Parker said nothing.
“Oddly enough,” the short man said, as though the fact were for some reason sad, “two of the guests depicted in that painting are outside on the lawn right now.”
“Is that right?”
“I don’t believe I know you,” the man said.
Parker shrugged. “You don’t.” He kept on looking at the painting.
“But that isn’t acceptable. I have to know everyone here, that’s one of the rules of the house.”
Now Parker looked at him. “You mean you’re Griffith?”
Griffith’s expression suddenly changed again, became almost petulant. “Oh, of course,” he said. “You must be Mackey’s friend, the one who absolutely had to have a face-to-face.”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I really can’t talk now. You may not believe it, but this little affair isn’t quite off the ground yet. I have to keep breathing on the guests till they come to life. Where’s Mackey?”
“Outside.”
“Why don’t you join him? I’ll have time to chat with you soon.”
“I’ll wait in a quiet room in here,” Parker said.
Griffith frowned, disapproving and not liking to have to explain his orders. “You’re supposed to behave,” he said, “as though you’re here for social reasons only.”
“Mackey brought his woman. I didn’t. I’ll wait in here, in a quiet room.”
Griffith gave an irritable shrug. “Oh, all right, suit yourself. I don’t like this anyway, I don’t see what the point is. I told Mackey what I want and what I’ll pay for it and where it is. What more is there to talk about, for heaven’s sake?”
“You want to talk now?”
“No. I already said no.” He moved his hands in an agitated way. “I don’t have the time.”
Parker shrugged. “What room should I wait in?”
“At least get yourself a drink. Try not to look as though you’re here to repossess the furniture.”
“All right. I’ll get a drink.”
“Thank you,” Griffith said, being half sardonic and half grateful. He said, “Then, if you insist on a quiet room, go out that door over there and down the hall and through the second arch on your right. Then go across that room and through the door on the other side. That’s my office, you can wait in there.”
“Good.”
“If someone blunders onto you, pretend you’re making a long-distance call or something.”
“All right,” Parker said.
“Now come along and get a drink.”
Parker went with him outside again, past the loud and sober musicians and down across the lawn toward the bar along the hedge. Midway, Griffith got dragged into somebody else’s conversation, and Parker went on alone. He arrived at a slight lull in the bar’s activity, and got himself a light gin and tonic. Mackey came wandering over to him as he turned away from the bar; they nodded to one another, and Mackey said, “You talk to him?”
“We met,” Parker said. “We didn’t talk. You and Brenda hang around out here.”
“Brenda’s having a big time,” Mackey said, and grinned. He was fond of her. “I’ll tell you a rule of human nature, Parker,” he said. “All women are social climbers.”
There was nothing to say to that. Parker nodded again and walked back up the slope toward the patio. A man stepped in front of him, frowning slightly, and said, “Aren’t you Greene?”
“No,” Parker said.
“My God, that’s fantastic.” He was a little drunk, but carrying it well. “Hubert Greene?” he said, as though Parker might be the right man after all and had merely forgotten his own name. “You don’t know him? Surely people have told you you look like him.”
“No,” Parker said.
“Listen, come along here. Do you mind?” Taking Parker’s arm, he turned and started off, calling, “Helen! Come over here!”
A nearby group of three women and two men now shifted to include Parker and the other man, and one of the women said, looking curiously at Parker, “What is it? What’s the matter?”
“Who does this fellow look like?”
Everybody looked at him. Parker stood looking back, waiting for something else to attract their attention.
Nobody could guess who it was he was supposed to look like, and when the first man mentioned the name of Hubert Greene, it prompted a long discussion, half the group agreeing more or less and the other half in violent opposition, one of the women constantly assuring Parker, “You don’t look anything like Hubie Greene, you really don’t.” And one of the men grinned at him and said, “If you knew Hubie, you’d punch Fred right in the face.”
The conversation finally shifted gears when one of the women said, “Why isn’t Hubie here, anyway?”
