Edge of Doom

Such things become the hatch and brood of time. Kate Fansler would have said, had anybody asked, that she rarely heard from her brothers these days, or they from her. Eleven, eight, and six years older than she, the senior among them was now past his sixty-seventh birthday. She and her brothers had rarely agreed about anything, though the passing years had brought some air of tolerance to their infrequent meetings, or perhaps it was only the final acceptance of the fact that they would never agree and had better discuss neutral subjects. Alas, there were few of these. Even the weather, once innocent of causing political dissent, now stimulated mention of the greenhouse effect, the hole in the ozone layer, and the dangers threatened by the use of fossil fuels. Nor were Kate's nieces and nephews, as a subject of conversation, beyond contention. On the whole, their views were closer to Kate's than to their fathers'; even on that topic composure was likely to fail. In fact, Kate rarely thought of her brothers and confidently assumed that they returned the favor. Her surprise, therefore, on receiving a letter from Laurence, her oldest brother, was profound. For this was not an invitation to a party, or even to a lunch during which money might possibly be discussed, but a request for Kate to meet him at his club on a "personal" matter. Kate grinned at that. Laurence had been one of the most adamant against the admission of women to all-male clubs, and here he was inviting his sister to meet him in those very precincts without, if she knew Laurence, even reflecting on the exaggerated fears of women in his club that had formerly haunted him. The request was for Friday afternoon; Kate could guess why. The club would be less populated, and Laurence would be able usefully to pass the time before contemplating the weekend's activities. He had been forced by his law firm's long-standing and unalterable rules to retire at sixty-five, but because of his prominence in the firm and his still impressive connections, he was permitted to occupy an officenot, of course, the elegant corner one he had claimed in his prime, but an office nonethelessto go to, to go home from, there to enjoy the occasional services of a secretary. Laurence, Kate could well surmise, had hated having to retire. Kate was surprised to find herself puzzling over this invitation. She had some time ago come to the dreary conclusion that life could no longer offer the unexpectedexcept, of course, for those debilitating and often sudden bodily assaults common to aging; these could hardly be called unexpected, however impossible exactly to anticipate. And here, lo and behold, was an invitation from Laurence to meet at his club. Kate could imagine no rational explanation for this astonishing summons. Laurence might be lonelyshe suspected he had always been lonely, though perhaps not aware of itbut she would be the last person sent for to allay that suffering. He could hardly have decided to call money "personal," nor could she imagine any reason why he might wish to discuss that subject, long since clarified between them. Kate had convinced him that she did not need his financial advice or counsel, nor did she welcome it. What else was there? Family problems? His wife Janice? But in no case Kate could think of was Kate the oneindeed she was probably the last oneto be called upon to deal with questions of his immediate family. Well, it was a small surprise, she thought, calling to leave a message for Laurence to say she would meet him at the time and place mentioned, but it hardly qualified as an event. No, she was past interesting surprises in any area of lifeof that she was certain. Not the academic world, nor global crises, nor territorial or religious waCross, Amanda is the author of 'Edge of Doom' with ISBN 9780345452375 and ISBN 0345452372.