“Yes, I promise. I will…. I will. Thanks for calling, Nick. Thanks for caring. ’bye darling. Give my love to Liz!” She smiled again at his parting words of good luck.

“Thank you, Nick,” she said quietly and with genuine feeling.

She replaced the receiver, but did not immediately remove her hand as she sat thinking about Nick and their very special relationship. At length she stood up. As she turned, she noticed the discarded newspaper lying strewn on the carpet and moved to tidy it up. As she reached down, her gaze riveted upon the face of the man in the photograph that stared up at her from the topmost page. She froze.

“That’s….” she said aloud. “No. Surely not!”

She snatched up the newspaper for a closer look. Closer was not better and she looked around for her spectacles. Grabbing them off the table, she slipped them on and focused on the face.

“My God!” she exclaimed aloud, putting her hand to her mouth. “It is! It’s George!” The shock had made her stomach contract violently and her heart had begun to race. Sitting down heavily in the nearest armchair, she scrutinised the photograph in detail.

He had not altered all that much, she decided. Still good looking, in that weak sort of a way. Much older than when she had last seen him, of course. White haired now. Very distinguished looking, she conceded grudgingly. Well, what man wasn’t, all togged up in his morning suit? In any case, George had always had a flair for achieving sartorial perfection. Creating the right public image had always been very important to George. He was wearing his oily smile, she noted. The one he pinned on for public display. The one that never quite reached his eyes. He still had his pencil slim moustache. How very like David Niven she had thought he looked in those early years, she mused.

The man in the photograph was standing with his arm linked with that of a tall, pretty young woman. A bride. Not his wife, surely! She dragged her eyes from the picture

to read the text.

“….his daughter, Georgina,” she read aloud.

His daughter! So, George had had a family. At least a daughter. An accident?

“Georgina!” she scoffed.

Of course, she would have had to be called Georgina. That would have been George’s idea, beyond any shadow of doubt. A prop for his fragile ego. Good old George, true to form. He always was an egotistical bastard! Her mind was suddenly recalling George very clearly. She was remembering his arrogance, his pride, his pomposity. She was remembering other things too. Things she did not want to remember. The past had begun to cast its long shadow. The joy of the day was suddenly gone.

PIMRC 2001 9/30/01 at San Diego