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Her husband is a high-priced lawyer in
    Manhattan with the firm of Taylor, Fitzgerald, Raglan and Thorn. Bowman clears about $40K a year.
    Her visit here has been paid for by her boss who thought she needed what we have to offer. Fitzgerald
    paid her own way here. Husband thinks she’s at a spa in Arizona but couldn’t care less where she is. The
    woman has a trust fund from her mother not to mention a large inheritance from her paternal aunt actress
    Gloria Starnes,” Julian’s administrative assistant reported.
    “Forever My Love,” Julian said softly.
    “The role won her an Oscar, I believe.”
    “A well-deserved award,” Julian acknowledged. “I had a helluva crush on her when I was growing up.
    Tell me about our little secretary.”
    “Bowman was recommended by Jill Everett, the CEO of Mainstay Inc. and Bowman’s boss. I think
    Bowman’s fantasy is in direct line with her job. She wants a helper whom she can bully. I would suggest
    Brian.”
    “Everett is a bitch so I believe your assessment is correct. Bowman would like to be in charge for a
    change. Who recommended Fitzgerald?”
    “Alice Bohstedt. According to Bohstedt, Fitzgerald is a driving force behind the Women for Israel
    organization. Fitzgerald would like to be a helper’s love slave. She prefers blond-haired, blue-eyed
    young men in uniform.”
    “The Aryan Scenario,” Julian said, his lips twisted.
    “I believe that will satisfy her, yes. Lars will fit the bill, I think.”
    “And the woman with Olivia? Who is she?” He was staring at the woman in question as she stood on the
    docks and seemed to be admiring his personal yacht The Connemara docked at the end of the quay.
    Henri Bouvier consulted his notes. “Her name is Sara Trevor. She has been with Dr. Carstairs for six
    months and has the doctor’s complete trust. She is here to take photographs of our helpers’ genitalia.”
    Julian looked around, one thick brown brow raised in query.
    “For Dr. Carstairs’ book on the subject.” He turned a page in the binder he was carrying. “The publisher
    will be Villiers and Dunst who specialize in medical school textbooks.”
    “What do you know of her?”
    “Trevor?” At Julian’s nod, Henri ran his finger down the report until he found the information. “Unmarried
    and unattached. A workaholic by Dr. Carstairs’ estimate. Lives alone. Has a cat named Xander. She is a
    graduate of Northwestern with a degree in sociology. Has won several photographic awards, mostly for
    her abstracts. She is here strictly as Dr. Carstairs’ assistant and doesn’t wish to take part in any
    programs offered by the resort.”
    “Really?” Julian muttered. His attention was glued to the women disembarking the yacht. With a
    practiced eye, he could identify Bowman as she crossed the gangplank. The diminutive woman was
    stoop shouldered, thin to the point of anorexia and nervous as she glanced about her. The constant
    tugging at a short, limp curl hanging above her shoulder gave mute evidence of her shyness.
    “I would rather Carlton engaged Ms. Bowman,” Julian recommended. “Tell him to come see me before
    he starts her program.”
    “If that’s who you think best for her,” Henri agreed.
    Julian narrowed his eyes as he followed Fitzgerald’s arrogant stride across the gangplank. Even from the
    distance at which he was viewing her, he took an instant dislike to the tall, slightly overweight woman.
    “Lars will do nicely for the lovely Miss Starnes’ niece. I suggest he use the concentration camp scenario
    he has been itching to utilize.”
    “Perhaps by the time Mrs. Fitzgerald leaves the Cay, she’ll be a bit slimmer,” Henri said.
    “And very humble if I remember Lars’ template,” Julian stated.
    Olivia Carstairs was the next to pass over the gangplank. She looked up at the bank of windows and
    waved, knowing Julian would be on hand to view the newcomers.
    “Dr. Carstairs has asked for you again,” Henri sighed. “She doesn’t