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could see that people had been working in here with very big pieces of stone and wood. She already had gone through the studio in the house; it did not surprise her to find another bigger one here.
    But eventually she always had to return to the main house, where chaos was developing rapidly. Caterers were unloading equipment and food; kitchen help had appeared; someone was going upstairs with an armload of fresh towels, and Tootles was running around barefoot, giving orders, getting in the way. Constance retreated to the living room where she regarded the work called Seven Kinds of Death , and she was struck by a very vivid memory of the evening when she and Charlie had seen it together, when it was first installed in the National Gallery seventeen years ago. They had overheard a group of people walking around it, pointing. “I can see at least five kinds of death in it,” a narrow-faced young man had been saying. “There’s death of a forest, obviously, and death of innocence, and death by war, and death by starvation, and this could be death…”
    At that moment Charlie had whispered in her ear, “Death by boredom.”
    She was still there when Johnny Buell arrived and asked Ba Ba, “Has he come yet? Paul Volte?”
    They entered the living room together, Ba Ba talking about Paul Volte; Tootles, close behind them, said to Constance, “He and Max made me invite him. Paul, I mean. You remember Paul, don’t you? That’s all Johnny is thinking about. Paul Volte. Maybe he’ll do an article about the condos. Not bloody likely. They made me ask him.”
    The two girls followed her into the room. Constance thought of them as Toni-sad-eyes, and Janet-the-manic, who bounced a lot. They reminded her of her own daughter, and that made her think again of Charlie and how much she would rather be home with him than here with these people.
    Moments later Paul Volte and Victoria Leeds arrived. Each carried a small overnight bag; she had a book and a sweater, and her purse. They put everything down in the foyer and entered the living room to be introduced. Johnny Buell turned shy and left, muttering he’d meet them later. And Paul made it clear almost instantly that not only were he and Victoria not sleeping together, they were hardly even speaking. He called her Ms. Leeds, and did not look directly at her, but thanked Tootles for permitting him to bring a friend. Victoria Leeds did not look at him, and also thanked Tootles. But the most interesting thing, Constance thought, watching, was how the expression on Toni’s face changed. From a deep-seated sadness, or even fear, or a clinical depressive withdrawal, she became almost as manic as Janet. She hugged and kissed Victoria and Paul both, and smiled broadly even as Tootles groaned and cursed.
    “What the hell am I supposed to do about beds? I thought it was all fixed!”
    Victoria said she would go to a motel in the village, and Paul said they would both go to a motel, and Toni said Victoria could have her bed and she would sleep in the studio in her sleeping bag, and Janet said no, she would do that. Since Victoria was Toni’s friend they should share the room…
    Ba Ba said maybe one of the twin beds from her room could be moved somewhere. Then Tootles was shaking Paul’s arm and saying he did this on purpose, and he was a son of a bitch for not calling to explain the situation. By now Victoria had drawn apart and was merely watching with a trace of a smile on her lips. Constance moved forward and took Tootles’s hand.
    “Calm down,” she said. “Janet can have the second bed in my room. Toni and Victoria can share a room, and Paul can have the room you meant him to have.”
    “Victoria, do you mind?” Toni asked anxiously. “I can sleep in the studio if you want a private room.”
    “I think it’s all been arranged very nicely,” Victoria said. She smiled at Constance.
    “Well, I’ll just move some things off the other bed,” Constance said to Janet who was