At Estelle’s he ordered eggs over easy and sausage and a glass of milk, then had coffee while he looked at the sports page of the Free Press. The Tigers were playing Washington tonight, Boston tomorrow night to open a five-game series. He hadn’t seen a game yet this year. He hadn’t even seen more than a few innings on television.

Maybe they could watch the game tonight, if it was on. He couldn’t picture Nancy watching it, but maybe she wouldn’t care if he did.

The plan for today was to drive by Ray’s hunting lodge, look it over, and tonight go in, setting it up for Friday night. Looking it over wouldn’t take long. They could spend the day at her place. He could bring beer and the wine she liked and a couple of steaks and they could play house most of the afternoon. It was too early to pick her up now. She probably slept late.

Back at the Bay Vista after breakfast, Ryan didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to hang around and maybe run into Mr. Majestyk and he didn’t want to sit in his room and read. For some reason he thought of the broad in No. 5, who was supposed to have the stuck window.

Virginia Murray didn’t move. She wanted to. She wanted to back away from the door, or reach the terry cloth robe and put it on without touching the door. But what if she made a noise? She should have said something right away. “Just a minute.” Or, “Who is it?” Then she could move around all she wanted. But now it was too late.

The succession of knocks came again, loud and startling, and she could see the edge of the door vibrate. Then silence. As it lengthened, Virginia began to relax. This was silly. She would simply wait for whoever it was to go away. They weren’t going to stand there forever. But as she saw the knob turned and jiggled she jumped and heard her own voice before she realized she had cried out.

“What do you want?”

There was a moment’s hesitation. “I come to fix your window.”

She had to say something. “Can you come back later?”

“It’s my day off. I only got a little while.”

“Just a minute, please.”

Virginia put on the terry cloth robe, hurrying but trying to be quiet and calm about it. She tied the sash and looked in the mirror, pulling the lapels closer together; but when she took her hand away, the lapels came apart. She hurried into the bedroom, taking off the robe, and immediately was sorry she had taken it off, feeling herself naked and picturing him outside waiting. If she took too long, he would know she had been standing in the bathroom without any clothes on. She had to hurry. She had to think. (Mother of God, help me!) She had to put something on. Something. Virginia reached into the closet. She pulled a dress from its hanger. Her light blue shift. My God, it was too thin. But she was going to wear it, because it was in her hand, because it was unzipped and she was stepping into it and zipping it up again, almost all the way up, smoothing the dress over her hips and glancing in the mirror. She was amazed. She looked fine; she even looked calm.

It was not until she was opening the door that she realized she was barefoot.

“You said you had a window was stuck?”

“Yes, come in, please.” She hesitated. “It’s in the bedroom.”

Ryan was carrying the metal toolbox. Closing the door behind him, he saw her aqua bathing suit lying open on the floor. He saw she wasn’t wearing shoes with a dress on, and had to think about that one as he followed Virginia into the bedroom. He saw her stoop quickly next to the bed to pick up something and saw the way the dress stretched tightly but softly over her behind and smoothly across her back without the little ridge that brassiere fasteners make. By the time Virginia had raised the shade, standing against the morning sunlight coming in, Ryan knew damn well she didn’t have anything on under the dress.

He put the toolbox on the floor. “Let me have a look.”

Virginia was trying to raise the window, demonstrating, proving it wouldn’t open. Ryan reached in past her. She jerked her arm out of the way, hitting her hand on the windowsill, and the bunched-up ball of white she was holding fell to the floor. Ryan looked down at her pants covering the toe of his right foot.

He looked up now at her face. Not too bad. Good skin. Greenish eyes. A nice smell-some kind of lotion. A very clean-looking broad. And a funny look in her eyes like she was really keyed up and ready, a broad who’d been here by herself almost two weeks, about twenty-seven, probably married-not the best-looking broad in the world, but she was a real living person and she had gone to a lot of trouble.

Ryan put his hands on her shoulders and began turning her away from the window. She kept staring at him with the funny look, her eyes wide open. He moved in closer, his hands sliding down her arms and then working around her waist to her back and pulling her against him; and when it felt just right, he pressed his mouth against hers and threw both of them across the bed.

At first he didn’t realize she was struggling. He thought she was thrashing around, playing it up, but then, still kissing her, pressed against her, he opened his eyes and saw her eye like a giant eye fixed on him, an all-seeing eye looking into him-and filled with terror.

No, that wasn’t it. It was a frantic look, a way-up-there look.

He nuzzled in, kissing her lightly about the mouth and cheek, giving her the old Jack Ryan Special and moving his hand over her hip and up under her arm.

Very sloftly, barely taking his mouth from hers, he said, “Close your eyes.” He kissed her cheek. Her eyes closed and opened and closed again and he kissed her eyelids, came down her nose and fooled around a little at the corner of her mouth and then on her lower lip, the old left hand working up there again under her arm, the cushion of his thumb moving in closer, yes, just starting to touch-and she jumped, she winced, opening her eyes.

Still softly, close, holding on, Ryan said, “What’s the matter?”

“I have a little sore there,” Virginia murmured. She sounded half asleep, drugged.

“A sore?”

“From my bathing suit. It rubs.”

“Aww, I’m sorry.” He eased his hand away, working it across her back, his fingers touching gently until he found the zipper of her dress. He began pulling it down and could feel her bare skin as it came open. She didn’t seem aware of what he was doing until her dress was open to her waist. His hand went in to rest on the curve of her hip and her eyes, inches away from him, snapped open.

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She kept staring at him.

“Did I hurt you again?”

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

She kept looking at him.

“Just tell me why not?” Ryan whispered, gentle and patient.

Her voice was low, but very clearly she said, “Because it’s a sin.”

“What do you mean, a sin?”

“It’s a sin.”

“A sin-what are we doing?”

“You know what we’re doing,” Virginia said.

“It’s natural. I mean it’s the way we are-”

“If you’re married,” Virginia Murray said.

“We’re just fooling around.” Ryan smiled at her.

“To me it’s a sin.” Virginia hesitated before adding, in a hushed tone, “I’m a Catholic.”

“Well, that’s all right,” Ryan said. “So am I.”

“You are not.”

“I am. Honest to God.”

“Say the Apostles’ Creed.”

“Aw, come on.”

“If you’re a Catholic, you know the Apostles’ Creed.”

“O my God I’m heartily sorry-”

“That’s the Act of Contrition!”

“I believe in God, the Father Almighty,” Ryan said. “Creator of heaven and earth-come on, what is this?”

“Will you get off me, please?”

“For Christ sake, you started it.”

“Please don’t use that language.”

“You parade around without any pants on.”

Virginia pulled away from him, turning out of his arms, and put her hands over her face. Her hands muffled the words as she said, “Please leave.”