emperor, though for one so big, he spoke with surprising softness.
"We already have visitors." Mel glanced around the crowded, bustling concourse. He had been passing through on the way to his office on the