THE DOORBELL rang exactly on the dot.

Martin was wearing a gorgeous gray suit. After a moment I stepped back to let him in, and he looked around.

Suddenly we realized we weren't observing the amenities, and both of us burst into speech at once. I blurted "How've you been doing?" as he said "Nice apartment." We both shuddered to a halt and smiled at each other in embarrassment.

"I reserved tables at a restaurant the board of directors took me to after they'd decided to hire me for the job here," Martin said. "It's French, and I thought it was very good. Do you like French food?"

I wouldn't understand the menu. "That'll be fine," I said. "You'll have to order for me. I haven't tried to speak French since high school."

"We'll have to rely on the waiter," Martin said. "I speak Spanish and some Vietnamese, but only a little French."

We had one thing in common.

I got my black coat from the coat closet. I slid it on myself, not being ready for him to touch me. I lifted my hair out of the collar and let it hang down my back, acutely conscious that he watched my every move. I thought if we made it out the door it would be amazing, so I kept my distance; and when he opened the door for me to pass through, I did so as quickly as I could. Then he opened the patio gate and the door of his car. I hadn't felt so frail in years.

His car was wonderful--real leather and an impressive dashboard. It even smelled expensive. I had never ridden in anything so luxurious. I was feeling more pampered by the moment.

We swept imperially through Lawrenceton, attracting (I hoped) lots of attention, and hit the short interstate stretch to Atlanta. Our small talk was extremely small. The air in the car was crackling with tension.

"You've always lived here?"

"Yes. I did go away to college, and I did some graduate work. But then I came back here, and I've been here ever since. Where have you lived?"

"Well. I grew up in rural Ohio, as I mentioned last night," he said.

I could not picture him being rural at any point in his life, and I said so.

"I've spent my lifetime eradicating it," he said with some humor. "I was in the Marines for a while, in Vietnam, the tail end, and then when I came back, after a while I began to work for Pan-Am Agra. I finished college through night school, and Pan-Am Agra needed Spanish speakers so much that I became fluent. It paid off, and I began working my way up ... this car was the first thing I got that said I had arrived, and I take good care of it."

Presumably the big house in Lawrenceton would be another acquisition affirming that he was climbing the ladder successfully.

"You're--thirty?" he said suddenly.

"Yes."

"I'm forty-five. You don't mind?"

"How could I?"

Our eyes moved simultaneously to a lighted motel sign looming over the interstate.

The exit was a mile away.

I thought I was about to give way to an impulse--finally.

"Ah--Aurora--"

"Roe."

"I don't want you to think I don't want to spend money on you. I don't want you to think I don't want to be seen with you. But tonight..."

"Pull off."

"What?"

"Pull off."

Off the interstate we rolled at what seemed to me incredible speed, and suddenly we were parked in front of the bright office of the motel. I couldn't remember the name of it, where we were, anything.

Martin left the car abruptly, and I watched him register. He carefully did not turn to look back at me during the interminable process.

Then he slid back into the car with a key in hand.

I turned to him and said through clenched teeth, "I hope it's on the ground floor."

It was.

It rained during the night. The lightning flashed through the windows, and I heard the cold spray hit the pavement outside. He had been sleeping; he woke up a little when I shivered at the thunder. "Safe," he said, gathering me to him. "Safe." He kissed my hair and fell back into sleep.

I wondered if I was. In a practical way I was safe, yes; we were not stupid people; we took precautions. But in my heart I had no feeling, none at all, of safety.

The morning was not the kind that ordinarily made me cheerful. It was colder, grayer, and puddles of muddy water dotted the parking lot of the motel. But I felt good enough to overcome even the faint sleaziness of putting back on the same clothes I'd worn. We ate breakfast in the motel coffee shop, and both of us were very hungry.

"I don't know what we've started," Martin said suddenly, as he was about to get up to pay our bill, "but I want you to know I have never felt so wrung out in my life."

"Relaxed," I corrected smilingly. "I'm relaxed."

"Then," he said with raised eyebrows, "you didn't work hard enough."

We smiled at each other. "A matter of opinion," I said, quite shocked at myself.

