It’s good to be back in New York, Fran thought as she looked down from her office onto Rockefeller Center. The bleak, sleet-filled morning had evolved into a cold, gray afternoon, but still she loved what she was seeing, loved watching the brightly dressed skaters, some so graceful, others barely able to stay upright. The peculiar mix of the gifted and the plodders, she thought. Then, looking beyond the skating rink toward Saks, she studied how the store windows on Fifth Avenue lighted the March gloom.

The five o’clock crowds pouring from office buildings were a reassurance to her that at the end of the day, New Yorkers, like people all over the world, hurried to go home.

I’m ready to go home too, she decided as she reached for her jacket. It’s been a long day, and it isn’t over yet. She was scheduled to be on air at 6:40 to give an updated report of Molly Lasch’s release from prison. After that she could go home. She already loved her apartment on Second Avenue and Fifty-sixth Street with its views of both the midtown skyscrapers and the East River. But returning to the still-unpacked boxes and crates, knowing that eventually she had to sort out the contents, was disheartening.

At least her office was in order, she thought with some comfort. Her books were unpacked and within easy reach on the shelves behind her desk. Her plants relieved the monotony of the standard office furniture she’d been given. The insipid beige walls were brightened with colorful reproductions of Impressionist paintings.

When she and Ed Ahearn had arrived back at the office this morning, she’d checked in with Gus Brandt. “I’m going to give it a week or two, then try to set up a meeting with Molly,” she’d explained after she discussed with him Molly Lasch’s unexpected statement to the press.