As John headed south alone in his limousine, Lori and I spent a quiet evening at her parents' house where we listened to tales of George's travels throughout Europe and the Far East, narrated with eloquence and good humour as if he had a mission in life to entertain and inform.  Lori suffered another fit of the giggles when her father and I began trotting out the names of some of Britain's more obscure villages - Nether Wallop, Six Mile Bottom, Piddletrenthide, Much Snoring, and Thanington Without, not forgetting Cockfosters - plus a few dubious ones that I suspect George invented on the spur of the moment, just to amuse his attentive wife and daughter.

      In the morning Lori and I made a quiet pilgrimage into the hills, to stand in silence close to the site where the lives of three uncles whom I never knew came to an abrupt and violent end.

      What were they truly like?  What had I missed by not knowing them?  Would they be proud of the work I'd done on their behalf?  Was this how they planned it all along, for me to come and ferret out a disease they must have known about but were powerless to control?  Or was it their wish that the family business should remain in the hands of their one and only nephew?  If Lori sensed my inner doubts, she stood at a respectful distance and made no attempt to intrude.  The decision, we both accepted, had to be mine alone.

      After that we spent an unhurried day, working our way slowly south, saying little but thinking a great deal.  We paused briefly at Strasburg, where I paid homage to another immaculately preserved railway.  Then in the late afternoon we drove at a leisurely pace towards Baltimore, eventually arriving outside the home of the Mr. and Mrs. John Flannery.

      "John is well aware that you and I have become close," Lori cautioned me, "but it's really none of his business.  I shouldn't like him to feel he's just funded an international peccadillo."

      "Is that all it was, Lori?  A peccadillo?"

      She gripped my hand.  "We both know it's more than that.  But there's no need for him to share everything, not yet.  So remember - it was the Quality Inn."

      "How could I forget?  I'll be dreaming of that delightful place, long after I'm back in England."

      "Now, now!  Don't you go upsetting me again," she pleaded.  "It's important this evening for both of us to be in full control of our emotions.  Besides, after you've seen John's house you may start entertaining thoughts of building your own home in millionaires' row," she added as we drew onto her boss's driveway.

      Despite being forewarned, it still took me by surprise, with its tall wrought-iron gates and long sweeping curve of gravel, wide enough to double-park Fowler's entire fleet of Cadillacs. The immediate impression I had was that the Flannerys' home resembled a full-sized dolls' house, a prestigious and immaculate dwelling that might well have suited some internationally famed Hollywood star.  I'd seen much to admire in the home of Lori's parents, but John's standard of living reached way beyond my expectations.  Gone were any feelings of guilt I once had about his funding my stay.  This man could afford me!  

      John's wife was charming but reserved, a little woman who was doubtless well accustomed to greeting her husband's many business acquaintances as if they were life-long friends.

      "I have to remark," I complimented her after an excellent dinner, "that despite visiting some of the finest restaurants since I came to America, that was the best meal I've had in a very long time."

      "Back home," Lori informed them, "Richard lives on canned soup and beans."

      I was about to remind Lori of my scrambled eggs when I remembered the Quality Inn.

      "Actually, I am quite a versatile cook," I claimed.  "If you care to visit England, I'll gladly give a demonstration of my culinary skills."

      "Perhaps someone might soon see the need to send me there on business," Lori suggested, grinning at her trusty boss.  

      "Richard can surely fly back here and teach you any time he wants," he retorted like a smug card-player with a winning hand, "especially now that I've saved his new inheritance from total annihilation.  I suppose you two had your minds on other issues today, and haven't heard the news?"

      Suddenly John had our full attention.

      "You had three visitors last night, Richard.  Luckily, I foresaw the possibility, and already had my own security team in place when your friends Armitage, Quinn and Lanski showed up at four in the morning with every intention of torching the place.  My men gave them enough rope to obtain damning evidence for criminal charges, but intervened before they did lasting damage.  You may rest easy tonight, both of you, knowing that those three inept goons are now in police custody.  As for the others, I think they know which side their bread is buttered.  I guess Fowler's already setting up his rent-a-car scheme in another state.  Driberg, if his luck holds out, might find a job selling pretzels in the Bronx, and Serraski's probably got his eye on a seat in your House of Lords."

