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〃Yes。 I needed to look at it again； you see； to check it against the description in my article。 It was slightly damaged…Debierue's signature…so I thought I'd touch it up some。〃
Berenice pressed her forefinger to the exact center of the painting。 She examined the wet； bemerded smear on her fingertip。
〃Oh； James；〃 she said unhappily； 〃you painted this awful picture 。 。 。 ！〃
3
Looking back （and faced with the same set of circumstances）； I don't know that I would have handled the problem any differently…except for some minor changes from the way that I did solve it。 Ignorant women have destroyed the careers； the ambitions； and the secret plans of a good many honorable men throughout history。
It would have been easy enough to blame myself for allowing Berenice to discover the painting。 If I had locked the door； instead of being concerned with my physical disfort in the hotel room； I could have hidden the painting from her before allowing her into the room。 This one little slip on my part destroyed everything； if one wants to look at it that way。 But the problem was greater than this…not a matter of just one little slip。 There was an entire string of unfortunate coincidences； going back to the unwitting moment I had allowed Berenice to move in on me； and continuing through my foolhardy decision to allow her to acpany me to Debierue's house。
And now； of course； caught red handed…or burnt orange handed…Berenice was in possession of a lifelong hold over me if I carried my deception through…with the publication of the article； with the sending of the painting to Joseph Cassidy； to say nothing of the future； my future； and the subsequent furor that the publication of an article on Debierue would arouse in the art world。
Berenice loved me； or so she had declared again and again； and if I had married her； perhaps she would have kept her mouth shut； carrying her secret knowledge； and mine； to her grave。 I don't know。 I doubted it then； and I doubt it now。 Love； according to my experience； is a fragile transitory emotion。 Not only does love fall a good many years short of lasting forever； a long stretch for love to last is a few months； or even a few weeks。 If I think about my friends and acquaintances in New York…and don't consider casual acquaintances I have known elsewhere； in Palm Beach； for example…I can't think of a single friend； male or female； who hasn't been divorced at least once。 And most of them； more than once。 The milieu I live in is that way。 The art world is not only egocentric； it is egoeccentric。 The environment is not conducive to lasting friendships； let alone lasting marriages。 And that was my world 。 。 。
My remaining choice； which was too stupid even to consider seriously； was a bitter one。 I could have destroyed The Burnt Orange Heresy （such was the title I assigned to the painting）； and torn up the article I had written； which would mean that the greatest opportunity I had ever had to make a name for myself as an art critic would be lost。
These thoughts were jumbled together in my mind as I confronted Berenice； but not in any particular order。 Emotionally； I was only mildly annoyed at the time； knowing I had a major problem to solve； but bereft； at least for the moment； of any solution。
〃You may believe that this is an 'awful' picture；〃 I said coldly to Berenice； 〃and it's your privilege to think so if； and the key word is if； if you can substantiate your opinion with valid reasons as to why it's an 'awful' picture。 Otherwise； you're not entitled to any value judgments concerning Debierue's work。〃
〃I…I just can't believe it！〃 Berenice said； shaking her head。 〃You're not going to try to pass this off as a painting by Debierue； are you？〃
〃It is a painting by Debierue。 Didn't I just tell you that I was touching it up a little because it was damaged slightly in transit？〃
〃I'm not blind； James。〃 She made a helpless； fluttering gesture with her hands； her big eyes taking in the evidence of the art materials and the painting itself。 〃How do you expect to get away with something so raw？ Don't you know that Mr。 Cassidy will show this painting to Debierue； and that…〃
〃Berenice！〃 I brought her up sharply。 〃You're sticking your middle…western nose into something that is none of your damned business！ Now get the hell out of here； get packed； and if you aren't ready to leave in twenty minutes； you can damned well stay here in Valdosta！〃
Her face flushed； and she took two steps backward。 She nodded； nibbled her nether lip； and nodded again。 〃All right！ There is obviously something going on that I don't understand； but that isn't any reason to blow off at me like that。 You can at least explain it to me。 You can't blame me for being bewildered； can you？ I can see that； well； the way it looks is funny； that's all！〃
I got up from the chau put my arm around her shoulders； and gave her a friendly hug。 〃I'm sorry；〃 I said gently； 〃I shouldn't have woofed at you like that。 And don't worry。 I'll explain everything to you in the car。 There's a good girl。 Just get packed； and we can get out of here and be on our way in a few minutes。 Okay？〃
I held open the door。 Still nodding her head； Berenice crossed the hallway to her room。
The moment her door closed； I wrapped the art materials in the sheet； washed the ashtray palette under the bathtub hot water tap and dried it with a towel。 I slipped on my trousers and a shirt； and took the painting and the small bundle of art materials down to the basement garage on the elevator。 I dumped the bundle in a garbage can； and placed the painting carefully； wet side up； in the trunk of my car。 It took another three minutes to unfasten the canvas covertible top； fold it back； and snap the fasteners of the plastic cover。 It would be chilly riding with the top back at this time of night； but I could put it up again later。 The night garage attendant； a young black man wearing white overalls； stood in the doorway of the small； lighted office； watching me silently as I struggled with the top。 Finished； I crossed the garage； handed him a quarter； and told him I was checking out。
〃Call the desk； please；〃 I said； 〃and tell the clerk to send a bellman with a truck to get our baggage in five…ten and fiveoh…five in about fifteen minutes。 Tell the bellman to pile it on the back seat when he es down。 The trunk is already filled with other things。〃
〃Yes； sir；〃 he said。
I returned to my room； packed in less than five minutes； pulled a sleeveless sweater on over my shirt； and slipped into my sports coat。 Berenice wasn't ready yet； but I helped her dose her suitcases； and advised her to wear her warm polo coat over her slack suit。 The bellman came with his truck； and when we got off at the lobby to check out； he continued on down to the basement to put our luggage in the car。 Berenice paid the bill； which was surprisingly reasonable； by cashing two traveler's checks； and the bellman had the car out in front for us before we had finished checking out。 The night deskman didn't ask questions about why we were leaving in the middle of the night； and I didn't volunteer any information。
The night air was chilly when we got into the car； and there was a light； misty fog hovering fifty feet or so above the deserted city streets。 I lit two cigarettes； handed Berenice one of them； and pulled away from the curb。 She shivered slightly and huddled down in her seat。
〃You're probably wondering why I put the top back；〃 I said。
〃Yes； I am。 But after the way you barked at me last time； I'm almost afraid to ask any questions。〃
I laughed and patted her leg。 〃If it gets too cold； I'll put it up again。 But I thought it would be best to get as much fresh air as possible to keep myself awake。 It isn't really cold； and there won't be much traffic this time of night； so we should make fairly good time。〃
Berenice accepted this moronic explanation； and I increased the speed the moment we got out of the downtown area and onto the new four…lane highway that was still bordered by residential streets containing two… and three…story houses。
From my examination of the map I knew that there were several small lake