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Melanie, in contrast, looked ravishing in a long mint green dress which indicated quite clearly what her body would be like if the mint were removed. Her eyes, perhaps taking courage from the dress, seemed greener and more captivating than ever.

'It's wonderful to see you looking so well, Abel,' she remarked as she took her seat in the centre of the dining room, 'and of course, everybody knows how well you are doing with the Richmond Group!'

'The Baron Group,' said Abel.

She flushed slightly. 'I didn't realise you had changed the name.'

'Yes, I changed it last year,' lied Abel. He had in fact decided at that very moment that every hotel in the group would be known as a Baron hotel. He wondered why he had never thought of it before.

'An appropriate name,'said Melanie, smiling.

Zaphia set the mushroom soup in front of Melanie with a little thud that.

spoke volumes to Abel. Some of the soup nearly ended up on the mint green dress.

Toxere not working?' asked Abel, scribbling the words 'Baron Group' on the back of his menu.

'No, not at the moment, but things are looking up. a little. A woman with a liberal arts degree in this city has to sit around and wait for every man to be employed before she can hope to find a job.'

'If you ever want to work for the Baron Group,' said Abel, emphadsing the name slightly, 'you only have to let me know.'

'No, no,'said Melanie. 'I'm just fine.'

She quickly changed the subject to music and the theatre. Talking to her was an unaccustomed and pleasant challenge for Abel; she teased him, but with intelligence. She made him feel more confident in her company than he had ever been in the past. The dinner went on until well after eleven, and when everyone had left the dining room, including Zaphia, orninously red-eyed, he drove Melanie home to her flat, and this time she did invite him in for a drink. He sat on the end of a sofa while she poured him a prohibited whisky and put a record on the phonograph.

'I can't stay long,' Abel said. 'Busy day tomorrow!'

'That's what I'm supposed to say, Abel. Don't rush. away, this evening has been such fun, just like old times.'

She sat down beside him, her dress rising above her knees. Not quite like old times, he thought. Incredible legs. He made no attempt to resist when she edged towards him. In moments he found he was kissing her - or was she kissing him? His hands wandered on to those legs and then to her breasts, and this time she seemed to respond willingly. It was she who eventually led him by the hand to her bedroom, folded back the coverlet neatly, turned around and asked him to unzip her. Abel obliged in nervous disbelief and switched out the light before he undressed. After that it was easy for him to put Joyce's careful tuition into practice. Melanie certainly was not lacking in experience herself; Abel had never enjoyed the act of making love more and fell into a deep contented sleep.

In the morning Melanie made him breakfast and attended to his every need, right up to the moment he had to leave.

'I shall watch the Baron Group with renewed interest,' she told him, 'not that anyone doubts that it's going to be a huge success!'

'Thank you,' said Abel, 'for breakfast and a memorable night.'

'I was hoping we'd be seeing each other again sometime soon,' Melanie added.

'I'd like that," said Abel.

She kissed him on the cheek as a wife rnight who was seeing her husband off to work.

'I wonder what kind of woman you'll end up marrying,' she asked innocently as she helped Abel on with his overcoat.

He looked at her and smiled sweetly. "When I make that decision, Melanie, you can be certain I shall only be influenced by your views.'

'What do you mean?' asked Melanie, coyly.

'Simply that I shall need your advice,' replied Abel, as he reached the front door, 'and be sure to find myself a nice Polish girl who will marry me.'

Abel and Zaphia were married a month later. Zaphia's cousin, Janek, gave her away and George was the best man. The reception was held at the Stevens and the drinking and dancing went on far into the night. By tradition, each man paid a token sum to dance with Zaphia, and George perspired as he battled round the room, photographing the guests in every possible permutation and combination. After a midnight supper of barszcz, pierogi and bigos downed with wine, brandy and Danzig vodka, Abel and Zaphia were allowed to retire to the bridal suite, with many a wink from the men and tears from the women.