      Before I could express my gratitude, John added: "So, in return for my swift action on your behalf, Richard, I hope I've earned the right to be let in on your big secret?"

      He glanced knowingly at Lori, and then at me.

      "Meaning, of course, the ownership of Slaggs," he continued with a wink.  "Do you want to stay in control, Richard, or would you rather wash it out of your hair for good?"

      Trying hard to look more at John than at Lori, I thanked him profoundly and told him of the decision I'd finally reached that morning.

      "In truth, John, I feel sure my uncles wanted their enterprise to stay within the family.  I don't believe I ought to sell the place, any more than you would part with a historic heirloom.  But Slaggs needs to be managed by a team who know the American food industry, not by a desk-bound accountant from overseas.  I know next to nothing about the commercial or legal pit-falls of running a company here.  I'm willing to learn, but that'll take time, and it's not a technique best acquired by trial and error.  So, here are my views."

      I couldn't resist it.  With a glance at Lori I paused for a careful sip of wine, just as John had when we first dined at the Hilton.

      "I prefer not to sell Slaggs outright, if you don't mind, but to share it with the board of Argyle Foods, hoping you can turn it into a profitable company.  I'd like to be kept fully informed, of course, but I bow to your expertise on day-to-day running and long-term strategy.  Let Slaggs remain my family's investment, please, and let it earn me a modest return on the capital, proportional to its success.  And as to my becoming an active participant, I'm a free man, John, and I leave that thought with you."

      I raised my glass in a symbolic toast, and Lori gave me a spontaneous round of applause.

      John claimed he needed time to study my proposals in more depth, but was sure he could convince his fellow directors that the idea was feasible.  He agreed to install an effective management team by the end of the week.

      "Now, Richard," he added as we relaxed over coffee, "it seems that my pleading with your boss has gained you some extra time.  Do you want to fly back tomorrow, or wait till Thursday.  And if you choose to spend two more days exploring the great outdoors, where would you like to go?"

      Reading my thoughts, Lori jumped in quickly.

      "If I know this man, John, he'll go hot-foot back to New Jersey, not to inspect his slightly charred factory, but to see more of his favourite Greek waitress."

      Had she withheld no secrets to spare my embarrassment?

      "If he plans to do that tonight," John observed, "I'd say you've left it rather late.  But I'm sure he can find other attractions closer to hand.  Which hotel are you in, by the way?  You're welcome to stay with us if my assistant hasn't made other arrangements."

      I looked at Lori, and saw a slight shake of the head.

      "The Quality Inn would suit me just fine," I said.  It was Lori's turn to look embarrassed.

      As we were leaving, John handed me an envelope marked Confidential.

      "This contains a token of my appreciation, Richard, for all the work you've done.  I've also jotted down a ball-park sum that might change hands in the event of an outright sale.  Something to think about, eh?  I suggest you open it tonight, in the privacy of your hotel."

      Was it my imagination, or did he over-emphasise the word "hotel" with a slightly facetious smirk?

      We took our leave, but headed away from Baltimore in a south-westerly direction.  Lori had apparently decided to steer me away from her own pad to another venue of her choosing, a small town in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

      It was well after ten o'clock when we arrived at a modest hotel which offered us two rooms on different floors.  We said a prolonged goodnight, and I was just about to take a leisurely shower, when I heard a knock on my door.  Heedless of embarrassment, I stepped out to answer it, clad only in a bath towel.  Lori's sagging jaw and raised eyebrows were a joy to behold.

      "Sorry, guv!" she announced in a dreadful cockney accent, "I juss come to check yer windows."  With her head down like a film-star trying to avoid the press, she marched straight past me.  "There should be a bloody good view from 'ere in the mornin'."

      "Then continue to study it, please," I begged, "while I climb into some pyjamas.  Or did you come to suggest a midnight stroll?"

      A sudden crash of thunder gave the answer.  Lori instinctively turned and flung her arms around me, burying her frightened face into my bare chest.

      "Careful!" I warned.  "Watch those hormones."

      She looked up pleadingly.  "Yours or mine?"

      "Mine are in great shape," I said, "except when I meet a certain breed of American girl who drives them totally bananas - you know the type - intelligent, witty - twenty-nine years old."

