“Won’t you sit down?” Mrs. Dearborne asked when I had muttered the conventional formula.
We all sat down.
You could see that whatever was discussed was going to be discussed jointly — not that they distrusted Ogden’s ability to report, but these people weren’t the kind to trust anyone else. They wanted firsthand information. They’d all come to attend the conference. They’d planned it that way.
I said, “I’ll only stay for a minute. I want to find out about Helen Framley.”
“I really know virtually nothing,” Ogden said.
“That’s good. Then you won’t have to skip over any of the details.”
He smiled. “Well, I went up—”
“I think, Ogden, Mr. Lam would like to have you begin at the beginning.”
“Yes,” Eloise said, “your call from Arthur Whitewell.”
He didn’t even bother to communicate his acceptance, simply adopted their suggestion as a matter of course, something that went without saying. “I received a call from Arthur Whitewell. He was calling from Los Angeles. We’ve known the family for some time. Eloise met Philip in Los Angeles a year ago. He’s called at the house several times. She’s been entertained in Los Angeles. Arthur, you know, is Philip’s father. He’s—” Ogden flashed a quick glance at his mother, evidently failed to get a go-ahead signal, so said instead, “He comes through here quite frequently and drops in to spend an evening.”