Arkwright by Allen Steele Page B

was done, though, and she had a train to catch. “Well, I appreciate it,” she said, standing up. “Is there anything I can do for you before I go?”
    â€œNothing at all, thanks.” Harry pulled over his stroller and used it to balance himself as he rose from his chair. “Give Margaret my best when you see her.”
    He escorted her to the door, slowly pushing himself along. As she opened the door, he said one more thing. “Y’know, it just occurred to me … you’ve got Nat’s red hair.”
    â€œUh-huh.” Kate stopped to look back at him. “There’s not a lot of family resemblance, but at least there’s that.”
    â€œBut Sylvia doesn’t have red hair.”
    â€œNo. Mom was a brunette before her color changed.”
    Harry nodded. “Must have jumped a generation. Genes are funny that way, aren’t they?” He turned away. “Anyway, have a good trip home.”

 
    10
    It didn’t seem like she was getting anywhere with her investigation, so Kate put it aside to begin her next assignment, an article about the effects of deep-ocean dumping. She’d just begun making her way through a stack of reports from Woods Hole when the phone rang. It was Maggie.
    â€œI hear you’ve been down to Philly to see Harry. Did you have a good chat?”
    â€œIf you know that, then you must know what he told me.” Kate leaned back in her office chair. “I guess I’m a bit shocked to know that you and Grandpapa once had an affair.”
    â€œIt didn’t last long. Just a few months. Then he met Judith and, well, that was that.” A pause. “I knew Harry would tell you. He got over it a long time ago, but it’s still something he remembers.”
    â€œI bet.” Kate paused, trying to find the right way of saying what she meant to say without being offensive. “Look, Ms. Krough … Maggie … this is all very interesting, but I’ve got a lot going on just now. I have another story deadline in front of me, and I can’t spend more time hearing about my grandfather’s personal life. If you’ve got something to tell me—”
    â€œI do, and I promise that I won’t take up much more of your time. But it’s something I can’t tell you over the phone. Can we get together for lunch?”
    Kate shut her eyes. Why did everyone think that freelance writers were never busy? “I can’t come down to New York just now. I—”
    â€œI mean in Boston. I have business up there next week, and I’m thinking we could get together at the Four Seasons. My treat.”
    It was an offer she couldn’t refuse. She could afford to take a couple of hours away from the desk, and lunch at one of the best restaurants in town was not something to lightly pass up. So a few days later, she found herself sitting across from Maggie in the restaurant of the Four Seasons hotel, waiting for the lobster salads they’d each ordered. Outside the window beside their table, people walked along Boylston, coat collars turned against an unseasonably chill wind that whipped through the Commons across the street.
    â€œSo what is it that you wanted to tell me?” Kate pulled the straw from her glass of iced tea. The niceties had been dispensed with, the small talk about the weather said and done.
    Maggie didn’t respond at once. She gazed out the window, hands clasped together in the lap of her tweed business suit. Kate reflected that, even in her eighties, Margaret Krough was still a very attractive woman. Sixty years ago, she must have been stunning; no wonder both Harry and her grandfather fallen in love with her, if only for a short time.
    â€œAs I recall, Judith passed away just a few months before you were born,” Maggie said at last. “That would be sometime in”—she closed her eyes for a moment—“1977, yes?”
    Kate blinked. That