      "Thanks Pop!" she nodded slowly.  "Don't tell me.  I share a birthday with some particular bottle of wine.  What if he lied about the vintage?"

      "A wine's age means little to me as long as it tastes good."

      "Okay.  So you're single and you like twenty-nine-year-old girls.  Why the devil aren't you married, or shouldn't we probe into dangerous waters at this time of night?"

      "I came very close to marriage once or twice," I admitted.  "I thought I'd found the perfect partner, and even bought a dream-house for us to live in.  But things didn't work out, so it was back to the drawing-board."

      "If only we all had a second chance to get things right first time," she said wistfully.  "Tell me more about this dream-house.  Room for visitors?"

      "Of course.  When does John plan on coming?"

      "I didn't ask him, sorry!  Richard, I really came up here to say I wanted to show you something truly spectacular early tomorrow morning.  Can you be dressed by five?"

      "Sure.  I've had practice, remember?"

      I set my alarm for four-thirty, but woke before it aroused the entire hotel.  While dressing, I called Lori on the phone to see if she was ready.   It seemed a long while before a sleepy voice answered.

      "Huh?  Who is it?"

      "The night porter.  Bing-bong!  This is your wake-up call.  Are you fit and well?"

      "Not sure," she croaked.  "Is that you?  What time is it?"

      "Ten to five," I reminded her.  "You said you had something spectacular to show me."

      "So I did," she agreed in a fragile whisper.  "I must have been mad.  Okay, come on down - in case I'm in the shower I'll leave my door open."

      Despite the familiar scenario, when I reached her room Lori was still in bed, looking far from healthy.

      "Sorry, Richard.  I didn't sleep at all last night.  How about you?"

      "Fine!  Never better.  Are you going to get up, or was this a cruel hoax?"

      "No, I'm getting up right now," she said, thrusting a slender bare leg out of bed, and standing a little unsteadily.  She gave an endearing yawn, like a small furry animal just surfacing after months of hibernation.  "Amuse yourself for a minute, Richard.  Watch TV and get the forecast.  Check my window again, why not?"

      She shuffled into her bathroom and closed the door.  The sky was dull and grey, and rain fell with grim persistence, suggesting that the sun wouldn't appear before noon.

      "Not very nice," I called to Lori through the door.

      "What's it doing?"

      "Same as you," I said.  "Showering.  Typical English day."

      "Oh, great!" she sighed.  "I wanted to show you dawn from three thousand feet up.  Why does nothing ever go right for me?"

      I stood staring out at the rain, and wondered whether Lori would ever drop the veil that still hung between us like an opaque shower curtain.  She was badly knotted up by problems which she still wasn't ready to reveal - yet ours was no casual friendship, no lusty yearning for animal fulfilment.  It was a warm, loving need to spend every remaining moment of our time together, to share every aspect of our personal troubles and feelings.

      Lori emerged from the bathroom dressed in grey ski-pants and a cuddly pink pullover, cute as a freshly powdered baby.  A little after five, and with no facilities yet open for breakfast, she settled the account and we drove off, following a narrow, winding road that climbed steeply into the hills.

      "Watch for a sign saying Blue Ridge Parkway," she advised.

      Even as she spoke, it appeared in front of us at the next bend.  She turned sharply onto an immaculately surfaced road that led further uphill, close to the crest of the mountain range.

      As we continued to climb, swirling white mist blotted out everything except our immediate surroundings, till suddenly we came to a break in the clouds and saw a hollow horizontal layer of beautifully clear air.  We stopped in a wide lay-by, and Lori switched off the engine.

      Before us lay an eerie vista of pure white, hovering in the valley beneath like vapour from a witch's cauldron.  We sat and watched it slowly changing shape, gently evolving as local upsurges caressed and tossed it around.  Suspended not far above was another layer like a mysterious lace shroud, draped over this mystical fantasy setting.  And, apart from us, not a solitary soul was there to appreciate it.

      After Lori's earlier eulogy on the Vermont sunrise, I expected her to make some equally suitable comment on such awesome beauty, but she remained subdued, a marked contrast from a few days earlier when we'd tossed happy, teasing banter to and fro like a lightweight shuttle-cock.  I sat studying her face intently.  Today she looked so lonely, and so very vulnerable.

