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hosted a party that evening. Although her home was still in Texas , as the head of the American delegation to the Global Economic Council she spent so much time in Paris that she had leased an apartment in the embassy district, out past l’Etoile and the Arc de Triomphe, within walking distance of the Bois de Boulogne for a long-stridingTexas woman.
    This evening, though, she felt a far distance from Texas . Almost all her life had been spent in politics, and she knew that more could be accomplished at a social gathering than in a committee meeting. But she felt weary of it all: the posturing, the jockeying for position, the constant competition to get your point across, your program adopted, your pork barrel filled.
    What have we accomplished? she asked herself as she looked across the roomful of guests. The women wore knee-length frocks decked with jewelry, the men Western business suits no matter what their native tradition. They stood and chatted and laughed, sipped drinks and nibbled canapes.
    But what have we accomplished? Jane asked silently once again. I’ve been to a thousand parties such as this, ten thousand. I’ve spent my life in politics. So has almost everyone here. Is the world any better off? Are the people happier, healthier, richer?
    She shook her head slightly. There are certainly more people than ever before. Twelve billion of them. Maybe we’ve stabilized population growth. That would be a major accomplishment. Stabilized it at a level where half the world is constantly hungry and the other half resists helping them with every ounce of their strength. At least we’ve stopped the wars. I suppose that’s something to be proud of. We have famines and droughts and floods and millions killed by storms each year—but at least we’re not killing each other anymore.
    “You seem troubled.”
    Startled out of her reverie, Jane saw that it was Rafaelo Gaetano who had spoken to her. Young, tall and slim as a cypress tree, darkly handsome, Gaetano was the chief of the Italian delegation to the GEC. The youngest member of the GEC board. And the most ambitious. He was rumored to be strongly linked to the international crime syndicate, especially since his first official act upon joining the GEC board had been to propose that the organization move its headquarters from Paris to Palermo , in Sicily . Since that day, almost everyone in the GEC sniggered that Gaetano was “the Mafia representative.”
    Whether it was true or not, whether he heard the whispers or not, Gaetano remained a smiling, hardworking, thoroughly charming member of the GEC board.
    “A lady as lovely as you, my dear Jane, should never have to frown,” he said, handing her a tulip glass of bubbling champagne. His voice was a deep baritone, melodious. “Tell me what dragon is annoying you and I will go forth and slay it.”
    Despite her cares, Jane Scanwell smiled back at him. “I wish it were that simple, Rafe. I really do.”
    Gaetano gently took her arm and led her toward the ceiling-high windows of her own living room. “Look,” he said softly. Yet his voice penetrated the background babble of the crowd. “All of Paris is out there. You should be enjoying yourself. This is the city of romance, you know.”
    She arched a brow slightly. “I’m getting a bit too old for romance, Rafe.”
    “Nonsense! You are in the prime of your life.” “I wish that were so.”
    “Let me prove it to you,” he said, running a finger across his pencil-thin moustache.
    She looked at him. Is he serious? she asked herself. He gazed back at her, smiling a smile that might have been amorous, or just friendly. Or perhaps it was the self-confident smile of a healthy young male with a sensitivity for lonely older women.
    “There are plenty of younger women here,” Jane said at last. “Yes, that is true,” he admitted, somewhat ruefully. Then his grin returned. “But it took you several moments to arrive at that conclusion. I consider that a good