17
The next morning after breakfast, Turner sat out on the terrace as usual, but first he opened the garage for Olivier so that he could pull into it when he arrived. He was beginning to like the porch with its comfortable folding chairs, huge sunshades, and pillows, overlooking the bay. In Hayama, he felt a long-forgotten peace, or perhaps it was the first time he felt it in his life. This stillness and idleness, he thought, was much closer to him than the feverish work of the previous thirty, maybe thirty-five years. He was reluctant to imagine doing this for the rest of his life, but he was not opposed to the idea as much as he would have been a year ago.
A car turned toward his house and pulled into the garage at eight minutes past ten in the morning. Turner went into the living room
