July sunlight filled the room as I got up and drew back the curtains.  The view beyond presented a perfect picture for a travel brochure, an idyllic landscape extending for miles across open Pennsylvanian countryside with compact clusters of farm buildings set among gently rolling hills.  Except for the tall silver silos that stood like giant aluminium cigar cases beside each farmstead, every barn and cowshed seemed to have benefited from an abundant supply of dark red paint.

      A gentle rap on the door broke my spell.  I turned to see George standing there in his dressing gown, eagerly anticipating my comments.

      "Not a bad view for Thursday morning," he remarked as he joined me at the window.  "This whole area often reminds me of your English county of Wiltshire.  I own land right down to that brook at the bottom of the next field.  Don't know what I'll ever do with it, but I sure as hell didn't want some thoughtless clown building a huge chemical factory all over it."

      I wondered if he'd had private discussions with his daughter about my inheritance, but he didn't pursue the matter.  He merely advised me that the bathroom was now free, and so I quickly showered and shaved in luxurious surroundings, then went downstairs to the breakfast room where the young lady herself was already setting the table.

      "Good morning," she greeted me with familiar efficiency, "sleep well?"

      "Once I drifted off, very well, thank you.  And you?"

      "Once I drifted off.  Tell me, how do you like your eggs?"

      It was a question I'd heard many times in American movies, and I knew of several suitable answers.  "Sunny side up?"

      "Hey!  You're learning."

      The table was positioned beside a sunlit bay window, offering an open view similar to the one upstairs.  As the four of us sat together, I commented on the restful ambience it gave the whole house.

      "Lovely," I nodded, looking around with a broad smile.  "Such a homely room too."

      "He means homey," Lori quickly explained to her mother.  "He's from England.  Remind me to buy you an American dictionary, Richard.  Homely means plain and unattractive, more like that other place we won't mention."

      Breakfast over, at nine o'clock we said our goodbyes and set off.  Lori seemed unusually pensive as we proceeded down an empty winding country road, driving for several miles in complete silence until we reached the main highway, when I felt bound to ask where she was taking me.

      "Seventy-eight west," she announced stiffly.  "If you want to act as navigator, there's a map in the glove compartment."

      I didn't feel like map-reading, and certainly not in silence.  I would have preferred friendly conversation, so I began by repeating her father's comment about Wiltshire.

      "Pop's been to England," she revealed.  "He's got hundreds of slides he could show you some time.  Pop travelled all over the world in his day.  He knows most of the capital cities of Europe.  He's like me.  He loves to explore distant horizons."

      "Your father's a very likeable man," I said.

      "I knew you and Pop would get on okay.  He and Mom helped me a lot through the rough times."

      If Lori had wanted to expand on this she had a fine opportunity, but instead she remained distant and aloof as if determined to hide behind a shield of invisible barbed wire.  In her smart charcoal-grey suit she was dressed more appropriately for a board meeting than for the leisurely sight-seeing tour I'd been promised.

      "Anyway, thanks for taking me to meet them," I said finally.

      "Saved a few bucks," she commented with enough of a smile to dismiss any notion of finance.  "No, I like my friends to meet my parents.  You could say it's my way of showing a guy that I value his friendship, okay?"

      "I appreciate the gesture," I replied.  "Sorry I can't reciprocate."

      I caught a remorseful glance.

      "Don't worry," I added.  "I'm used to being an orphan.  Lori, we still don't know a great deal about one another, do we."

      "You mean you didn't get my entire life-story from Pop last night?  I guess we didn't allow you two enough time together.  Okay, if that's what you want to talk about - entertain me with your résumé.  The real one this time."

      Though she was beginning to ease up a little, I detected unaccountable tension in her voice.

      I cleared my throat and began.  "Name, Richard Robert Downing, born on the first of April, thirty-three years ago - son of Joseph Downing and the former Emily Alice Slagg whose three younger brothers you once met, which is more than I ever did.  Educated at a highly-esteemed public school in Bedford;  qualified as a Chartered Accountant after years of hard slog.  Still single, partly from choice, but also partly from lack of choice, if you follow.  No brothers or sisters and both parents long departed, so I've lived for quite a while on my own, originally in a dismal flat in Hampstead until ...  sorry, I mean apartment."

      "No problem," she said.  "I watch television.  I guess you made it nice and homely."  

      Yet her welcome touch of humour seemed superficial without the familiar impish gleam that she'd evidently inherited from her father.

      I rambled on, telling her about the impressive house I couldn't afford and didn't really need.  I listed other interests too - classical music, railway engines, Greek waitresses ...

      "As to long-term prospects," I concluded, "apart from a steady career in London, it seems I also own enough tomato sauce to fill the Red Sea.   Oh, and I recently met a very intriguing young lady - but perhaps that's breaking into another chapter."

      Lori glanced at her watch.  "We can't always tell what's around the next corner."  Then as if the subject needed changing, she added: "However, I think we have enough time in hand to make a slight detour."

      She turned off the highway and headed south through a small town, and I noted the merest trace of a mischievous grin which she may have been at pains to suppress.  In the end she reached a slender arm across me to the glove compartment, and fished out the map.

      "Look in there for a place called Hamburg," she ordered.

      This, I soon realised, was a cunning ploy to avert my gaze from signs that would have told me precisely where we were heading.  I was still studying the map and trying to be helpful when she suddenly pulled over onto bumpy ground and stopped the car.  I looked up.  We were in a small railway yard, and in front of us stood the largest locomotive I had ever seen.  It wasn't actually steaming, but it was undoubtedly a genuine American steam engine.

      I got out and strolled eagerly down towards the tracks, gazing in awe at this gigantic grimy black monster with its massive tender.  There were several smaller locos in the yard as well, and a collection of dark green passenger coaches of the old heavy design familiar in Western movies.

