TERRY

The party's over, it's time to... you know the rest. Sunday Night at the Ritz-Carlton might have had its charms but next morning it was back to business. I had an early meeting with DOL and we set up a number of strategies and appointments for the week. Lots of things to do. New initiatives, new staff, new contracts. Nose down to the grindstone again.

What's new? You want I bring you up to speed?

1.  New initiative...set up a new department - Post-Rescue Support. Hope Cort might one day feel he can run such a thing. It has long been my concern that men such as negotiators move in, shoulder the burden, retrieve the cargo (or fail) and then disappear at a time when families in many ways need almost as much support to readjust as during the period of the kidnap. Kidnap victims have many worse nightmares to face than merely physical injuries and debilitation. They often adjust poorly to their own lives after months of a regime where they were cowed and frightened. Families have moved on and the released find themselves left out of some of the decision making. Work is difficult; they are usually sent back home to mundane desk jobs after a more challenging career and feel a sense of failure, as if they are being blamed for their own tragedy. Wives and husbands have sometimes grown apart even if they have longed for each other in the months of separation. Nightmares and violent episodes, sexual dysfunction, depression, suicide attempts...you name it they all occur. I wanted to redress some of these areas by trying to form a follow- up package available if it should be required. Cort and Reagan would both have valuable skills to offer here- I know mine are limited.

2. Then there is the matter of new contracts. We have the usual insurance companies and their corporate needs- we are growing with every successful case- but are also diversifying into other packages. Outbid the opposition by reaching the expatriate companies first before they are thrown into the Kidnap and Ransom scenario. We want to form units, both here and in Europe, that would advise expatriates about to be sent to countries where K and R is a threat. This would include seminars and courses, liaisons within the country, security arrangements and other services set up by teams of older, even retired, men and women and young recruits not yet familiar enough with the business to be in the field. The benefits at every level are obvious and we have received a great deal of early interest from multinationals.

3. Finally, new staff. A lot of young members are being recruited- I am tired of dealing with professional ex-soldiers and intelligence officers who think they know it all and that they can tell me how it works. Sounds like someone you know? Well, hell, I did know it all. That was the difference, mate. However the main event is an old hand, none other than my old mate, the general. We are considering him for employment, as he does undoubtedly possess many of the qualities that we look for in field agents. Some. Not all. He needs a rigorous assessment and evaluation first.

Some of this took place before the Temple Week and we have been reviewing the results. Pretty impressive so far. The guy hasn't put a foot wrong. Intelligence tests- top quartile and that is even ignoring the fact that some of the tasks would have been difficult for him to grasp with his lack of cultural background. Psych- evaluation- nerves of steel, no apparent areas of significant weakness, compassionate responses tempered with an ability to think flexibly, act swiftly and explore all available strategies equally. In other words- a dream negotiator. We know he's brave and resourceful, has a cruel streak when necessary and is not given to dwelling on the moral implications of what he might have to do. This is the guy who can decapitate an opponent who is already dead, spit and walk off. Don't reckon he spent much time pondering the moral imperative of that one.

But he knows nothing of modern weaponry, communications, intelligence, terrorism and the world political arena. Not to mention that he has only just come to grips with English, never mind other major world languages. We sent him to an intensive weapons course- a military one that Dino pulled strings to enable him to join. Top of the fucking class- a week after he picked up his first gun, the bastard. He is struggling more with high tech communications - but he'll get there. I have contacted an expert on terrorism and security who teaches at Berkeley and is also a consultant to the Pentagon; he is arranging some sessions and materials for Max to read, although I suspect Max has already perused most of the available literature. He is formidably well prepared whenever I speak to him.