      "You're still unhappy?" I said, gently touching the back of her neck.

      "Any minute now," she warned, "I'm likely to lose control completely and cry like a baby."

      "Then why fight it, my love?  I'm right here.  We're entirely on our own.  No-one will ever know."

      My words of kindly reassurance were enough.

      "I'm sorry, I can't help it," she wailed as her pent-up emotions broke loose, her head shaking to and fro, her words incoherent amid forlorn sobs, something about her being an utter fool, stupid, blind, and naive.

      I asked how I could help.

      "Just hold me," she whispered.

      A full minute passed before I heard the delicate, childlike voice, still barely audible.

      "I was just nineteen," she began.  "When I first met Alec he seemed so strong and dependable.  I thought I could place my entire life in his hands, and nothing could possibly spoil it."

      She gave another deep, shivering, quivering sigh.

      "We rented a tiny house at first.  And we worked so hard, longing for the day when we could buy decent furniture and have a place of our own.  But it never happened.  All that work, all the sacrifices went for nothing.  I thought we were saving, but it was all a lie.  I was so sure Alec loved me, but he never understood the kind of love I needed.  Never."

      I held her close, as gently as I knew how, and continued to caress her hair.  There was no hurry.  We had the whole day, a lifetime if necessary, to sort ourselves out.

      "He was seeing someone else," she went on.  "At first, I pretended it didn't matter - the silly flirting words - the taunting glances - but they hurt all the same, they hurt a lot.  It grew worse, and in the end I confronted him.  We made it up, and that's when I became pregnant.  I quit my job, thinking we could fall back on our savings for a while.  Only, there weren't any.  It was all gone, who knows where - lottery tickets, drink, giving other women a good time?  When I had the baby it was bitterly cold.  We couldn't keep the wretched house warm, yet I was too proud, too independent to call on Mom and Pop - they would only have worried - they were already having a tough time with visits to East Africa trying to locate my brother's grave.  Then the baby became ill."

      There was nothing I could say.  I could only hold her warm trembling shoulders, to try and offer the simplest of comfort, just by being there.

      "Afterwards there was nothing to keep Alec.  He left one morning without a word.  No goodbye, no farewell apology, just ... gone!  Friends were good at first - sympathetic - till people began hounding me for unpaid debts.  So I found myself a job in your factory where I started making what I thought were helpful comments.   You know where that got me!  Then I met John Flannery.  At first I thought he was taking the wrong kind of interest in me, flirting behind his wife's back.  I imagined I could see those same signs, as if all men were like Alec.  But I was mistaken.  John and I are still the best of friends, thank goodness, but I swore I'd never let another man have the slightest effect on me.  No, sir!  I would be polite and friendly, but my doors would slam shut if ever I had the slightest inkling that I was being suckered into becoming someone else's plaything.  So, the defences went up and I turned the sweet, vulnerable Lori D'Amico into an artificial person, an iceberg."

      She shook her head wildly.  "But, Richard, I'm not like that.  It isn't the real me and it isn't fair.  It's not at all how I want to be, yet I can't risk being any other way.  Every time I want to be warm and friendly, I feel I'm laying myself open to everything that happened before, with all the cruel things that people said about me.  So I make jokes.  I use humour and witty remarks as my defence.  I beat back the opposition with smart words.  But I'm not being true to myself.  Lori deserves a better deal in life than this, a much better deal."

      I waited a while before voicing my own thoughts.

      "I guess words can't carry any guarantee, Lori, but I know I'd never let you down.  Besides, that wise-cracking routine of yours is very appealing, believe me.  It's a fundamental part of your fascinating personality, so don't lose it, please.  It's become the real you, my love, and you know how I feel about you."

      "Yes, damn you.  You're the cause of all my present troubles!"

      She stabbed a playful finger into my chest.

      "I guess without you turning up I could have gone on," she said, "playing my life in the new image I've built.  I drove up quite innocently last Sunday expecting a weekend of peace and quiet, a chance to relax at the company's expense.  I was asked to go and seek out some weird English guy and maybe chat him up a bit.  It's what John wanted me to do, but I wasn't looking forward to it.  I actually like being on my own, do you know that?"

      "But instead," I said, "you had the shock of bumping into an uninvited Peeping Tom."