      This detour may have been brief, but it gave me a tremendous boost, not only from the  nostalgia of what I'd come to see, but from the way Lori kept grinning as if I were a birthday boy gleefully unwrapping a present - proof of her willingness to please me.  And I certainly needed reassuring.  I probably know more about steam engines than I do about women, and her mood that day was well beyond my understanding - oscillating from lengthy withdrawn silences to moments of childlike exuberance - most disconcerting.  Yet despite her underlying brittleness, she seemed prepared to hover patiently while I took photographs.

      "Thank you for that," I said, as we returned to the car.

      "Glad to provide you with some source of delight."

      "Must you mention sauce?  I thought this was our day off!"

      "Today's Thursday," she reminded me.  "Officially we're still at work, so don't be surprised if sauce crops up at our mid-morning coffee break, which incidentally I pre-arranged for eleven.  We're meeting an old friend."

      I naturally assumed she meant John.

      We returned to the main highway, and soon after eleven reached the town of Harrisburg.  Lori evidently knew her way around, and made straight for a private parking lot beside an imposing block of offices, next to an equally imposing river.

      "The Susquehanna," she informed me.  "Starts as a modest little stream in upstate New York, and grows to awesome size before it reaches the sea near Baltimore.  Here's where we break for coffee.  You met some of Slaggs' customers on Monday, so John thought you might like to hear a supplier's point of view.  Bring your jacket - you're going to need it."

      Lori led me into the crisply air-conditioned building, and approached the receptionist - a refreshing contrast from her counterpart at Slaggs.  She directed us at once to the third floor where we were met by a jovial gentleman in a light grey suit.

      "Sorry we're a bit late," Lori greeted him.  "We stopped off to pay homage to one of Richard's oldest and dearest friends.  Richard, meet Hank Murray who used to work for us down in Baltimore till he declared his independence a year ago.  Hank, this is Richard Downing who's over from England on a special audit assignment for John."

      Hank thrust out a friendly hand.  "Glad to know you, Richard.  Come on through to my office."

      Not until we were seated around a low coffee table did Lori choose to brief me with a few basic details.

      "Hank's a salesman who handles the Slaggs account for his company.  No need for us to tell him everything that's going on, though Hank's a pretty discreet kind of guy - or he used to be till the devious tactics of marketing corrupted his innocent soul."

      Hank grinned.  "Corrupt enough to accept the occasional free lunch without putting up a fight," he admitted, "but in all other respects, Lori, still a law-abiding American, I swear.  So how can I help you guys?"

      "Richard's collecting information," she went on, "about the way Slaggs is currently being run.  He's interviewed several employees and a few restless customers, and since we happened to be passing through Harrisburg, we thought we'd stop by and get your honest opinion as one of their major suppliers."

      "Major?"  Hank's supportive grin was gone.  "Honey, you're a bit out of date.  But let me say, I was talking to John earlier this week and he gave me a pretty good idea of where his ambitions lay."  He nodded knowingly towards me.  "The truth is, Richard, we just lost a big contract with Slaggs.  I'm talking two hundred grand.  Okay, if some smart outfit can undercut our price or come up with a better product - fair enough.  But we lost out to a guy who's charging twenty percent more for a quality we wouldn't put in cat food.  You explain that, and I'll treat to the most lavish meal in town."

      Hank Murray was plainly seeking all the help I could offer, but I was ill-prepared.

      "I can theorise," I said, glancing sternly at Lori, "but I'd need more advanced notice to come up with any constructive answers.  I can only say at this stage I'm not altogether surprised."

      "Let's hear some of that theorising, Richard."

      "Okay, though please understand, this comes straight off the top of my head.  Perhaps your competitor plays a more tactful game of golf?  There could be all kinds of private agreements that no-one cares to make public.  I mean, it's not unheard of for a contract to go to whichever guy has the most obliging wife!  Then again, perhaps you were deliberately misinformed over prices, who knows?  All kinds of tacit agreements could exist - block discounts, interest-free credit, under-the-counter deals and back-handers.  But you've given me something specific to look for, Hank, and I'll be happy to keep in touch."

      "Maybe we could have a leisurely lunch together in a few weeks' time?" he offered.

      "By then," said Lori ruefully, "Richard may well be back in London working on a totally different assignment."

      "Busy man, eh?  I envy you, Richard.  I'd love the chance of a trip to Europe, but my territory covers only the eastern seaboard."

      I wasn't really listening.  I'd noticed how Lori kept staring at me, one minute disapproving, the next as though I were some favoured protégé whom she'd nominated for a prize in elocution. What was she thinking?  We needed time to talk, she and I, to clear the air on a number of important issues.  But when?  And why on earth couldn't they have been aired in the car this morning?

      "Another thing," Hank was saying, "how come when I phone Slaggs and ask for my usual contact, he's either out of town or I'm kept waiting an interminable length of time?  That girl on the switchboard drives me crazy - claims she doesn't know half the people I ask for, and won't always connect me when she does.  Why do I keep getting fobbed off with some zombie of a secretary who pretends to take messages, promising someone will call back who never does?  Who is this chap Lanski, and who's his boss?  No-one seems to know.  I stopped by one Friday a few weeks ago at three in the afternoon, and would you believe everyone had gone home?  Not a soul there except the man on the gate.  What a way to run a company!"

      "But that," Lori responded, "is where Richard can help us.  His inside investigation starts next month, though you'll please keep that news under wraps."

      "Believe me," I intervened, "changes are long overdue.  If I'm allowed the freedom I need, I guarantee I'll soon ferret out what the hell's going on."

      Hank Murray seemed impressed.  The subject then turned to golf and there was no further mention of Slaggs.  After coffee and a leisurely chat, Lori and I were soon back on the interstate highway.

      "So!" I asked her.  "Any more surprise encounters lined up for today?"