Languages. Piece of piss to a man who speaks fluent Latin and Greek. We ran him through a language lab- fired him with extracts of European languages to see what he could construe. Italian and Spanish were simple- he'll pick them up in no time and understands much of what he hears already. French is likewise something I see him have little problem with.  Portuguese was another bonus- it is remarkably Latinate, apparently. Modern Greek he can read and understand, although the pronunciation and idiom are new to him. Tink also came out with a gem the other night. She was lying on the bed reading a book and munching something while I was on the phone to Dino. I heard her voice: "Romanian". Ignored her. She shouted again. "Try him on Romanian."

"Will you shut up? I'm on the phone," I covered the receiver and barked back.

"I know that's why I said it. Try Max on Romanian...the language!"

"Why?"

"Closest to Latin structurally. Why the fuck you think it's called Romanian? Dacia. Important province on the Northern limes. Under Max's command. He knew it well."

"How the fuck do you know that?" I caught her look. I decided not to peruse further. Told Dino to set it up. Well, what do you know? The general came out with a gold star in Romanian. What an asset to the company, I am delighted to say. It will be such fun working with a man of his singular talents. Can you read when someone types with gritted teeth?

So, what's next? We send him on some grueling physical courses. Need to get rid of some of that flab, general. I got to choose them. Desert down at 29 Palms, Alaska for a bit of snow and mountain conditions just for starters. Then he reminded Dino of the Honey Island Wilderness Area site out in Louisiana. How the fuck did he know about that? Said he fancied having a go. Let me work out which little busy bee whispered her honey potion in his ears. So he is off there as soon as we get him in. Watch out for alligators, general. They have a taste for overblown egos. So he wears a crocodile tooth around his neck- no one said he strangled it with his own hands, did they? He probably bought it in the market or won it in a game of dice...you reckon?

OK- up to speed. 

The final morning we were packing to leave- we had the company plane waiting for us at the airport. When I say, we were packing - let me clarify. I was packing. Tink was floating about moving a pile of mess from one place to another and getting dressed. She can strip a grown man in five seconds flat but seems to have a great difficulty in dressing herself. Every time she skipped past she was in something else or nothing or very little. I must say it was a distraction.

"Get some clothes on and let's get out of here. I have a schedule to keep!"

"Keep your hair on! Have you seen my eyelash curlers?"

She asks me questions like that all the time. I mean, if I saw them would I know what they were? More to the point, would I move them from where she put them? "No." It's simpler to keep answers to one word.

"You're no bloody help, are you?"

"Perhaps you might consider catching a plane without curling your eyelashes?" She looked at me as if I had said 'Let's fly Economy Class.' I gave up and closed up my very light and well-organized luggage and then tried to close her suitcase. I'm strong but there is a limit to what I can press or lift. That's when she walked past and bent over. She was doing it on purpose- had to be. She always does something like that if she thinks I'm in one of my tight-lipped moods. I think she has a theory about how to relieve my stress. It never occurs to her that she is the main cause.

She was wearing the smallest and tightest pair of khaki shorts that I have ever seen. Above was a see-through blouse over a black bra. Round her neck she had a thick leather choker and on her feet were six inch heels bound by thin leather thongs up her ankles. She looked like a dominatrix.  I stood back and eyed her up. She has to have the world's best arse. I could feel sweat on my brow - but she wasn't playing that game with me.

"What on earth are you wearing?" I asked. She spun round and twirled. 

"Great, isn't it? I thought it would go well with my coat."

"Coat?"

She ran back into the main lounge and returned seconds later wearing a coat. Oh my God! Where does she get her ideas?

"Like it? It cost a bomb but it will be really warm in the winter."

"Adolf will love it. You thinking of marching on Poland?"

It was a floor length dark brown leather coat with reveres and the collar up. She looked like a female warrior from one of those Manja cartoons- except no one else but her could have even walked in the shoes, never mind indulged in martial arts. What effect did she have? Any man who saw her would fall over his dick. She is so bloody sexy and completely off her head at times, it's a wonder she hasn't been locked up for her own good.

"Uma - it's a long flight. Those shorts will be uncomfortable."