      "That was okay," she assured me.  "It was fun.  Certainly different from anything I imagined.  But within hours of meeting you, Richard, I found myself gripping onto the rails, trying not to admit the effect you were having on me, trying not to let something I couldn't handle slide out of control.  I clung to the knowledge that you'd soon be back in England, safely out of harm's way.  As long as I kept my shield up, it wouldn't have mattered once you'd gone.  But it's no good, my darling.  I'm falling apart, and I can't control it any more."

      She sighed.  "I know.  I truly believe you would, my darling, but it's not that easy.  People can't just come over and live in America without good reason."

      I looked straight into her moist eyes.

      "Would the reason be good enough, Lori, if I asked you to marry me?"

      She stared at me intently, hesitating while she took several long, deep breaths.  Then she turned her head away.

      "I couldn't," she said softly.  "I just couldn't."

      "Why ever not?"

      "Because - don't you realise?  I'm still married.  It's my pride, and my religion; also my revenge.  I refused to give in.  Why should I let that beastly man go wreck someone else's life too?"

      I was lost for words.  There was no way I could stay in the States merely to co-habit with one of its natives, however desirable.  Yet every time I thought of my late uncles, I felt certain they had willed us to meet.  And now that our paths had crossed, it was unthinkable that Lori and I should simply drift apart and go our separate ways.

      "If nothing else works, Lori, I'll spend as much time as I can over here, then I'll take you back to England until the authorities there kick up a fuss."

      "But, Richard my darling, what about your job?"

      "My job now is to help John run Slaggs.  I'll have a good income if he accepts my offer, or a pot of gold if I change my mind and sell.  But one way or another, my precious, I need to be with you.  This may be the Trail of the Lonesome Pine up here, but I don't intend to pine and I refuse to be lonesome."

      At that moment the light around us grew much brighter until suddenly above us we saw a patch of deep blue sky and the welcoming morning sun, shining through as if to give us its golden blessing.

      "You see?" said Lori with a brave smile.  "I can feel the sun coming out inside me too.  Today's going to be lovely after all."

      At Lori's behest, I drove for a while, maintaining a comfortable forty miles an hour, well within the speed limit.  I found the road surface immaculate and delightfully smooth, and the further we travelled, the more I admired the care and attention that was put into building a highway exclusively for recreational motoring.  This parkway existed for visitors to enjoy the natural beauty that lay all around us, and I felt a sincere debt of gratitude to all American tax-payers.

      The double yellow line down the centre of the road curved gently in front of us as we passed through a wooded area, then rose again onto another shoulder of rock to provide yet more spectacular views over numerous distant mountain ranges.  It felt wonderfully relaxing, driving a luxury car in the presence of a lovely companion, and I felt blissfully contented.   Between us we'd find a way to resolve our long-term need for each other's company.  If God was up there in his beautiful blue heaven, then I felt sure He would be on our side.  Nothing was impossible, not any more.

      As the day wore on, the weather became perfect, the sky the deepest blue I'd ever seen.  Every few miles Lori got out to take photographs, looking adorable as she stood, bracing herself against the crisp mountain breeze, her fair hair blowing wildly across her natural fresh complexion.  Such a lovely girl didn't deserve to be sad or lonely.

      I went to join her.  "Happy now?"

      She nodded, squeezing my hand, and looked quizzically at me through half-closed eyes as we returned slowly to the car.

      "You're welcome to drive on, Richard, but if you want to eat, we'd better find ourselves a nearby town."

      Lori took the wheel again, but kept her right hand firmly in mine.

      "See the advantage of automatics and power-steering?  Up here in rural surroundings, you can drive in complete safety with only one hand on the wheel.  But of course," she added, "if you think I'm jeopardising your safety in any way, feel free to dissuade me."

      The day passed quickly, and soon we back in Lori's apartment enjoying another unscheduled dinner.  When we'd finished, Lori bundled everything into the dishwasher, filled her kettle for mugs of English tea, then settled herself beside me.

      "This is silly," she said as I ventured to place an arm around her.  "Suddenly I feel awkward and embarrassed, yet I feel so close to you.  I want to crawl out of my shell and become my true vulnerable self and talk to you with total frankness - only," she giggled, "I can't decide where to begin."