      Lori didn't reply straight away.  She just stared grimly as if I had somehow managed to offend her.  Okay, perhaps I had spoken curtly - but she'd arranged that rendezvous without the slightest warning and I felt annoyed at being caught off guard, quite unprepared for Hank's questioning.  Surely I was entitled to make my point?

      "I don't think Hank was at all happy about that remark of yours," she blurted suddenly, "about him not having the right sort of wife.  Mrs. Murray wife ran off with another man a year ago, and he's still very sore."

      "Then I'm sorry," I retaliated, "but I should have been properly briefed.  I hate going to places not knowing whom I'm going to meet or what questions are likely to be thrown at me.  In the circumstances I think I stood up remarkably well.  Where are we heading now?"

      "South!" was all she said.  This was one deeply troubled lady.

      We continued along Route 81 at a comfortable fifty-eight miles per hour.  Lori seemed to have nothing further to add, though I was sure her thoughts were racing.  Whether or not they were about me, it was actually one of my pseudonyms that finally spurred her back into conversation.

      "Well, Mr. Lincoln, we'll soon be crossing another state line."

      The voice came suddenly out of the blue, so welcome that I responded with my usual flippancy.

      "Should I get my passport ready, or pull down my hat and lie low as we hit the barrier?  It's bound to be that weird Mexican they're gunning for, not the little old lady.  She was rather sweet, I thought."

      "They might have gunned us both down if we'd been here in 1863," she announced.  "I assume you've heard of Gettysburg?"

      Lori recited the entire Gettysburg address, word for word, just as she had learned it at school.

      "It's said to be one of the finest pieces of English oratory ever composed," she added proudly, "from the pen of a man calling himself Abraham Lincoln.  It all happened just fifteen miles away to our left.   Meanwhile ahead of us lies the state of Maryland where this loyal citizen pays her taxes.  After that we'll soon find ourselves in neighbouring West Virginia where I think maybe it's time we took another short break.  Are you ready for lunch?"

      "And you just happen to know of a cosy little place right nearby," I retorted.  "It wouldn't surprise me if you've already booked a table for two, you impeccably well-organised secretary."

      "Right on one point," she said, coming off the highway and coasting down a side road.  "Wrong on the rest.  There is a place along here.  I saw a sign a mile back.  But there's no pre-booking, and I'm certainly nobody's secretary.  I'm John Flannery's Personal Assistant."

      It was clearly an important distinction.  "You like him as a boss?"

      "The best!  He's always fair and honest.  I get all the medals I deserve, plus any kicks I deserve, which are rare these days.  But we share great mutual respect, each with a role to play - a bit like a good marriage, I suppose, except that John's already well-established in that respect."

      Again she became thoughtful, as though there was more she could have revealed about her personal feelings for John.

      "You know," I sighed, "before I leave these shores, Lori, I must have a long and serious talk with you on a number of very important issues."

      "Choose the right moment," she warned with a grim glance, "and maybe I'll listen.  Pick the wrong one, like now, and I'm likely to change the subject.  This is where we eat."

      She parked in the empty forecourt of a rustic diner that looked as if it had once served as a film set for a wild-west ghost-town.  As we stepped inside, an elderly waitress appeared and showed us eagerly to a table.  We were evidently the only customers.

      The interior was so dimly lit, it took a while before my eyes adjusted to the gloom.  It was perhaps the effects of low lighting and our sense of solitude that prompted me to touch Lori's hand and raise again the subject that was still preying on my mind.

      "As you can guess, Lori, I'm not looking forward to saying goodbye at the end of the week."

      "Me too," she nodded without looking up, her words a mere whisper.

      "I flew over here with only one thought, Lori - Slaggs factory and what it might be worth to a potential buyer.  But I'll be leaving with very different thoughts, all of them about you and what you've come to mean to me.  I certainly don't want either of us to get hurt, especially you, but I can't pretend you're just another casual acquaintance.  I know you've had some tough times, my dear, and I wish I'd been around then to help you.  I've had raw patches in my life too, with no-one I could turn to when I badly needed a friend.  You've been so quiet today, Lori, I know something's troubling you.  Why not share it?  You must realise you've become very precious to me."

      She stared back in the dim light, not saying a word, her moist eyes earnestly exploring my face as if groping for an answer to her many unspoken thoughts.

      "You said this wasn't the right moment," I blundered on, "but we don't have a lot of time left.  You were saying you and John had great respect for each other, and that's good.  But I'm a selfish guy, Lori, and I believe there's an even closer bond forming between you and me.  I need you, Lori, and I need whatever there is between us to blossom quickly into something wonderful, because I see no point in suppressing it till after I've gone home.  Am I talking sense, my dear, or making a complete ass of myself?"

      As if her mind were suddenly made up, she rose from her chair and hurriedly excused herself.  Only then did I realise what a clumsy oaf I'd been.  She'd just told me to wait for the right moment, and I'd stupidly ignored the warning.  Now I felt mean, wretched and utterly miserable.

      When our food arrived, I apologised for Lori's absence, assuring the waitress she'd be back in a moment.  I politely held back awhile, but by the time Lori reappeared, everything was cold.  She left most of hers.  I finished mine in silence and found it pretty unappetising.

      Lori insisted on paying, but still no words passed between us as we walked slowly out to the car.  There was no point in trying to sound cheerful and chatty.  It was my big mouth that had caused the upset.  Now Lori seemed even more determined to bear her burdens in private.

      As we drove further south, the tension grew unbearable, yet it was no longer my place to resolve the misunderstanding.  I'd already said more than I should.  It was surely up to her now.  But the longer the silence lasted, the worse it felt.  Everything was spoiled, yet I didn't know how to make amends.  Light-hearted remarks would sound false and inadequate, while any show of genuine loving kindness would be a repeat of my earlier faux-pas.

      We left West Virginia, and it was the sight of the more lenient 65 mile an hour speed signs that inspired my long overdue comment.

