He took another shower. He shaved and annointed his hair with perfumed oil. He wore his newest, trickiest slacks and an open-necked sport shirt. He'd been told he had an attractive neck.
Then he went down to lunch.
In the living room, in Ted's favorite chair near the fireplace, Henri sat, a drink in his hand.
Henri rose, a dark, dynamic figure. He said genially, "Well, Ted, old man, it's been some time."
"Not long enough for me to be an old man," Ted said. "How goes the newest campaign, Henri?"
Henri's smile was bland, his hand-clasp firm. "Slowly. No ill will, I hope, Ted?" Poise, assurance, the light touch.
"I'm not as modern as I should be, probably," Ted answered. "Been to Venus, lately?"
The drink wobbled in Henri's left hand. The poise, for a moment, was shattered. "Ven—Venice? In Italy, you mean?"
"In California. You're trembling, Henri. Your heart?"
"Heart—?" Blank, oafish stare, the poise scrambling to get back.