"We'll just have to try again until we're both satisfied," Martin murmured.

"What a fate," I said.

"Tonight?" he asked.

"Tomorrow night. Give me a chance to recoup."

"See, you do know some French words," he replied, and we smiled at each other again. He glanced at his watch as we drove back. "I'm usually working at the plant alone on Sunday, but today we're having a special meeting at twelve-thirty, followed by an executives' lunch. It's a kickoff for our next production phase."

"What will they say if you're a few minutes late?" I asked him softly when he kissed me good- bye at my townhouse door.

"They won't say anything," he told me. "I'm the top dog."

For the first time in a long time, I was going to skip church. I staggered up the stairs and stripped off all my clothes, pulled a nightgown over my head, and after turning off the bell of the phone, crawled in bed to rest. I began to think, and with an effort turned off the trickle of thought like a hand tightening a faucet. I was sore, exhausted, and intoxicated, and soon I was also asleep. My mother called at eleven, as soon as she got home from church. The Episcopalians in Lawrenceton had a nine-thirty service, because Aubrey went to another, smaller church forty miles away to hold another service directly after the Lawrenceton one. I was drowsing in bed, trying to think of what to do with the remainder of the day, persuading myself not to call Martin. I felt so calm and limp that I thought I might slide out of bed and ooze across the carpet to the closet. I barely heard the downstairs phone ringing.

"Hello, Aurora," Mother said briskly. "We missed you at church. What have you been doing today?"

I smiled blissfully at the ceiling and said, "Nothing in particular."

"I called to find out about the annual realtors' banquet," she said. "Would you and Aubrey like to come? It's for families, too, you know, and you might enjoy it, since you know everyone." Mother tried to get me there every year, and the last year I'd broken down and gone. The annual realtors' banquet was one of those strange events no one can possibly like but everyone must attend. It was a local custom that had begun fifteen years before when a realtor (who has since left town) decided it would be a good thing if all the town professionals and their guests met once a year and drank a lot of cocktails and ate a heavy meal, and afterwards sat in a stupor listening to a speaker.

"Isn't the timing a little bad this year?" I was thinking of Tonia Lee.

"Well, yes, but we've made the reservations and selected the menu and everyone's kept that night free for months. So we might as well go through with it. Shall I put you and Aubrey down? This is the final tally of guests. I'll be glad when Franklin's in charge of this next year." Each agency in Lawrenceton took the task in turn.

"He'll leave most of the arrangements to Terry Sternholtz, the same way you left them to Patty," I said.

"At least it won't be our agency that looks inefficient if anything goes wrong."

"Nothing's going to go wrong. You know how efficient Patty is."

"Lord, yes." My mother sighed. "I sense you're putting me off, Aurora."

"Yes, actually I am. I just wanted to sort of tell you something .. ."

"`Sort of?'"

"I'm trying to glide into this."

"Glide. Quickly."

"I'm not dating Aubrey anymore."

An intake of breath from Mother's end.

"I'm really just... I think ... I'm seeing Martin. Bartell."

Long silence. Finally Mother said, "Were there any bad feelings, Aurora? Do John and I need to skip church for the next couple of weeks? Aubrey was a little somber today, maybe, but not so much that I thought anything about it until I talked to you."

"No bad feelings."

"All right. I'll have to hear the whole story from you sometime."

"Sure. Yes, well, Martin and I will come, I think ... maybe." I had a sudden attack of insecurity. "It's next Saturday night, right?"

"Right. And Tonia Lee will be buried Tuesday. Donnie called today. The church service is at"-- Mother checked her notes--"Flaming Sword of God Bible Church," she finished in an arid voice.

"Golly. That's out on the highway, isn't it?"

"Yes, right by Pine Needle Trailer Park." Mother's voice could have dried out the Sahara.

"What time?"

"Ten o'clock."

"Okay. I'll be there."

"Aurora. You're okay? About this change in beaus?"

"Yes. So is Aubrey. So is Martin."

"All right, then. See you Tuesday morning, if not before. I think Eileen mentioned she had some more properties to show you this afternoon; she should be calling you soon."