      I took the initiative.  "Let me say it for you.  We've played our verbal games, and that's been fun.  We've enjoyed the intrigue and the fascination, the teasing and tantalising, because that's the way it all happens.  Mother Nature may have caused other thoughts to creep into our minds, making us think of one another in ways that shouldn't be admitted too soon.  It's perfectly natural to have such thoughts but it's good civilised Western practice to suppress them, for a while at least.  The first fragile bonds between any two adults must be formed from the honest respect they have for each other.  I'm sure neither of us wants to take any unfair advantage..."

      I broke off.  I knew I'd been talking like a stuffy textbook, but Lori was gazing dreamily up at me as if hypnotised.

      "I don't altogether follow," she whispered, "but Richard, I just love the sound of your voice."

      I tried again.  "I was saying, I don't want you to think I'm devoid of sensuous feelings when I'm with you - because, to be honest, you're having a profound effect on me right now.  But I'm determined not to louse up what's become a very important relationship by clumsily suggesting anything too intimate until the foundations of friendship are firmly set."

      "Oh, I just love it," she said, glowing in admiration.  "Do go on."

      "Well, we shared some wonderful days together - I hope you agree.  From the moment we met, I wanted you to respect me, weird alien though I am.  And I want this particular moment to go on for ever, because I'm quite certain this is how I want to spend the rest of my life.  I'm enjoying it so much, being here with you, holding you, knowing you.  You're bloody marvellous, do you know that?"

      "Bless you," she whispered solemnly.  "And my kettle is also about to boil over!"

      Lori and I stepped out onto the balcony with our mugs of English tea.  I could tell she still had plenty on her mind.

      "Come on," I said.  "Share your troubles with a friend."

      "They're not troubles," she insisted.  "Just problems, fears and regrets."

      "About us?"

      "About things people have said, which aren't true.  Not once did John suggest that I should set out to enthral you.  Whatever I may have done in the past, whatever tales got twisted out of all recognition, all I ever wanted till now was just to be liked, as a decent friendly person.  Who doesn't want to look attractive if she has the chance?  But I've never ever dreamt of trying to get a man between my sheets."

      "I never believed that for a moment," I bleated.

      "So why on earth am I thinking about it now?  I tell you, Richard, I'm falling apart.  Richard, my love, I want you so much I couldn't bear it if we didn't spend our last night together.  There!  I'm not saying I want any more than that - but I just want to spend tonight with you, in my arms, all night long.  Are you shocked?"

      Now every piece of the puzzle, every aspect of the enigma that was Lori D'Amico was finding its rightful place - and it seemed so natural.

      "Do you prefer sleeping on the left or the right?" she asked. "Daft question, I suppose!" she added quietly.  "Let's improvise."

      After showering and using my best aftershave, I took my hallowed place in Lori's queen-size bed.

      She slipped in silently beside me - a warm, cosy, comforting bundle of soft silvery satin and lace.  We'd folded ourselves blissfully into each other, and for eight hours nothing else mattered beyond those four pink walls.

      Morning came - a dull, grey morning that offered no incentive for anyone to get up.  We stayed huddled together, in no hurry to move, enjoying the comfort and warmth of each other's presence, yet aching in the knowledge that it soon had to end.

      "Do you know," I teased, "I'm beginning to like you.  Have you always been this fascinating?"

      "Not everyone thinks of me the way you do, Richard."

      "Not everyone's met you as I have, and spent a whole week with you. What time does this household normally get served breakfast?"

      "Depends who's cooking," she said with a persuasive smile.

      "Would you be willing to let me loose in your kitchen again?"

      "I let you loose in my bed!" she exclaimed.  "Why should I put the kitchen out of bounds?"

      "I might do more damage in your kitchen," I whispered.  "I'd also love to demonstrate what a capable and caring husband I could be.  Have you thought about divorcing Alec?"

      "Often.  But I'm not merely fighting my own conscience or defying my Catholic faith.  Alec's an evasive character.  I'm costing him money and he doesn't like it.  Recently he decided to move, probably to try and wriggle out of his commitment, and now I don't know where he lives."

      "But I do.  That woman Barbara - she knows, the one with poor regard for your reputation."