      "I guess these Virginians encourage folk to move a little faster than they should," I said.  "I'm truly very sorry."

      "Me too," she echoed.  Did that mean: "So you should be!" or was it a bid for reconciliation?

      "I was only trying to be kind and friendly," I added quietly.

      She looked like a bereaved guest at a family funeral as she glanced in her mirror and edged over to the side of the road.  Almost before we'd come to a standstill, she turned and laid her arms firmly around my neck, resting her head on my shoulder.

      "Are we all right parked here?" I enquired tentatively.

      "In an emergency," she murmured, clinging tightly.  After several minutes she finally lifted her head and gazed up at me, her eyes glistening with an embarrassed but very welcome smile.

      "Whew!" she sighed.  "Oh, Richard, I am sorry.  Sorry, sorry, sorry!  It's been brewing all week.  I knew it was inevitable sooner or later.  I just didn't know how long I could hold out."

      "You warned me it wasn't the right moment," I apologised.  "I should have listened."

      "No.  It never would have been the right moment till it was too late."

      She sat back with a resigned smile of humiliation, her lips still a little too tight, her eyes still red.

      "Anyway," she admitted with a sniff, "now you know.  I'm not the efficient, well-organised little woman everyone thinks I am.  Just a hopeless, unstable emotional mess.  Even John's never seen me like this."

      Again I said I was sorry.

      "It's maybe for the best," she admitted.  "At least it's cleared the air.  But I'm still not sure how I can handle this.  And," she added with another deep sign, "I suppose we'd better move on before we get taxed here as residents."

      "We're not heading for Argyle Foods?" I asked, having spotted a sign to Baltimore.

      "And let them see their hyper-efficient Lori D'Amico looking like a soggy newspaper?  No.  I was planning to visit another guy who's down this way, but I doubt if it's sensible now - I don't know.  Sorry, Richard, I'm not my best today, as you can see.  I'm letting everyone down."

      "Not everyone.  Who is this other guy?"

      "Just a colleague who used to work with me at Slaggs.  But what can he add to what I've already told you?  You need to meet people who work there today, not the ones who escaped before the rot set in.  Oh, Richard, why have I wasted all this time in bringing you down here?  It was stupid, allowing ourselves to run scared like that.  Besides, I don't feel like pretending any more."

      "Pretending what?"

      "Just pretending.  Damn! As a rule I'm always so well controlled.  Damn! Damn! Damn! Damn!"

      I threw in the inevitable line from My Fair Lady: "You've grown accustomed to my face?"

      "I've grown accustomed to not getting accustomed to anybody's face, Richard.  Oh, put this train back on the rails, please.  Tell me again what's in your mind about Slaggs - your own career, your immediate plans and doubts.  Level with me.  Do you want to fly home Sunday, or what?"

      "Of course not.  And I certainly don't want you getting upset again, Lori, especially not in traffic.  Can't we get off this trunk road and find somewhere quieter?"

      "Sure.  There are masses of quiet places in Virginia.  Better stop for some gas too, or your Lori-driver really will be in deep-shit.  Sorry, I don't normally use vulgar expressions.  See how I'm falling apart?"

      As we stopped to buy petrol and a supply of snack foods, I was conscious of the peace and tranquillity all around us.   To the right lay the Appalachian Mountains; to our left the famous Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia.

      "It must be nice up there," I said, and started whistling the old Laurel and Hardy song about the trail of the lonesome pine.

      Twenty minutes later we were sitting in a scenic lay-by, several thousand feet up, gazing eastwards over a vista that seemed to reach to the very ocean, each successive mountain range receding into an ever-fading haze of pastel grey.

      "You asked about my plans," I reminded her.  "I'd say they're much like those never-ending hills."

      "Firm as a rock?"

      "No, forever unfolding.  Clear in the immediate foreground, but the distant outlook's still pretty hazy.  Life is a book where the pages get turned, one day at a time.  There's no way of skipping ahead to the next chapter - we have to take it page by page.  And on today's page I see two people - you, a young lady of whom any father would be proud, a girl who's faced many misfortunes, yet who still manages to come up smiling - most days, at least.  A dependable personal assistant with a job which she performs admirably.  But then there's this other chap, stuck in a dull job because that's what he chose to do when he first left school.  Now suddenly I'm offered a free trip across the Atlantic to come and inspect the mess that my uncles left behind, to try and assess whether it's worth a mint or a bean."

      "There's a third guy," added Lori, "not featured on today's page, but one who wants a certain factory as part of his empire.  And he's paying my tame Brit to help him evaluate it."

      "Okay," I carried on, "and back in London sits a fourth player in the shape of my boss who presents an ethical dilemma by expecting me back on Monday.  If I let him down, Lori, I could lose a well-paid job, maybe default on my mortgage, and end up homeless.  And why should I let anyone down?  What's my boss done to deserve disloyalty?  He works to a plan, same as everyone else.  He has clients who expect good service.  You can't mess people about just because three weird uncles chose to throw a spanner in the works.  Integrity, that's the name of my game, Lori.  But then, that same integrity leads me to consider my latest client, your trusting third man, and right this minute I'm letting him down.  I've got two precious days left to do the best professional job I can, and where am I?  Sitting on a mountain-top, spouting my innermost thoughts like a sick parrot.  I have two obligations, Lori, one here and one in London; and if that weren't enough, into this whirlpool comes fluttering another conflict of interest who's also up a mountain listening to her tame English parrot.  I'm besieged here by three voices - in my head, my heart and my purse, all offering different advice.  My head knows that if I don't catch that plane by Saturday I'll be in no fit state to do a normal day's work on Monday.  Of course, my purse suggests chucking the London job entirely, finishing my investigation for John, and then wallowing in comfort for the rest of my life with whatever fortune he's prepared to offer.  As for heart, I've already revealed what that had to say, and it ruined your lunch."

