'Where?'
'Meet me at the horse buggies on the far side of the Dapia, at nine.'
'Shouldn't I book?'
'There'll always be a table for me.'
Again that air of mystery.
* * *
The day dragged. He sat at his desk. He picked up the fountain pen but nothing flowed from that or his mind. He felt desire rising in him as he thought of the evening ahead. He mustn't - as his block-busting hero would say - blow it. A wry smile crossed his face as he acknowledged the s****l connotation of the expression. He replaced the top on the pen, positioning it on its rest so the family crest watched him, mocking him. Ancestors from a past with different values rode through his psyche.
'You want her, My Lord, then take her.'
He decided on a short siesta.
* * *
They were walking hand in hand. The night was p