"Then I'll take them off."

"Are you wearing anything underneath?"

"No." 

I coughed at the image of her wearing only a see-through blouse, and a pair of strappy stilettos...not to mention the leather overcoat. She grinned and grabbed my groin.

"Groin test...positive...outfit is working... are your clothes loose enough for a long flight, Terry? Your undies already feel a bit constrained..."

Which is why we were late arriving at the airport and I was even more tightlipped than usual. The rest of my body felt fairly easy though. So I hurried her through the airport and then she said she needed the ladies. What can you say to a request of that nature? I stood outside, pacing, but naturally she chose to come out of a different exit and wandered off. After fifteen minutes, I excused myself and walked in. "Are you still in here?" I shouted. Got an offer as well, but that's another story. Tink was nowhere in sight. Where did I find her? In a fucking Bally shop looking at handbags. This from the woman with more handbags than I have shirts- and I have to admit I have a lot of shirts.

We had a few words there and then and it resulted in me leaving her there and storming off to the plane with a "Carry your own bloody luggage, then." And so I arrived at the jet alone.

Lachlan was outside with Phil and another bloke and they were checking the plane. I gave a nod and he returned it, and ran up the steps.

"Where's Betty?" he asked, in all innocence.

"In a fucking shop, where else?" I retorted as I embarked.

At the door, Carol Smiley was waiting. "Is Mrs. Thorne joining us this trip?"

"Only if they run out of leather," I remarked cryptically and brushed past her. I was not in the mood for small talk.

"Hi, Terry!" I heard her voice and spun round.

HEATHER

I flung myself at him, giving him a fierce hug just as I promised him I would the next time I saw him, wanting to banish that horrible dream I'd had.  Terry dead.  I didn't even try to kiss him.  All I did was wrap my arms around him so tight and press my face to his throat, glorying in the pulse that beat there, steady and strong.  I squeezed him tighter and sighed contentedly as he squeezed me back.  He knew about my dream and about the hug I told him he'd be getting the next time I saw him. 

He kissed my temple gently and whispered, "Silly girl, no more of that."  I noticed he didn't let me go, however.  I felt him chuckle quietly.  "What'd I tell you, love?  All this concern?  I am in danger of becoming a wuss...."

Words from an email he sent me after I'd told him about my dream.  They made me giggle now just as they had then.  Terry Thorne saying the word 'wuss'....  especially when he was wearing his K & R face?  That only made it seem that much funnier to me.  What can I say?  I'm easily amused.

I am, however, not easily fooled.  Not when it comes to Terry's feelings, anyway.  I drew back and touched his cheek with my palm as our eyes met, searching and intense.  Our usual greeting.  A look not a kiss.  Strange isn't it, considering we're lovers as well as friends.  I rather like it.  His body was tense and though he was smiling, his eyes were stormy, upset.  The fact that Uma wasn't glued to his side said a lot too.  Temple week was barely over.  I hadn't even been able to stand being parted from Lachlan while he flew Terry and Uma back across the pond and I knew they must have similar feelings.  I wondered where she was.     

"Stowing away on my jet, lassie?"  So Terry, always trying to divert attention away from himself when he was upset.  "Come on, now.  Tell uncle Terry the truth....It's Biggles, isn't it?  You couldn't bear to let him out of your sight."

"I missed him."  No silliness in my answer, just the quiet ring of truth.  The intense closeness I felt with Lachlan after he'd given me the bracelet hadn't yet worn off.  It had only been two nights since then and for me, for both of us, it was too soon to part.

I heard him mutter something that sounded a lot like 'Must bloody well be nice...' as he pulled away and dropped heavily into his seat.  He gave me an unreadable look and fidgeted, playing with his eyebrow. 