      "Want to hear from a fifth voice, Richard?  A voice of commonsense telling you to do all three, but one at a time and in the right order.  I agree your Saturday flight home makes the best sense.  It doesn't suit me, but my integrity says leave that aside for the moment.  Resolve your current commitments in London, then persuade your boss that John would pay handsomely for your time over here.  Remember, this is our project, my dear, yours and mine, and if only we were allowed to get on with it, we'd make a damned fine job of it between us."

      "Lori, you and I as a team could make a damned fine job of a whole lot of things."

      We leaned closer, but as her pillow-soft lips were about to touch mine another car drew up and parked right beside us.

      "I guess it's rain-check time," she giggled.  "Perhaps he's been sent up here to remind us we're both supposed to be at work.  Our next move ought to be an impromptu meeting with John."

      "Does he know where we are today?"

      "At this precise moment, I sincerely hope not.  But it was his idea, not mine, about meeting Hank Murray."

      With that, she started the engine and pulled away.

      I felt brave enough to ask: "Why didn't you brief me before we got to Harrisburg?"

      "You really want to know?  You may not have noticed this, Richard, but Lori's having a tough time with her emotions lately.  She deliberately kept everything flexible, knowing there was a good chance she'd chicken out of talking to anyone if she didn't feel up to it."

      "Including me," I said gently.  "You didn't eat much lunch."

      Lori stopped the car in the next lay-by and faced me.

      "Look.  Before we go any further, Richard, believe me, what happened back there was not your fault.  I told you yesterday, my defences were up pretty high, but you happened to find a side-entrance and crept in under the wire.  From then on, I panicked because I knew I couldn't handle things sensibly, not on my own."

      "These defences of yours - are they absolutely necessary?"

      "I think so," she nodded firmly.  "For a while at least."

      "You're not the only one who's churned up," I said.  "Within the space of a week I've been offered the prospect of either running or selling a factory worth more than I could possibly earn in twenty years - and on top of that I bump into you!  Sweetheart, it's no wonder we've got defences going up and down like a clown's trousers.  My hormones are leading me a merry dance too, with not a Greek maiden in sight."

      "I'm glad.  Couldn't face the competition today, though I have plenty of European ancestry if it helps.  As you can guess, the name D'Amico is Italian.  Pop's forefathers left the Mediterranean a hundred years ago.  Mother's half-Irish and half-French, though she was born in Cleveland, Ohio.  Her maiden name was O'Connor.  Do you have many Slaggs in England?"

      I tried to copy the look she gave me on Monday.

      "I'm serious, Richard.  I want to hear more about your childhood, your background, your hopes for the future, as long as it doesn't make you tearful and send you running to the ladies' restroom."

      "To boldly go where no man has gone before?  Is that where you went?"

      "For a while," she said humbly.  "I bawled my eyes out for five minutes, then went and sat in the car.  Naturally, I had no thoughts of driving away or leaving you stranded in wild West Virginia."

      I assured her I was quite capable of finding my own way home.

      "Maybe, but not without a passport!  Anyway, I came back, not because I was lumbered with a weird English guy with a fondness for moussaka, but because I wanted to.  You're fun to be with, do you know that?  It's just that I have certain other problems right now, too overwhelming to sort out on my own.  But you're right - we shouldn't hold out on one another.  We're a team, right?  So let's go seek out our lord and master.  We can probably catch him at home this evening.  He's lives south of Baltimore in a place called Annapolis."

      "Anywhere near you?"

      "Not very.  Why do you ask?"

      "No reason.  I was just curious to know where you lived."

      "I guess you'll soon find out."

      Descending from the mountains we came to a small town where Lori made a quick phone-call to John.

      "Actually," she revealed, "I'm not that far from home, so how about we pop into that store and grab a few essentials.  I left a message for John, but his secretary wasn't overly helpful.  She's like that - in fact, there's been a wall of animosity between us ever since I landed this job."

      As we neared the outskirts of Washington the traffic intensified until we found ourselves stuck in a three-lane jam from which there seemed no escape, hemmed in on all sides by heavy vehicles, and no exit for several miles ahead.

      "What happens now?" I asked.

      "We sit," she said, "and we wait.  The two essentials for a driver in these parts are gasoline and patience.  We're okay on the first, but I need to talk urgently to John about a comment his bitchy secretary just made.  This is a fine car, but it doesn't have a phone."

      While she spoke, Lori was concentrating intently on her mirror.

      "Hang on," she said, "I'm about to attempt something totally wild."

      As if suddenly inspired she edged her way to the outer lane and then, amid cries of arm-waving protest from other drivers, she managed to slip through a gap in the central reservation.

      "Detour!" she declared, performing a racing U-turn and rapidly setting off in the opposite direction.  It was a pity she couldn't resolve all her problems with such agility.

      "Lucky you know your way around," I said.  "Was that legal?"

      "No way," she replied smugly.  "If you had been driving, you'd have had to plead both ignorance and insanity."

      "Me?" I laughed.  "Drive over here?  Yes, I would have to be insane."

      "Funny you should say that.  I was about to suggest it's time you took the wheel."

      "Well, maybe on a very quiet stretch," I conceded.  "But remember, we Brits always drive on the left and old habits die hard."

      "I should have given you a crash course up in the mountains.  But seriously, Richard, if you are planning on coming over here frequently, we need to modify one or two of your cute Anglo-Saxon ways."

      "Shall I find another map, or do you know the way?" I asked as we left the interstate and twisted through a maze of minor roads and back streets.

      "Not entirely.  I'm playing this by ear, but it's more fun than breathing carbon monoxide.  Since we were making little headway east, I thought we'd take a route past my own house - for several reasons."

      "Number one - you're dying to show me where you live."

      "That's number four.  Number one is to dump my shopping before it melts all over the trunk.  My freezer's nearer than John's.   Number two is I need to hang out someplace where John can phone me back.  I promised I'd call him midday, but other events cropped up and that stupid young Lori forgot."  

