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showered, shaved and putting on fresh clothes made his way downstairs.
    John, Jessica and Yevgena were in the morning room eating croissants and drinking coffee, their morning chatter halting abruptly as he entered the bright, foliage-laden room. It was with relief well mixed with regret that he noted the absence of his nocturnal guest.
    Yevgena, peacock brilliant in bright blue stretched up to kiss him on his nose. “Good morning, darling.”
    “Good morning,” he replied, relief fleeing at the sight of the girl, cosily tucked in his best white terry robe, bowl in hand, appearing around a palm frond.
    “Good morning,” she said in a tone, he imagined that she reserved for cordial strangers.
    “Pamela here,” Yevgena steered him towards the privacy of the coffee urn, “has been telling me that you failed to deflower her last night.”
    Jamie looked at Yevgena in utter horror.
    “Pardon me?” He sputtered, turning in quick succession white, red and an unbecoming bronzy-green.
    “Oh,” a breezy voice emerged at his left elbow, “it’s alright you were quite willing but you said something about being too old to sleep with angels and then fell asleep.”
    “It seems our little pilgrim,” Yevgena’s face was grim, “has dispensed all things excepting love.”
    “I’ve lived this long with my virginity, I suppose,” Pamela said gloomily, “I can manage a bit longer.”
    “A virgin,” Jamie hissed somewhat louder than he’d intended, drawing the interested stares of Jessica and John.
    “Yes,” he received a cold glare from the girl, “it’s not a disease you know.”
    “I did not know,” Yevgena turned her hands up helplessly, “I have been, how do you say—hatblinked.”
    “Hoodwinked,” John supplied cheerily as he bit into a melon.
    “Don’t play the Russian ingenue, you’re a bit old for it,” Jamie said fury icing his words black.
    “Look,” Pamela’s head came up from the attack she’d launched on a bowl of cornflakes, “I’m sorry if I’ve caused problems here, I take sole responsibility for any upset.”
    “Very mature of you,” Jessica said in a friendly manner exchanging a smile with her.
    “Hungry?” Jamie asked sarcastically.
    “Very,” Pamela replied drinking milk straight from the bowl.
    “Dear God,” said Jamie in exasperation. Then seeing the faint blush as pale as the innards of a seashell that raced along her skin, he felt suddenly quite ashamed of himself. “No, it’s I who should apologize, you are a guest in my home and I’ve treated you abominably. I’m sorry, please know that you’re welcome to stay as long as the Tinkers are here.”
    A look passed between Yevgena and Pamela that made a rather unpleasant sensation take root in his stomach.
    “What’s going on?” he asked with as much calm as he could muster up.
    “Well, you see, the Tinkers have already left, which is beside the point,” Yevgena said rapidly, “because she’s not a Tinker.”
    “Then who the hell is she?”
    “Me, myself and I, as the man in the desert said.” The voice was unperturbed, “or if you’d rather my name is Pamela O’Flaherty.” A hand still lightly padded by youth extended itself and Jamie, head reeling, shook it. “Now if you don’t mind I’d like some more breakfast and then I’ll get my things and be gone.”
    “Like the wind,” Jamie said, finding that his fury was quickly abating.
    “Or through the back door,” she said with a smile, “less romantic but more practical.”
    “There is still the issue of payment,” Jamie smiled in return, “you did after all provide dancing.”
    “And would have provided love, had you been a more willing recipient.”
    Eyes, clear unwavering green, met his and he felt as if someone had stopped the hands of time with a light touch on the clock. “I was rather wondering,” she said, “if instead of payment, well see the thing is...” she faltered, youthful bravado