"Okay. See you."

I took a quick shower, pulled on a green-, rust-, and brown-striped sweater, the matching rust-colored pants, and my brown boots. A glance outside had shown that the day had not brightened, but remained resolutely cold, windy, and wet.

Downstairs I found my answering-machine light was blinking. I'd been too tired to glance that way this morning.

"Roe, this is Eileen, calling on Saturday evening. I have two houses to show you Sunday afternoon if it's convenient for you, in the afternoon. Give me a call."

A moment of silence between messages.

"Roe, are you asleep?" My face flushed when I heard Martin's voice. He'd probably called while I was in the shower. "I'm calling from work, sweetheart. I can hardly wait until tomorrow night. I can't make it to Atlanta that night since I have a meeting early Tuesday morning, but we can at least go to the Carriage House." That being Lawrenceton's best restaurant. "I want to see you again," he said simply. "You made me very happy."

I was pretty damn happy myself.

I called Eileen back to make an appointment for two o'clock, then decided to treat myself to lunch somewhere. On impulse, I punched the number of my reporter friend, Sally Allison, and we arranged to meet at the local Beef 'N More.

Thirty minutes later we were settled opposite each other, after waiting in line through the Sunday church crowd. Sally was working on a hamburger and a salad, and I had virtuously opted for the salad bar only, though I could certainly get enough calories from what was spread up and down its length.

Sally was older than I by more than twelve years, but we're good friends. She was a Sally who wouldn't tolerate a nickname. Sally had bronze hair, never out of place, and she bought expensive clothes and ran them into the ground. She was wearing a black suit I'd seen on her countless times, and it still looked good. For once, she had some news to impart before she started digging for more.

"Paul's working today. He and I got married last weekend," she said casually, and the cellophane package of crackers I was trying to open exploded. I hastily began to gather up the crumbs.

"You married your first husband's brother?"

"You know we've been dating for a long time."

"Well, yes, but I didn't know it was going to result in a marriage!"

"He's great."

We chatted away. I was dying to know what the first Mr. Allison thought of this new situation, but was aware I really must not ask.

The third time Sally was explaining to me how wonderful Paul was (she knew I'd heard while dating Arthur Smith that Paul had never been popular with his fellow detectives), I was sufficiently bored and skeptical to look around me. To my surprise, I spied Donnie Greenhouse eating lunch with Idella. They were sitting in one of the few places in the steak house where you could talk without being overheard. Donnie was leaning over the table, talking earnestly and quickly to Idella, whose delicate coloring was showing unbecoming blotches of stress. Idella was shaking her head from side to side.

What an odd couple! It was a little strange to see Donnie out in public, even though I dismissed that reaction on my part as uncharitable. But with Idella?

"They certainly look put out with each other," Sally said. She'd followed my gaze. "I don't think this is a widower on the rebound, do you?"

There sure wasn't anything loverlike in their posture or in the way they were looking at each other. Suddenly Idella sprang up, grabbed her purse, and headed for the women's room. Donnie scowled after her. I thought Idella was crying.

Sally and I exchanged glances.

"I guess I better go check," I said. "There's a fine line between showing concern and butting in, and this situation is right on it."

The two-stall salmon-and-tan women's room was empty except for Idella. She was indeed crying, shut in one of the booths.

"Idella," I said gently. "It's Roe. I'm holding the door shut so no one else can come in." And I braced my back against the door.

"Thanks," she sobbed. "I'll straighten up in a minute."

And sure enough, she pulled herself together and emerged from the booth, though not until I'd had time to decipher the last batch of graffiti through a layer of tan paint. Showing some wear and tear, Idella ran some cold water on a paper towel and held it over her eyes.

"It's going to ruin my makeup," she said, "but at least my eyes won't be so puffy."

It was oddly difficult to talk to her with her eyes covered like that, in this bleak room with the smell of industrial disinfectant clogging my nostrils. "Idella, are you all right?"

"Oh ... yes, I'll be okay." She didn't sound as though she were certain. "Donnie just has some crazy idea in his head, and he won't let it go, and he's hounding me about it."