      We came to a quiet residential area, and Lori parked in a reserved space.  Following instructions, I helped her carry two stout paper bags of shopping into the elevator of a luxury apartment block, and up to the third floor.

      "Welcome," she bade me, unlocking a heavy wooden door and darting in to turn on the air-conditioning.

      "Soon have it down to a reasonable level," she yelled as the stifling heat hit us.  "Take a seat.  I'll be right back."

      She disappeared, leaving me to stroll around the warm room, admiring her ornaments and tasteful Parisian prints on the walls.  It was a light, airy apartment, uncluttered, but by no means bare, furnished in a pleasant contemporary style, far more relaxing than her parents' immaculate showroom.  Lori's choice of books upheld my perception of an intelligent enquiring mind with a fondness for the arts, travel and golf.

      A long balcony looked out across the street to a wooded area beyond, a sylvan scene marred by the unsightly tangles of wires and poles that proliferate in most urban districts of the U.S.A.

      Lori reappeared, having shed her shoes and jacket.  "For goodness' sake, Richard, at least take off your tie.  It's happy-hour and you're among friends."

      I duly obliged and playfully hummed the stripper's theme as I seductively untied the knot and slid the tie tantalisingly to and fro across the back of my neck, finally removing it with an alluring flourish and draping it over the back of her settee.  Lori applauded my frivolity.

      "Don't stop on my account.  Continue with anything else you find uncomfortable.  Just make yourself at home while I fix us both a drink.  John left a message on my answering machine.  He wants your express permission to talk directly with your boss tomorrow.  He seems confident he can delay your homeward flight.  That, by the way, was the good news."

      It was my cue to enquire about the bad, so naturally I changed the subject.

      "In that case," I said, "there's work to be done.  What time are we planning to head back to New Jersey?"

      "Glad you asked.  Gin and tonic?"

      "How kind!  I love your view," I nodded towards the balcony.

      "That's the fifth reason for bringing you," she said.  "It's tame compared with what we saw earlier, but still quite refreshing.  Oh, and if you happen to hear a fire alarm, the required drill is to rush to the balcony, and gaze out looking suitably concerned."

      Again I was only half-listening, still curious about the bad news she was holding back.  Had John decided to withdraw his interest?  Surely not, otherwise why would he talk of contacting my boss in London?  Was he angry with me for taking a day off with his personal assistant?  If the news really had been serious, Lori would have mentioned it straight away.   And until she did, I certainly wasn't going to ask.

      "Tell me more about John Flannery," I prompted her.  "I feel guilty about letting him pay for today's outing when we still haven't achieved much.  I really ought to start using some of my traveller's cheques."

      "Don't worry," Lori assured me.  "John can afford it.  Besides, he'll want you to remember his generosity when you start negotiating a selling price."

      "I trust our little tour wasn't merely a cunning tactical ploy?" I asked, as Lori handed me my gin and tonic.

      "You think I'm a tactical ploy?  A hired tease?"

      "No, you're different," I assured her.  "Very different!  But there's clearly a commercial motive behind John's goodwill.  I wouldn't want either of us to feel we were being used."

      Lori tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.  "I never allow anyone to use me, Richard.  Not any more, so don't lose sleep over that.  Lori is not being friendly to Richard Downing merely to please John Flannery.  And if it eases your conscience a tad, John won't be paying for tonight's dinner.  This one's on me.  I want to impress you with my home cooking."

      "Reason Number Three!"  We both exclaimed in triumph.

      "Give that man a prize!" she grinned.  "Oh, I trust you'll make allowances for any mess you see here.  I had no chance to make my  usual lavish preparations, so take me as you find me.  And since I can hardly keep tonight's menu a secret, you may as well come and help.  I'm fixing something Mexican."

      "In honour of Alf Porilo?"

      "Ah, yes, the anagram!  At first I thought it might be Pal of Lori, until you revealed your birthday being the first of April."

      "Give that girl a prize also!  I used to get loads of April Fool birthday presents when I was young," I revealed.  "Turned my heart to stone by the time I was five.  No wonder I grew up to become bitter and sarcastic."

      Lori grabbed me by the ears, and placed her nose within an inch of mine.

      "Listen, Pussy Cat!  You are one of the kindest, most considerate guys I have met in a very long time.   That accounts for ninety percent of my trouble, you fascinating English clown!"

      She dropped her arms gently onto my shoulders and we seemed poised for a kiss when the pinger on her cooker reclaimed our attention.

      "Seriously," I confessed, "I'm positively vitriolic to those who annoy me.  You should have heard me on Sunday, laying into hotel staff when I found the whole world conspiring to give me a hard time.  And there are one or two characters at Slaggs who are long overdue for a tirade of sarcasm."

      She seemed somewhat disapproving.

      "Yes.  I happened to witnessed your outburst in the hotel lobby on Tuesday, remember?  So, in penance you'd better take a spoon and stir this small vat of sauce while I see to the taco shells.  Who cooks for you in your bachelor pad?"

      "Wah, ah do, if ah'm home," I drawled in my best pseudo-Kentucky.  "And ah'm no greenhorn, as some day you'll discover if you come visit me all by your little ol' sayelf."

      "Hey, you've dropped the phoney British accent!" she exclaimed.  "Knew you were a spy all along.  I hope they warned you - we only allow spies into the States on condition they don't upset the natives, so treat me well or I'll have immigration stamp your passport as an undesirable.  How's the sauce?"

      "A real Slagg special."

      "Gross!"

      "You really do dislike that place?"

      "I had reason."

      "It's no Disneyland, I grant you.  You think I felt proud, walking in through the main gate?"

      "Even if it resembled Buckingham Palace, Richard, I'd still be full of hate after what they did to me."

