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He passed her a cup of punch and they helped themselves to the hors d'oeuvres。 Pitt had to fight from yawning as he and Tidi drifted from one group to another。 An experienced party…goer； Pitt usually mixed with ease； but this time he couldn't seem to make a beachhead。 There was an odd atmosphere about this function。 He couldn't put his finger on it； yet there was something definitely out of place。 The usual subdivisions were present…bores； the drunks。 snobs and the backslappers。 Everyone they joined who could speak English was quite polite。 No anti…American sentiments…a favorite； ploy during most conversations involving guests of other nations…came to the surface。
To all outward appearances； it seemed like the mon； middle…of…the…road get…together。 Then suddenly he had it。 He bent down and whispered in Tidi's ear。
〃Do you get the feeling we're persona non grata？〃
Tidi looked at him curiously。 〃No； everyone seems friendly enough。〃
〃Sure； they're sociable and polite； but it's forced。〃
〃How can you be certain？〃
〃I know a warm； sincere smile when I see one。
We're not getting any。 It's as though we're in a cage。
Feed and talk to the animals； but don't touch。〃
〃That's silly。 You can't really blame them for being uneasy when they talk to someone who's dressed the way you are。〃
〃That's the catch。 The oddball is always； without fail； the center of attraction。 If I wasn't dead sure； I'd say this was a wake。〃
She looked up at Pitt with a sly smile。 〃You're just nervous because you're way out of your league。〃
He smiled back。 〃Care for an explanation？〃
〃See those two men over there？〃 She nodded her head sideways to her right。 〃Standing by the piano？〃
Pitt casually rolled a slow glance in the direction Tidi indicated。 A small； rotund； lively little man with a bald head was gesturing animatedly as he spoke in rapid bursts into a wiry； thick white beard no more than ten inches from his nose。 The beard belonged to a thin； distinguished…looking man with silver hair that fell well below his collar； giving him the appearance of a Harvard professor。 Pitt turned back to Tidi and shrugged。
〃So？〃
〃You don't recognize them？〃
〃Should I？〃
〃You don't read the society pages of The New York Times。〃
〃Playboy is the only publication I bother with。〃
She threw him a typical feminine disgusted…withthe…male…of…the…species expression and said： 〃It's a pretty sid state of affairs when the son of a United States Senator can't identify two of the richest men in the world。〃
Pitt was only half listening to Tidi。 It took a few seconds for her words to sink in。 But then they slowly began to register and he turned his head and brazenly stared at the two men who were still heavily involved in conversation。 Then he swung back and gripped Tidi's arm so hard she winced。
〃Their names？〃
Her eyes flew wide in surprise。 〃The bald…headed fat man is Hans Von Hummel。 The distinguished…looking one is F。 James Kelly。〃
〃You could be mistaken。〃
〃Maybe 。 。 。 no； I'm positive。 I saw Kelly once at the President's Inaugural Ball。〃
〃Look around the room！ Recognize anyone else？〃
Tidi quickly did as she was told； scanning the main salon for a familiar face。 Her gaze stopped not once； but three times。 〃The old fellow with the funny…looking glasses sitting on the settee。 That's Sir Eric Marks。 And the attractive brunette next to him is Dorothy Howard； the British actress…〃
〃Never mind her。 Concentrate on the men。〃
〃The only other who looks vaguely familiar is the one who just came in； talking to Kirsti Fyrie。 I'm pretty sure he's Jack Boyle； the Australian coal tycoon。〃
〃How e you're such an authority on millionaires？〃
Tidi gave a cute shrug。 〃A favorite pastime for a lot of unmarried girls。 You never know when you might meet one； so you prepare for the occasion even if it only es off in your imagination。〃
〃For once your daydreams paid off。〃
〃I don't understand。〃
〃Neither do I except this is beginning to look like a meeting of the clan。〃
Pitt pulled Tidi out on the terrace and slowly walked her to a corner away from the mainstream of the crowd。 He watched the small groups of guests milling about the expansive double doors； catching them looking his way and then turning back； not in embarrassment； but rather as if they were scientists observing an experiment and discussing its probable oute。 He began to get the uneasy feeling that ing into Rondheim's lair was a mistake。 He was just in the process of thinking up an excuse to leave when Kirsti Fyrie spied them and came alongside。
〃Would you care to be seated in the study？ We're almost ready to begin。〃
〃Who is giving the reading？〃 Tidi asked。
Kirsti's face brightened。 〃Why； Oskar； of course。〃
〃Oh； dear God；〃 Pitt mumbled under his breath。
Like a lamb to slaughter； he let Kirsti lead him to the study with Tidi tagging behind。
By the time they reached the study and found a seat among the long circular rows of plush armchairs grouped around a raised dais； the room was nearly brimming to capacity。 It was small consolation； but Pitt considered he and Tidi fortunate to sit in the last row near the doorway； offering a possible means of unnoticed departure when the opportunity arose。 Then his hopes went up in smoke…a servant closed and bolted the doors。
After a few moments； the servant turned a rheostat and dimmed the lights； throwing the study into solid darkness。 Then Kirsti climbed the dais and two soft； pink spotlights came on； giving her the aura of a sculptured Greek goddess standing serenely on her pedestal in the Louvre。 Pitt mentally undressed her； trying to imagine what an awesome picture she would have made in that revealing condition。 He stole a glance at Tidi。
The enraptured quality of her expression made him wonder if it were possible that her thoughts were similar to his。 He groped for her hand； found it and squeezed the fingers tightly。 Tidi was so absorbed with the vision on the dais； she didn't even notice or respond to Pitts touch。
Standing there motionless； soaking up the stares from an audience still invisible beyond the glare of the spotlight 。 Fyrie smiled confidently with that inner glow of self…assurance that only a woman truly secure in her loveliness can possess。
She bowed her head toward the hushed bodies in the darkness and began to speak。 〃Ladies and gentlemen； distinguished guests。 Tonight； our host； Mr。 Oskar Rondheim； will offer for your enjoyment his latest work。 This he will read in our native Icelandic tongue。
Then； since most of you understand English； he will read selected verses from the marvelous new contemporary Irish poet； Sean Magee。〃
Pitt turned and whispered to Tidi。 〃I should have fortified myself with at least ten more cups of that punch。〃
He couldn't see Tidi's face。 He didn't have to…he felt her elbow jab him sharply in the ribs。 When he turned back to Kirsti； she had disappeared and Rondheim hid taken her place。
It might have been said that Pitt suffered the agonies of the damned for the next hour and a half。 But he didn't。 Five minutes after Rondheim began delivering his Icelandic saga in a rolling monotone； Pitt was sound asleep； content in the fact that no one would notice his lack of poetry appreciation in the darkened surroundings。
No sooner had the first wave of unconsciousness swept over him than Pitt found himself back on the beach for the hundredth time； cradling Dr。 Hunnewell's head in his arms。 Over and over he watched helplessly as Hunnewell stared vacantly into Pitts eyes； trying to speak； fighting desperately to make himself understood。
Then finally； barely uttering those three words that seemingly had no meaning； a cloud passed over his tired old features and he was dead。
The strange phenomenon of the dream wasn't its actual recurrence； but rather the fact that no two sequences were exactly the same。 Each time that Hunnewell died； something was different。 In one dream the children would be present on the beach as they had been in reality。 In the next； they would be missing； nowhere in sight'。 Once the black jet circled overhead； dipping