"You look like a man who could use a beer."  The look on his face said that was a very good idea so I went back to where Carol was fussing about in the galley.  "May I have a beer please, Carol?"  I could picture Terry smiling at my words.  He teases me for being so polite all the time.  Says it reminds him of our first intimate night together when I thanked him prettily afterwards.  Of course, in this case, I am also aware it annoys Carol to no end.  Kill them with kindness, you know?   

"Bit early, isn't it?"  She gave me the eye, no doubt wondering why I'd shared such a familiar greeting with another woman's husband, but she opened the fridge anyway.  "Shiner?  Guinness?  Molson?  VB?  Boddingtons?"  Her eyes narrowed when I chose Terry's favorite from her lineup and thanked her, despite her snarky comments. 

When I returned, Terry pulled me down in his lap and sighed as he took a long pull from the bottle.  "Now this is more like it."  His eyes were drawn to my wrist as the soft tinkling sound of my bracelet caught his attention.  Terry always notices the details and that he hadn't noticed it until just now was a clear indication of how worked up he was, despite his calm façade.

He touched it in that purely physical way all the Brothers have; that way of experiencing their surroundings by touch as much as by sight or sound.  It made me smile.  His fingers stopped on the disk of blue opal.  "Australian?"  I nodded and he continued to examine it, pausing again when he reached the diamond.  I could tell he was thinking of the ring he'd given Uma and making the connection in his mind.  When his hand dropped away, I wasn't surprised.  Lachlan wouldn't fondle Uma's ring for the same reasons.  Even with the deep affection between us, there were places we did not intrude upon. 

He took a pull off the bottle and looked away.  "S'pretty."  That was more of an acknowledgement than I thought he'd give.  He snorted and snuggled me closer to him.  "Wordsworth....that poetic bastard." 

This time it was me who snorted.  "He's just as rotten as you, you know.  Bit of a slob... couldn't work the dishwasher to save his life....probably couldn't even tell me where we keep the detergent for the laundry..."  I gave him a look.  "Bet you couldn't tell me where she keeps it either."  It was a silly conversation, but he didn't need someone to tease him from his mood, he needed something to get him talking and it's best to sneak in under his radar, especially when we're not alone. 

"I could so...  She keeps it in the cupboard."  He smirked into his beer.    

I rolled my eyes at him.  "You're such a liar." 

His eyes glittered.  "Heh.  Caught me.  But it is the first place I'd go looking for it...  Happy now?"  He was relaxing a little, absently rubbing my back now and using his foot to rock the chair in a motion that was both soothing but also betrayed his inability to keep still.    

"You are totally and utterly hopeless."  I stole his beer and took a small sip.  It wasn't my favorite flavor, but it made me think about how his mouth would taste if I kissed him, and despite the fact it wasn't either the right time or the right place, I was never totally unaware of the undercurrent of passion between us, even when it was banked.   

"That's why you like me."  Lord, he was smug.

"That's why she likes you," I fired back.  

His eyes clouded and I could see him switching mental gears.  He was silent for a long moment, looking out the window before he caught my eyes again.  "Would you ever give Curry the slip at the ladies and wander off to look at handbags, leaving him to pace about outside wondering where in the bloody hell you were?"

I hid a smile.  "Is that what happened?"  He nodded, picking absently at the label on the bottle.  "Getting slow in your old age if you failed to watch both exits," I teased.  I could feel him start to pull back into himself.  Crap.  Well, that was a mistake.  But just because I can read his moods well doesn't always mean I know the best way to go about helping him out of them.  I tried again.  "I'm sure she didn't do it on purpose, Terry."  She wouldn't have worried him like that and it was his worry over her that was at the heart of this, not his frustration.   

He snorted.  "You don't know her like I do."  Well, that was true, but sometimes that was a good thing.  He was too close to see the obvious at times.  He fixed me with a pointed stare.  "And you didn't answer the question, love."

I smiled at him.  "No, of course I wouldn't have."  I don't particularly care for wandering around alone in strange places.  I might have wound up in the store looking at handbags, but I'd have made sure Lachlan knew where I was first.  I don't have Uma's sense of adventure.   