      She placed a vase of flowers in the centre of the table, and lit two candles on either side.  She poured my sauce into an expensive gravy boat.  I noticed she was using her best bone china.

      As we both sat down to eat, she asked: "Do you mind if I say grace?"

      I closed my eyes and waited.  Lori's voice sounded gentle, sincere and deliciously intimate as she confided her innermost thoughts to the spiritual world.

      "Dear Lord, bless the food before us and bless this special friend who has come into my life.  Help us both find the joy and happiness we seek, and bring us peace and contentment in the years to come.  Amen."

      "That's very nice," I said after a suitable pause.  "We rarely do that at home."

      "Let's bloody well hope it works!" she added with devilish glee.

      I leaned across and touched her hand as before, sensing that a moment of physical contact was more eloquent than words.  She looked directly into my eyes and said dreamily: "You're right.  I shall miss you."

      I reminded her we still had a few more days, perhaps another whole week with John's help.  But her smile was gone.  She glanced at the tablecloth, shaking her head.

      "You didn't get to hear the bad news yet.  This looks like being our last evening together."

      I snorted my disbelief, but she wasn't joking.

      "John said he'd tell you himself.  The fact is, he's got another assignment for me.  You're to be left at Slaggs on your own.  I'll know more when he phones back, but he definitely expects you to drive back there alone.  Can you manage without me?"

      I was completely thrown.  "But ... Lori ... when do I see you again?"

      "You feel you need to?"

      "Good God, girl, don't act dumb!  You know I do.  I can't possibly say goodbye two days early."

      I laid down my knife and fork.  "Why do these damned upsets always hit us at meal times?"

      "I'm sorry," she said.  "Bad timing.  I should have waited, but I can't keep secrets, not any more, not from you.  I nearly told you earlier, but didn't want to spoil things too soon.  Cheer up.  Let's eat, then we'll sit and talk about what we could have done if we'd had more time.  There are still loads of problems we need to sort out, and this evening may be our only chance.  Come on, cheer up - we should be celebrating, not commiserating."

      The phone rang as Lori was about to prepare coffee.

      "That'll be John," she gasped in alarm as though suddenly called to account.  "Follow me."

      She ran to the bedroom and answered it.  For a long time she said nothing, but her face became stone.  Several times she tried to speak, and failed.  I could tell that John was giving her a hard time.  Finally, she handed the phone to me and turned her face to the window.

      "Hallo, John!" I exclaimed heartily.  "We need your advice, please, about our next move."

      His advice was clear and direct, his manner cold and forthright.

      "I need to make my decision within a week, Richard, one way or the other, so I hope you'll give it all you've got.  Agreed, you deserved a day off but other matters have cropped up.  Lori tells me you are having problems reconciling your priorities, so I intend to relieve you of that extra worry.  If I may, I'd like to contact your boss in London myself, and clear any conflict of interest with him.  Also - maybe Lori's told you - I need her back here now.  I'll be available by phone if you need me, but you'll be on your own.  I give you carte-blanche to act in whatever capacity you choose, but I advise you - the sooner Richard Downing moves in, the better.  I'll go into fuller details when we meet, which I hope will be no later than the middle of next week.  Any problems?"

      I could name plenty, but none of them concerned John Flannery.  After assuring him I held a valid driving licence, I gave him my London office number and left the matter in his hands.

      "I suggest you leave right away," he concluded.  "Lori will book you into another hotel and give you directions.  The important thing is, Richard, to get yourself back onto that site without delay.  I've also arranged for Greenwald to drop by at your hotel tomorrow evening - he'll provide all the authority you need for approaching the bank.  Good luck, my friend.  I trust you won't let me down too."

      His tone implied someone else had, and it wasn't hard to guess who.  I felt very sorry for Lori as I handed back the phone.  Her stiff goodbye sounded so different from their previous chatty exchange.

      "Wow!" she sighed, puffing out her cheeks.  "Wowee!  Lori needs a mighty stiff drink after that."

      "So do I," I echoed, "but I'd better not if I'm about to get into a strange car and drive myself across a strange continent."

      She prodded me firmly in the chest.  "Listen.  You're not going anywhere, Mister, till we've had a long, long talk."

      "Why, what have I done?"

      "It's not you I need to talk about.  God knows, I have to unburden to someone, and you're in the hot seat.  Remember me saying I get all the kicks I deserve from John?  Well, you're looking at one mighty bruised little girl."

      She seemed on the verge of tears, so I took her gently in my arms.

      "Why don't I fix us both another drink first," I said.

      We sat side by side on the settee, Lori leaning forward, cradling her glass in her hands and staring pensively at the rising bubbles.

      "It seems I made a monumental blunder," she said at last.  "John's absolutely furious.  No wonder his secretary sounded smug.  John's been wanting to get hold of me all day to wring my neck.  You recall my credit card, the one I used when we checked in the second time?  It's in my married name - Lori Tanyev.  I thought I was being clever, fooling the hotel staff into thinking I was someone else."  She leaned back and stared at the ceiling.

      "But, Lori, everything we did back there was done in John's best interests.  You said yourself it was all perfectly legal."

      "Maybe, but he certainly warned me.  John made it very clear he didn't want me seen hovering near Slaggs in case they put two and two together.   And what happened?  He got an angry phone-call this morning from Quinn, no less, demanding to know why Argyle Foods were planting members of their staff on Slaggs' site - ranting on about industrial espionage!"

      "You mean, someone saw through your disguise?"

      "Armitage saw the two of us, remember, when we ran back to the hotel?  It didn't take him long to discover your room number and your name.  And who settled Señor Porilo's account and checked out at the same time?  A Mrs. Lori Tanyev.  Next day Quinn made inquiries, and found several women at Slaggs who remembered Lori D'Amico's married name.  Everyone knows I work for Argyll Foods.  They know who my boss is.  Oh, Richard!  I've never known John so furious.  And yet I've practically sold my soul for him, time and time again."