      "Then good for her.  She's fully exonerated.  But do you realise, I've now actually done what people have been accusing me of for years?"

      "Lori, my darling, to heck with the rest of them.  As long as we're both happy, that's all that matters.  That's why I want you to confront Alec.  If you feel able to divorce him, I want you to think seriously about marrying me."

      "Why do the British always make such tough demands?  Revenge, I suppose, for what we did to you back in 1776."

      I prepared lightly scrambled eggs on buttered toast, cooked to perfection, as before.  I set it out on a tray, garnished with a silk flower from the vase on the table, and took it ceremonially to Lori's bedside.

      "If I agreed to marry you," she said, "would you tell me how you get your eggs to taste so creamy?"

      I kissed her eggy lips and said: "Wait and see!"

      Eventually, time reclaimed control of our lives and we faced spending our last hours together.  Pointing out that she wasn't prepared to risk her own precious vehicle anywhere near the bustling suburbs of New York City, Lori ordered a hire car, a Cadillac, no less prestigious than the limo that had greeted my arrival two weeks earlier, but a little easier to park.  She drove it gently along quiet country routes at first, keen to reveal further charms of rural Pennsylvania.  We paused for a while at the historic site where George Washington once made his famed crossing of the Delaware river, prior to defeating the British foe.  How glad I was that our two nations had finally learned to respect one another's differences and live in lasting harmony.

      We drove on - I had little idea where - the journey was now too fraught with sadness.  I remember being shown Princeton, famous for its university, and being taken along a monotonously busy highway leading to some densely populated urban areas of New Jersey close to the Big Apple.

      "Ready for a grandstand view of Manhattan?" she asked.

      After crossing a massive steel bridge, Lori pulled up beside a wide bay where we saw a breathtaking view of the famous New York skyline.  Clearly visible through the heat haze was the pinnacle of the Empire State Building, but sadly the famous twin towers of the World Trade Center that had once stood so tall and proud were now no longer there, destroyed in the name of religious intolerance and blind fanatical hatred.  Why couldn't the many wonderful nationalities of the human race each accept that every man, woman and child, whatever his ethnic background or creed, is entitled live in peace with his neighbour, free to practice his own personal beliefs and customs, all of which add colour and vitality to an otherwise drab world.

      "It would have been fun to take the ferry," Lori said, the wind teasing her hair into long strands.  "If we had allowed ourselves less time in bed we could have stopped off at the Statue of Liberty.  Over there beyond it lies Ellis Island where, not so long ago, alien immigrants like your three uncles would have entered this country.  I know Pop's ancestors did.  But time moves on, my friend, and now we've got to get you to the airport."

      I smiled encouragement.  "I'm definitely coming back here, you know, and very soon."

      "You'd better," she stared back grimly, and punched me playfully in the chest.  "'Cos if you don't, Buster, I'm coming over to England to grab you.  Could you find room for me in that huge London house of yours?"

      "Any time," I said.  "though it's not in the same league as your folks' place or John's.  After what I've seen this week, I realise I live in comparative squalour.  But if you seriously intend to come visiting, all I need is an hour's warning to lay down the red carpet."

      We returned to the car and drove over the mighty Verrazano Narrows bridge, on through Brooklyn and Queens, heading relentlessly towards our final destination and the ultimate moment of parting.

      We approached the John F. Kennedy airport, but instead of aiming for the parking lot Lori drove  to another area where she handed in the hire car.

      "Nice wheels," she said, "but I'm considering changing mine soon, and this gives me a golden opportunity to try out several different models.  Besides, airport parking is so expensive, so hiring can actually work out cheaper, especially if there's a serious delay.

      But there was no delay.

      As I went to stand in line, Lori reminded me I hadn't yet opened John's envelope.  I did so and found myself holding an outline proposal for the take-over, a sterling cheque for twenty-five thousand pounds to cover my so-called "expenses", and a first-class airline ticket.

      "John said you deserve to travel home in comfort," Lori explained.   "That means you want the other desk, for VIP travellers.  Also, if you examine it closely, you'll see it's what you Brits call a return ticket, meaning that John and I would very much like you to come back here, please, as soon as possible."

      I felt a little better, but not much.  "Would you thank him when you see him?" I asked, staring at the cheque.  "He has been extremely generous."

