Union Atlantic Page 0,84

cardigan.

"What for?"

"It's your birthday."

"Oh. I suppose it is. That's kind of you. Unnecessary, certainly. But kind."

"They were supposed to arrive hours ago but they should last awhile," she said, stepping back to appraise her arrangement. The phone on her desk rang and she returned to the other room to answer it.

Down below, the last rays of sun passed over the heads of the pedestrians to fall evenly across the wall of a building at the corner of Liberty and William, which until recently had displayed a mural of Seurat's La Grande Jatte - a set painting for, of all unlikely things, a Hollywood movie shot in the financial district. They had left it up after the production and Henry rather enjoyed having the mural there to remind him of the original, a painting he tried to visit whenever business took him to Chicago. One habit of his, at least, of which his sister would approve.

Two months ago, back in August, Charlotte had found a new cause for her paranoia: what she claimed to be the theft of documents from the house, as if they hadn't simply been swallowed up in the general chaos. She'd gone so far as to call the police to request an investigation, which they quite reasonably declined to open, this in turn only heightening her sense of persecution. Concerned that her rate of deterioration was increasing, Henry had got in touch with a neighbor, whom he'd asked to phone if she saw anything awry. The woman had called four times since. First it was a dozen saplings delivered in burlap wrap and left to die in the sun; then branches stacked at the end of the driveway to prevent cars reaching the house; after that, the collapse of one section of the barn roof, through which rain now poured; and finally, the dogs howling at all hours. Last week, he'd gone ahead and hired a home aide. While at a conference in Basel, he'd got a call on his cell phone from her saying Charlotte had barred her at the door and told her never to return.

"You don't have a lot of options," his lawyer had told him. "If she gets violent, we can talk."

"Are you expecting someone?" Helen called from the other room. "There's a woman downstairs. She says she made an appointment."

He knew there had been a reason for him to tarry here on a Friday afternoon but he hadn't been able to recall what it was.

"Yes," he said. "That's my fault. I forgot to mention it."

A few minutes later, Helen showed Evelyn Jones into his office.

With some reluctance, she placed her handbag on the coffee table and, flattening the front of her skirt onto her thighs, perched on the edge of the couch.

"Can we get you something? Coffee, water? Or something stiffer for that matter?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine, really." She looked about the room with what struck Henry as genuine marvel. "It's not what I was expecting," she said. "This building."

"Yes, it's a bit unusual for the neighborhood. It's modeled on a Medici palace. You saw the wrought iron? Rather fanciful, I suppose. But the idea of a central bank was still new back in the twenties. I think they wanted to make a statement. You're sure I can't offer you anything to drink?"

"No, thank you. I know you're busy. I'm probably interrupting."

"No, just wrapping up the week. I'm not traveling for once, which is a blessing."

He remembered now that when she first left a message a week ago he'd guessed it was an inquiry about working at the Fed, which while a rather direct approach wouldn't be unheard of and would account for her nerves. But noticing her rigid posture and pursed lips he wondered if there wasn't something more than that to her visit.

"We get them from the Met," he said, following her eyes to the paintings. "We loaned them a bar of gold back in the seventies for some show or other and they've been kind enough to let us borrow from their basement ever since. The one problem being my predecessor decided the appropriate policy would be to hang only paintings by artists from the Federal Reserve's Second District, a somewhat limiting condition when it comes to the history of art. But there we are."

"I shouldn't be here," she said. "I shouldn't have come."

"Not at all," he said genially, beginning to perceive the outlines of the thing. "Do you have another appointment after this?"

"No," she replied, surprised by the