Terry grunted.  "Well, thank you.  I believe you just made my point."  For all his pique, I felt like smiling.  I have a theory about Terry and Uma.  I think her mad schemes and flighty behavior are good for him.  Sure he might find them annoying and frustrating at times, but his job is incredibly stressful and he swallows most of that, pushing it deep down inside.  Those little quirks of hers that make him crazy are like a pressure release valve.  They allow him to vent his anger and frustration in safe ways, while at the same time keeping his mind engaged. 

"Hey..."  I brushed my thumb over his lip before caressing his cheek.  He closed his eyes and leaned into the soothing touch.  I lowered my voice so Carol couldn't hear us even if she had been listening at the galley door.  "You did say she'd been a little distracted since Temple week.  Maybe that had something to do with it too, you know?" 

In the last week, we'd talked although not very much.  One long IM and a few phone calls while he was going to and from various meetings in the city, but he had shared some of his concerns with me.  That he spoke with me about her was an indication of how deep our bond was, but at the same time it also implied distance.  He was detached enough emotionally to be able to have rational conversations with me that he could not or would not have with her.  That distinction was not lost on either of us. 

He sighed.  "Yeah..."  

"So, maybe it's just her version of smoking while she plays cards."  I felt him relax further under me and I became aware that although he'd been tense, he was also clearly satiated.  Apparently, whatever it was hadn't been serious enough to keep them apart.  He was like a big predator who'd eaten a large meal and was lazing in the sun.  No wonder he'd been so out of sorts.  The mix-up in the airport had interrupted the sense of idle he'd maintained even with his desire to remain on schedule.  I didn't ask him if he was OK now.  His body language said it all.  I patted his cheek.  "So, smile and finish your beer and play nice when she comes back." 

He chuckled.  "I love it when you put on your little Miss voice."

"Terrence Thorne, you are such a perve."

He bounced his knee under me.  "Oooh yeah, that's the one, lassie."

I swatted his arm and snuggled into him, resting my head on his chest for a little while.  Despite our playing, the dream had shaken me and it felt good to hear his heart beat and feel his chest rise and fall under my cheek, to feel him in my arms, vibrant and alive and content.  

TERRY

Heather helped. I don't know why I don't just expect the unexpected as I would do if I was working. Tink hadn't really done much wrong but somehow it made me so angry with her. It's the way she thinks, if you can call it that. I cannot tolerate muddle -headed thinking, lack of sequential reasoning, absent-minded dithering, illogical behaviour. All she had to say was 'I'll be over there.' But no...she just sees something and drifts off. I should have expected that- she always does it. In any shop, city street, she somehow seems to think I know what is in her mind- I look around she's gone. Who could know what was in her mind?

Something is for sure. I know that aspect of her when she is troubled, maybe even deeply troubled this time, and she is trying to both cover her confusion and make some decision. That frightens the hell out of me. Her decisions are so bizarre at times. What happened in the Temple? Why did she fight with Maximus? What was all that crap about Johnny and young men? Why did she write so few diaries? That is what she does when she is in her most dangerous frame of mind - weaving a complete false trail, full of red herrings and smoke. But somewhere is the answer, if I could only find it. I would like to pin her down and force it out of her but it would do no good. I have to wait until she's ready or she'll back off, feel cornered and we'll just fight again. Is fucking Maximus in this mix somewhere, screwing up her head again? I think I smell a Roman general- or am I just more paranoid than ever these days?

I should have been watching both exits. Heather said it. She was right. Why wasn't I? I was leaning on a wall, thinking about long legs and six inch heels. And mentally undressing a passing stewardess with my eyes. I am sex-soaked. My guard is so far down that I am tripping over my feet. How come Uma just unravels me every time? What would happen if another Raul should come along?