      "Sold your soul?  How come?"

      "Oh, Richard!  Didn't I tell you today, I'm sick of pretending?  The game's up, so you may as well know what's been going on under your nose.  It was my specific brief to act the role of an intriguing female companion, someone whose charms you couldn't resist.  John's instructions were that I should ferret you out and get as friendly as I could, hoping to gain your co-operation.  God help me, Richard, I feel so cheap.  You asked me today if this cosy togetherness was all a tactical ploy - well, now you know.  I'm no better than a common slut."

      "You mean you're expected to climb into bed with whoever John decides to butter up?  Lori, that's horrible!"

      "Go on, you too!  Kick poor Lori when she can't take any more.   Richard, I've had the most agonising week."

      "And I thought we were having fun.  Thanks for telling me."

      "You're angry?"

      "Of course I'm bloody angry!  Dammit, Lori, I was on the verge of falling in love with you."

      "I know," she whispered.  "I'm not blind."

      "So all this sullen moodiness today was a fake?  Crocodile tears?  I must say, Lori, you're a damned good actress.  I'll tell you something else.  There's no way I'm letting my factory fall into the hands of a man who treats his staff like that.  Stuff Flannery!  Stuff his million dollars too - I don't care if it's ten million - no-one, I repeat, no-one takes me for a patsy, all right?  You get back on the phone right now to that creep and tell him I'm totally disgusted by his tactics."

      "So am I.  You see why I feel so sick about everything?"

      "And all that cosiness in the Greek restaurant, taking me to meet your parents, all that about not allowing anyone to use you - even saying grace at the table ...  Lori, I can't believe you'd stoop so low."

      "Richard, will you stop it?  Please, my dear, I'm on your side.  To hell with Flannery, Argyll Foods and Slaggs.  I say to hell with everything except Richard Downing.  Why do you think I'm telling you this?  Do you think I enjoy hurting you?  I feel absolutely gutted.  My defences have been up all week, not against you, my love, but against people trying to manipulate me.  I made it my business to be totally genuine with you right from our first evening together.  I deceived you only in one thing - I knew all along who you were and why you were here.  And for what it's worth, I have not been to bed with anyone, not since my husband walked out and left me to fight for my rights in this pig-awful world.  Oh God!  And being with you felt so good while it lasted, spending our day together in that room.  To heck with why we were there, Richard; I loved every minute of it because you were there, sharing it with me.  I give you my word, I never lied to you, not once.   I may have teased you and evaded some direct questions, but you heard nothing untruthful from me.  Okay, part of my job is - or was - to put John's business contacts at ease, but every air stewardess does the same, offering service with a smile bordering on flirtation.  Yes, I've been flirting with you.  You've been flirting with me too - but there's been no outright deceit.  I couldn't, not with you.  So ... now you know.  Where do we go from here?"

      "I know where I want to go, Lori.  I want to stay here and unwind."

      "Same here.  Another gin?  Or perhaps coffee would be wiser."

      "Sit still," I insisted and went over to her kitchen work-top.

      "If you think mugs would aptly suit the pair of us," she called without moving, "they're in the top cupboard on the left.  If you need cream it's in the fridge, but I'll take mine black.  Damn that lousy credit card!  I always hated it."

      While I was pouring coffee, Lori reached over to her music centre and found a suitable CD.  We resumed our togetherness bathed in an aura of magnificently crisp sound, a cocktail of gently soaring strings and unfolding harmony, reminiscent of the drifting clouds we'd seen up in the mountains.  It was inappropriate to speak.  We relaxed and simply listened.  It was growing dark outside, and the face beside me took on an extra radiance in the fading light.  When the music ended I noticed Lori's tears.

      "It always gets me," she apologised.  "Flushes all the melancholy out of my life.   Richard, I hope you don't think I'm neurotic.  Please try to forget the way I've been behaving these last few days.  I'm normally very stable, truly.   Quite resilient, very independent, and usually very reliable.  Only - and you mustn't misunderstand this - I haven't yet booked you a hotel room."

      I sat upright.  "Oh, Lori!  And up till now you planned things so efficiently.  What do you suggest?  I'm in your country.  I'll willingly abide by its laws and customs."

      "Okay.  Do you mind sleeping here on the sofa-bed?"

      "If that's what you recommend.  I'm your guest, Lori - just put me wherever you like."

      Prompted by several uncontrollable yawns, Lori went off to undress while I stood out on her balcony.  It was a warm summer's evening, and the more I thought about Lori, the more I knew how genuine her friendship had been.  Who cared what Flannery's scheming brain had intended?

      A week ago, I'd known nothing of Lori's existence.  If a colleague back home had bragged about how he'd slept with a girl after knowing her only four days, I would have had a pretty poor opinion of his finer feelings.  Much as I loved holding Lori in my arms, I knew that if she and I were to share too much intimacy too soon, our respect for each other might be irreparably tarnished - a risk I wasn't prepared to take.  It'd be like opening gifts on Christmas Eve.

      For that reason alone, I allowed her to tuck me up on her single sofa-bed in the living-room.  She smelt so pure as she knelt beside me in a smooth cream nightdress, bending low over my head to give me several lingering good-night kisses.

      "Thanks for understanding," she whispered, gently stroking my hair.  "I'll come and wake you at five.  If that sounds too early, think of it as ten a.m. in London."

      I preferred not to think of London at all.  Five o'clock in the morning offered the much more pleasing prospect of sharing another leisurely breakfast with Miss Lori D'Amico in Baltimore.

<<< Previous Chapter       Back to my Stories Page       Back to my Front Page       Next Chapter >>>

Chapters:    1   2   3   4   5   6   7   9   10   11

Except where specifically noted, all music and stories on this web site are my own creations.   You may not use any of them for any purpose without written permission from me.     Copyright © 2003 Colin Johnson     All Rights Reserved.