They ate seated on the blankets, around the appetizingly laden tablecloth Ellen had spread. Pearce was too intense to have much of an interest in food, but he managed to consume what normally would have been expected of him. He was sharply aware that the minutes were running out, that the deadline was now swiftly approaching. The knowledge strengthened the undercurrent of dread within him, brought a pang of sadness.
But he did not want these last moments with Ellen and Dave to be touched with melancholy, nor did he want them to sense his troubled emotional state. He helped to keep a casual conversation going, and whenever this threatened to lag, he started the record player.
Shadows deepened within the glade as the afternoon wore on. Pearce helped Ellen to clean up the picnic remains, then sprawled beside Fuller to finish what was left of the beer. From the record player came the strains of a symphony. Ellen seated herself nearby, tapping one slender foot in time to the music.
Distractedly Pearce thought of the fleeting, precious minutes. He glanced at his watch.
Fuller abruptly sat up. "There you go again, Andy!"
"What?" Pearce was startled.
"Looking at that doggoned watch of yours." Fuller's expression was accusing. "You aren't fooling anybody, Andy. You're up to some thing—and it's about time you explained yourself. This beating around the bush is no way to treat your friends. You drag us out here, to the place where you grew up. You have a suitcase along that certainly doesn't have bricks in it. You drop mysterious hints about something special."
Fuller's voice softened, his blue eyes turned anxious. "Just what have you got up your sleeve, Andy?"
Pearce looked away, pain, a sudden tightness in his chest. He said slowly, "Well, I'm taking a sort of trip, Dave. I ... I'm afraid I'm never going to see you and Ellen again."