It is so good to see Heather again, so very good to hold her in my arms and feel her touch upon my face. She makes me feel at peace, smiles indulgently at my crabbiness, understands my frustration, tolerates my willfulness and makes me laugh at myself. But I can sense another contentment welling in her, see another man in her eyes where I once saw myself and cannot help but wonder if a part of her honest nature is not already assigning me to her past, a treasured memory, but one that will not be visited again.

The dream. My death. I was alone and she felt my passing like a cold stone weight in her heart. It filled her with dread. She mailed me her fear, I replied with a soft reassurance but she was not fully satisfied until today when her touch restored me to her life. She dreamed my death and dreams have a meaning. She cares deeply for me but she knows that she must let me go. Is that the subconscious message?

My death. Uma believed it and it dislocated her from life. Heather felt it and she was sad. It is good to know that people would care. All those years when no one would have given more than a passing thought if I had lived or died. How my life has changed.

Expensive loss for the company of a senior operative. Too bad. Ian.

What a pity...he promised me a week in The Bahamas...and he was such a good lay. Latest girlfriend.

I never really knew him anyway...what was he like, Mum? Henry.

What a fucking maudling train of thoughts. I am nearly forty and I have made it against the odds. Should have died years ago, several times, in fact - not sure why I didn't. Almost asked for it. Why did I keep coming back, dicing with death and then breathing a grateful sigh of relief to be back from the brink? So that I could feel alive? To hide the emptiness? Or just too bloody stubborn - no one has the right to destroy me but myself?

And now this idyllic world where I have an embarrassment of riches- beautiful, tender women, there for me whenever I need a friend, lover, someone to talk to, even just a cup of coffee. I gather them round me like lovely moths at my flame but what do I give them in return? How many are ever allowed real glimpses behind the façade? It is easier to put myself out there and be what a woman needs or think she needs me to be, than ever to let them be for me what I need or wish.

But- What do I need?

Do I know?

Does she know?

Am I missing something, somewhere?

Is Ann stumbling over a truth that I am scared to admit?

Does Heather now look at me and see something less than she once thought?

Where is Uma? Why do I feel despair when I look around and find her gone?

Heather was slipping under my radar again as she always does; I pushed her away this time. She has that knack of asking the very question that I do not wish to answer. The opposite of Uma, who does not ask the question but merely anticipates the answer, with that uncanny perception of hers that appears to be instinct, based on God knows what. She can smell my discomfort. Or is that love? There is a world of difference between the clarity of the unsaid and the confused din of the spoken. Both of those women understand that in their distinctive ways.

Heather loves Curry...the play on words makes me laugh inwardly. Something hot and spicy...not like me at all. I am the cold, bloodless man, not the light and spontaneous sprite who is irresistible to women. They want to wrap him up. They want to solve me. What fun for them. Can't even fucking solve myself.

I'm the White Knight. Sir Galahad. The good guy. That is what they say, so that is what I am. But the real me? The Black Knight. Dark and deep. Driven by entirely different impulses altogether. Like Chess- the game of bluff and counter. What better disguise is there than that?

UMA

He is such a randy bastard- I think I need to slip something in his tea. I couldn't even pack this morning without him throwing me on my back, all caveman style, and having his way with me. Again. We have spent the last week in bed apart from the times he has crawled out to a meeting and I have gone into recovery (aka retail therapy) and he had already had it first thing and again in the shower.  Enough should be enough. I think he's getting worse. You can see the thought processes in his mind when he looks at me. I can't even get dressed without him going into overdrive. Aren't men wonderful?

Except when they are being pains in the butt (talking of which, I have a very sore fanny as well - English meaning...just thought I'd share that with you all!!!) I only stopped for two seconds and he had major tantrum in the middle of a shop. How does he cope when he has to wait weeks for a contact on a job? Does he stamp his feet and say "Well, I'm going home then?" Somehow I think not. Anyway, he strode off, carrying his luggage with intent, his shoulders squared in temper- God, he's gorgeous like that- and I finished my transaction - which is why I reached the jet on my own.