      "I'll do my best," she said, "but I can't guarantee when.  I plan on taking the rest of my vacation now.  John says I need time to recover from the traumas of last week, so I may not see him till after I get back."

      "Where are you going?"

      "I'm still hoping to spend more time with my aunt in Vermont, the one you're coming to meet in October, agreed?"

      It was a date I would have to keep.

      Finally came the moment of truth.  I took Lori in my arms and held her in silent prayer for a full minute.  Nothing more needed to be said.  I knew only that I couldn't bear to let go of this precious, warm, living, breathing person who now meant the whole world to me.

      But needs dictated that it had to be done.  We pulled apart and looked searchingly into each other's eyes, exchanging a thousand unspoken thoughts as I backed slowly away.

      "Somehow, some day very soon," I called out, "I'll be over here again, I promise!"

      I receded further and further from the solitary figure who stood by the barrier.

      "You'd better," she nodded and mouthed the word: "October!"

      "Try to visit England before then," I shouted, almost in despair.

      "Is that an order?" she cried, her voice painfully far away at the end of the long carpeted corridor.

      I yelled a deafening "Yes," then turned and walked on.  I didn't look back after that.  I couldn't.  It would be too painful if she were still standing there, and worse if she'd gone.  I was now deeply in love with someone who lived in the wrong country, and Fate was dealing us a very cruel blow.  But I knew I would return.  I could afford it now.  I could come and go as often as I liked, for as long as the welcome remained.

      I took my seat on the plane and strapped myself in.  Even at the last moment I had impulsive notions of kicking up a fuss and running back to where Lori might still be standing.  But commonsense told me she was long gone, enjoying the luxury of another car.

      I closed my miserable eyes in an attempt to shut out the unkind world that was tearing us apart.  I thought of all the things I'd meant to do and hadn't done, of the thousand questions I still wanted to ask.  Trivial unimportant questions no doubt, but the fact that they could no longer be asked nor answered raised their value to issues of monumental importance.

      Would Lori manage to trace her husband's new address?  Would she still want to after the dust had settled?  How deep-rooted were those religious principles which I knew I had no right to undermine?  Did John really plan to offer me a job?  Would Lori ever take up my invitation and come to England?  Would our different nationalities prove an insurmountable barrier to a long and lasting relationship?  Was Lori really in love with me?

      And Slaggs' new brand of sauce with its elusive aftertaste - I thought of our blissful breakfasts together, and too late it came to me.   Marmite!  I tried to smile, wanting desperately to share the news with someone.  Instead, I felt like crying.

      Then as I tightened my eyes trying desperately to forget where I was, a hand touched me lightly on the shoulder, and a strident Cockney voice in my ear asked: "'Scuse me, guv!  Anyone sitting 'ere?"

      I opened my eyes.

      "Me again," she whispered, seating herself comfortably beside me.  "John seldom does nuffin' by halves.  So I fought, 'ere, why not, eh?"

      "Why not indeed!" I said.  "Do I know you?"

      She shook her head.  "You soon will!  Put it there!  My name's Lori D'Amico!"

      "Spanish, eh?  Glad to know you, Lori.  I'm Lord Alfred Porilo."

      "Italian?  Damn, I was 'oping as 'ow you might be British.  I know this bloke, see, what lives in London.  'E's a Chawtered Accarntant or summink, but in spite of that I loves him dearly and was 'oping to trace him once I gets over to England.  This'll amaze you, Alf, but it's true - not once, in all the time I've known this geezer - not once 'as 'e ever bovvered to tell me his 'ome address!  Ain't 'at awful?  I mean, 'ow could I 'ave wrote and told this guy 'ow much I misses him?  Why, there mus' be loads o' millionaire accarntants what lives in London - did I mention he's a millionaire?  P'rhaps not - course, it's not that important, like, not to me, being all 'umble myself, like."

      She was on the verge of giggles as I addressed her in my best Oxford-Etonian.

      "Miss D'Amico, forgive me, but have you always been like this?"

      "Not 'til recently, guv," she confided, nestling closer.  "No fear!  But if you can spare a couple of evenin's, I might tell yer the 'ole bloomin' story.  By the way, jew 'appen to know of a good recipe for scraymbled heggs?"

THE END

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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.