Abel was pleasantly surprised to be told by Curtis Fenton the next morning that the bill for his reception at the Stevens had been covered by Mr. Maxton and was to be treated as a wedding gift. He used the money he had saved for the reception as a down payment on a little house on Rigg Street.

For the first time in his life he possessed a home of his own.

21

In February of 1934 William decided to take a month's holiday in England before making any firm decision about his future; he even considered resigning from the board, but Matthew convinced him that that was not the course of action his father would have taken in the same circumstances. Matthew appeared to take his friend's defeat even harder than William himself. Twice in the following week he came into the bank with the obvious signs of a hangover and left important work unfinished. William decided to let these incidents pass without comment and invited Matthew to join him and Kate for dinner that night. Matthew declined, claiming that he had a backload of work on which to catch up. William would not have given the refusal a second thought if Matthew had not been dining at the Ritz Carlton that night with an attractive woman who William could have sworn was married to one of Kane and Cabot's departmental managers. Kate said nothing, except that Matthew did not look very well.

William, preoccupied with his impending departure for Europe, took less notice of his friend's strange behaviour than he might otherwise have done. At the last moment William couldn't face a month in England alone and asked Kate to accompany him. To his surprise and delight she agreed.

William and Kate sailed to England on the Mauretania in separate cabins.

Once they had settled into the Ritz, in separate rooms, even on separate floors, William reported to the London branch of Kane and Cabot in Lombard Street and fulfilled the ostensible purpose of his trip to England by reviewing the bank's European activities. Morale was high and Tony Simmons had evidently been a well-liked manager; there was little for William to do but murmur his approval.

He and Kate spent a glorious two weeks together in London, Hampshire and Lincolnshire, looking at some land William had acquired a few months previously, aver twelve thousand acres in all. The financial return from farming land is never high but, as William explained to Kate, 'It will always be them if things ever go sour again in America!

A few days before they were due to travel back to the United States, Kate decided she wanted to see Oxford, and William agreed to drive her down early the next morning. He hired a new Morris, a car he had never driven before. In the university city, they spent the day wandering around the colleges : Magdalen, superb against the river; Christchurch, grandiose butcloisterless; and Merton where they just sat on the grass and dreamed.

'Can't sit on the grass, sir,' said the voice of a college porter.

They laughed and walked hand-in-hand like undergraduates by the side of the Cherwell watching eight Matthews straining to push a boat along as fast as possible. William could no longer imagine a life separated in any part from Kate.

They started back for London in mid-afternoon, and when they reached Henley-on-Tbames, they stopped to have tea at the Bell Inn overlooking the river. After scones and a large pot of strong English tea (Kate was adventuresome and drank it with only milk, but William added hot water to dilute it), Kate suggested that they should start back before it was too dark to see the countryside, but when William had re-inserted the crank into the Morris, despite strenuous effort he could not get the engine to turn over. Finally he gave up, and since it was getting late, decided that they would have to spend the night in Henley. He returned to the front desk of the Bell Inn and requested two rooms.

'Sorr-y, sir, I have only one double room left,' said the receptionist.

William hesitated for a moment and then said, 'We'll take it., Kate looked somewhat surprised but said nothing; the receptionist looked suspiciously at her.

'Mr. and Mrs.... er ... T 'Mr. and Mrs. William Kane,' said William firmly. 'We'll be back later.'

'Shall I put your cases in the room, sir?' the hall porter asked.

'We don't have any,' William replied, smiling.

'I see, sir.'

A bewildered Kate followed William up Henley High Street until he came to a halt in front of the parish church.

'May I ask what we're doing, William?' she asked.

'Something I should have done a long time ago, my darling.'

Kate asked no more questions. When they entered the vestry. William found a verger piling up some hymn books.

'Where ran I find the vicar?' demanded Williarn.

The verger straightened himself to his full height and regarded him pityingly.

'In the vicarage, I dare say!

'Where's the vicarage?' asked William, trying again.

'You're an American gentleman, aren't you, sir.'

'Yes,'said William, becoming impatient.

'The vicarage will be next door to the church, won't it?' said the verger.