I waited expectantly. I was so curious I finally prodded her. "He surely doesn't think you had anything to do with Tonia Lee's death?"

"He thinks I know who did do it," Idella said wearily. "That's just ridiculous, of course." She stared bleakly into the mirror; she looked even more haggard under the harsh light, her dead-grass hair a limp mess around her pale face. "He says he saw my car pulling out of the Greenhouse Realty parking lot the night Tonia Lee was killed."

"How could he possibly think that?"

But Idella was through confiding, and when someone pushed behind me hard enough to make the door move a little, she seized the chance to go back to her table. "Thanks," she said quickly. "I'll see you later."

I moved away from the door to let her out, and she shouldered her way past the door- pusher, who turned out to be Terry Sternholtz.

She gave us a very peculiar look; she knew I'd been holding the door shut. I wondered if she'd been out there long.

"Idella seemed upset," Terry said casually as she pulled open one of the stalls. She looked very bright today, her bouncing red hair contrasting cheerfully with a Kelly green suit.

"Some upset she had," I said dismissively, and went back to my table. Sally was waiting, and raised her eyebrows expectantly as I slid into my chair.

"I don't know," I said to answer Sally's unspoken query. "She wouldn't really say." I didn't want to repeat the conversation. It seemed evident Idella was in trouble of some kind, and she had always been so nice to me I didn't want to compound it by starting a rumor. Sally looked at me sideways, to show me she knew I was evading her. "I don't know why you think I tell everyone everything I know," she said with more than a little pique in her voice. It looked as if we'd have our own little quarrel.

Just then the group of Pan-Am Agra executives came in for their campaign kick-off lunch, among them Martin. It was just like seeing the boy who'd given you your first kiss the night before. As if I'd had on a homing signal, Martin immediately turned and scanned the crowd, finding me quickly. He excused himself from his companions and left the line to come over. My face felt hot. Sally's back was to him, and she was saying "You look like you just swallowed a fish, Roe," when he came up, bent over, and gave me a kiss that was just short enough not to be vulgar. Then we beamed at each other.

"This is my friend Sally Allison, Martin," I said abruptly, suddenly aware of Sally's interested face.

"Hello," he said politely, and shook Sally's proferred hand.

"Aren't you the new plant manager of Pan-Am Agra?" she asked. "I think Jack Forrest did a business-page article on you."

"I saw it. It was well-written," Martin said. "More than I can say for some of the stories written about me. What time tomorrow night, Roe?"

"Seven?" I said at random.

"I'll be there at seven." He kissed me again very quickly, nodded to Sally, and rejoined his group, who were watching with great attention.

"You certainly got branded in public," Sally said dryly.

"Huh?" I had my face turned down to my plate.

"`Property of Martin Bartell. Do Not Touch.'"

"Sally, I don't want to look like we're talking about him," I hissed. I looked at her sternly. "Just talk about something else for a while."

"Okay," she said agreeably. "Is he going to ask you to the prom?"

"Sally!"

"Oh, all right. Donnie left in a snit as soon as Idella emerged from the women's room and hot- footed it out the door. Donnie looked right sullen. What did she tell you?"

"That Donnie thought... oh, Sally!"

"Just curious, just curious! Since when are you and Martin Bartell an item?"

"Very recently." Like last night.

"Well, isn't life on the up-and-up for us? I get married, and you get a sweetie."

I rolled my eyes. Thinking of Martin as a "sweetie" was like thinking of a Great Dane as a precious bundle of fur.

"He was in Vietnam, wasn't he?" Sally asked.

"Yes."

"I think he brought home some medals. He wouldn't talk about it to Jack, but one of the other Pan-Am Agra execs told Jack that Bartell came out of the war with a bit of glory."

"When was the story in the paper?" I hadn't seen it.

"Soon after he arrived, at least six weeks ago."

"Can you send me a copy, Sally?"

"Sure. I'll track it down when I go to the office tomorrow."

We computed tips and gathered our purses. My shoulder blades itched, and I looked behind me. Martin, surrounded by his employees, was sitting at one of the larger round tables, watching me, smiling a little.

He looked hungry.

I floated out to my car.