Lachlan, Phil and another bloke were mooching around doing all that fussing about stuff men do before they go on a trip. Safety or something. Lachlan was crouched down checking some underseal thingy and I copped a great look at his bum. Cor, he has a lovely bum. I stood there a while and just had a perve.

"Are you going to board or do you intend to drool over me all morning?" Lachlan smiled and turned round. Phil and the other man laughed and I heard Phil explaining who I was. Which probably didn't help his comprehension of the next bit of dialogue.

"I'm waiting until you turn round so I can perve your front bits. Do you carry the joystick in your pocket when you aren't in the air?"

I ran up and gave him a big kiss, grabbed his groin in welcome and handed him my vanity and purchases. He stepped back and viewed me with a whistle, running a hand through his hair. Lowering his voice, he whispered, "Think you better get on board before I forget where I am."

"Oi...I don't pay you to flirt with my woman," Terry shouted from the door.

"S'alright, boss, I'm doing him for free," I retorted. "His joystick needs a bit of fine tuning."

"Get up here on to my plane...and it's my joy stick, love. I own the bloody thing."

"Oooh ..er...Lachlan, did you hear that? Terry wants you to handle his joystick..." I ran up giggling as the men just shook their hands and raised their eyebrows. Lachlan ran up behind and carried on my luggage, stowing it for me.

"Is Smiles-a-lot still with us? You know, miserable Cowface, the tea lady?" I announced. Terry coughed and angled his head. She was standing next to me.

"Oh, bugger," I added without appearing very concerned.

"Glad you could make it from the bar without help, Mrs. Thorne," she threw at me.

Terry snorted but Lachlan leapt to my defence. "Just get Mrs. Thorne a drink before take-off and make it snappy. I expect you to make her journey a very pleasurable one." She nodded, biting her lip to stop herself from replying. Lachlan turned back to me and chucked my chin. "Now...be a good girl and don't make waves..." he smiled. I simpered. Terry muttered, "If you think that will have any effect you are denser than you look, Curry." Lachlan gave him a look. He doesn't intimidate him any more. He's seen him without his pants. Best way to imagine your boss, isn't it?

"Heather!!!!! Oh my God, no one said you would be here!!" 

"Hiya! How ya doing, girl?"

"Limping but I'll live." Terry nudged me in the back as a warning. "And you?"

"Much the same," she winked and we both giggled hysterically. Carol served my drink. 

"Can I get something for you? Miss...I'm afraid I forget your name...we have so many young women visitors on board..."

"Heather...or Mrs. Curry will do fine, Carol. Glass of wine, Heather?" Terry stepped in with his usual cool control of the situation. Heather nodded and Carol withdrew, clearly surprised. She hadn't expected that one.

We settled down on the comfortable leather seats and had a drink. I noticed a soft tinkle and then saw the bracelet on Heather's left hand as she placed her drink down on the table.

"Oh...that is so beautiful, Heather...a charm bracelet? I haven't seen one of those for years! It is exquisite. It looks vintage...look. Terry, look! Isn't it gorgeous?" I ran through he selection of unusual charms well aware of the significance of many of them.

Terry looked. "Yes. Very pretty." He glanced across and then turned to his beer can, drinking a long quaff.

"And look...a little golden seal...awwwww....Lach gave you this, didn't he? He is so romantic..." I picked up her arm extended them shaking her wrist and laughing at the tinkle. "Terry...look at the seal..."

"Very nice," he said and took up a newspaper. I suppose gold jewellery isn't really his bag. He's more into pearls... Woo...did I just say that?

We finished our drinks. Carol cleared away. We belted up. The plane taxied down the runway. I said my usual decade of the Rosary (I always do that) and we were off. I kicked off my shoes snuggling up to Terry and he read a newspaper, his hand idly playing with my hair. Heather opened a novel.