'I suppose it will,' said William. 'Can you stay here for the next ten minutes?'

'Why should I want to do that, sir?' William extracted a large, white, five-pound note from his inside pocket and unfolded it. 'Make it fifteen minutes to be on the safe side, please!

The verger studied the five pounds carefully and said: 'Americans. Yes, sir.'

William left the man with his five-pound note and hurried Kate out of the church. As they passed the main notice board in the porch, he read: 'The Vicar of this Parish is The Reverend Simon Tukesbury, M.A. (Cantab),' and next to that pronouncement, hanging by one nail, was an appeal notice concerning a new roof for the church. Every penny towards the necessary five hundred pounds will help, declared the notice, not very boldly.

William hastened up the path to the vicarage with Kate a few yards behind, and a smiling, pink-cheeked, plump lady answered his sharp knock on the door.

'Mrs. Tukesbury?' enquired William.

'Yes.' She smiled.

'May I speak to your husband?'

'He's having his tea at the moment. Would it be possible for you to come back a little later?'

'I'm afraid it's rather urgent,' William insisted.

Kate had caught up with him but said nothing.

'Well, in that case I suppose you'd better come in.'

The vicarage was early sixteenth century and the small stone front room was warmed by a welcoming log fire. The vicar, a tall spare man who was eating wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches, rose to greet them.

'Good afternoon, Mr .... ?'

'Kane, sir, William Kane!'

'What can I do for you, Mr. Kane?'

'Kate and I,' said William, 'want to get married.'

'Oh, how nice,'said Mrs. Tukesbury.

'Yes indeed,' said the vicar. 'Are you a member of this parish? I don't seem to remember. . .'

'No, sir, I'm an American. I worship at St. Paul's in Boston.'

'Massachusetts, I presume, not Lincolnshire,' said the Reverend Tukesbury.

'Yes,' said William, forgetting for a moment that there was a Boston in England.

'Splendid,' said the vicar, his hands raised as if he were about to give a blessing. 'And what date did you have in mind for this union of souls?'

'Now, sir.'

'Now, sir?' said the startled vicar. 'I am not aware of the traditions in the United States that surround the solemn, holy and binding institution of marriage, Mr. Kane, though one reads of some very strange incidents involving some of your compatriots from California. I do, however, consider it nothing less than my duty to inform you that those customs have not yet become acceptable in Henley-on-Thames. In England, sir, you must reside for a full calendar month in any parish before you ran be married and the banns must be posted on three separate occasions, unless there are very special and extenuating circumstances. Even did such circumstances exist, I would have to seek the bishop's dispensation, and I couldn't do that in under three days,' Mr. Tukesbury added, his hands now firmly at his side.

Kate spoke for the first time. 'How much do you still need for the church's new roof ?'

'Ah, the roof. Now there is a sad story, but I won't embark upon its history at this moment, early eleventh century you know...'

'How much do you need?' asked William, tightening his grasp on Kate's hand.

'We are hoping to r-aise five hundred pounds. We've done commendably well so far; we've reached twenty-seven pounds four shillings and four pence in only seven weeks!

'No, no dear,' said Mrs. Tukesbury. 'You haven't counted the one pound eleven shillings and two pence I made from my "Bring and Buy" sale last week.'

'Indeed I haven't, my dear. How inconsiderate of me to overlook your personal contribution. That will make altogether . . .' began the Reverend Tukesbury as he tried to add the figures in his head, raising his eyes towards heaven for inspiration.

William took his wallet from his inside pocket, wrote out a cheque for five hundred pounds and silently proffered it to the Reverend Tukesbury.

'I ... 911, 1 see there are special circumstances, Mr. Kane,' said the surprised vicar. The tone changed. 'Has either of you ever been married before?'

'Yes,' said Kate. 'My husband was killed in a plane crash over four years ago.'

'Oh, how terrible,' said Mrs. Tukesbury. 'I am so sorry, didn't. . .'

'Shush, my dear,' said the man of God, now more interested in the church roof, than in his wife's sentiments. 'And you, sir?'