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waiting for her, and at this point in her life she didn’t mind at all.
    She found herself in the vast main concourse – a monument of marble, with that staircase she had seen so often in movies, and that high ceiling depicting the sky. Pulling her case on its wheels, she turned right and headed for the subway. She knew that on the lower concourse there was a famous restaurant, the Oyster Bar. She decided that her arrival in the city should be celebrated appropriately. Oysters and champagne to start her new life. And maybe also to forget what she was here for . . .
    Be brave, Lysa, it’ll soon be over
.
    All her life she had been searching for a quiet place, somewhere to take refuge. What she wanted most in the world was something most people feared: to be ignored. Unfortunately, she had been gifted with a physical appearance that made that impossible. She had spent her life with everyone’s eyes on her, all wanting the same thing from her.
    And now, finally, she had surrendered.
    If the world around her wanted her that way, then that was how she would be. Only, she would make them all pay dearly for her surrender.
    She went down the ramp leading to the lower concourse. There was the restaurant she was looking for. She walked in through the glass doors of the Oyster Bar with an air of indifference, but none of those present was indifferent to her entrance.
    Two somewhat aging yuppies, sitting at the counter just facing the entrance, stopped talking, and a plump man two seats further along dropped the oyster he was eating onto the napkin in his lap.
    A waiter in the restaurant’s uniform of white shirt and dark vest came towards her and escorted her through the large square room to a table in the corner, with two places set on a red-and-white check tablecloth.
    Lysa sat down on the leather bench seat, ignoring the empty chair, and put her suitcase and purse down against the wall to her left. When the waiter held out the menu to her, she dismissed it with a gesture of her hand and gave him one of her sweetest smiles, which immediately won him over.
    ‘I don’t need it, thank you. I’d just like a selection of the best oysters you have and a very cold half-bottle of champagne.’
    ‘Excellent choice. How does a dozen sound?’
    ‘I think I’d prefer two dozen.’
    The waiter leaned towards her conspiratorially. ‘I’m well in with the maître d’. I reckon I could get you a whole bottle of champagne for the price of a half-bottle. Welcome to New York, miss.’
    ‘How do you know I’m an out-of-towner?’
    The waiter grinned. ‘You have a case and you’re smiling. You can’t be from New York.’
    ‘People leaving have cases, too.’
    ‘Yes, but people leaving only smile when they’ve left the city behind.’
    The waiter walked away, and Lysa was alone.
    In the corner opposite was a table with half a dozen men around it. It was obvious they were out-of-towners, too. Lysa had spotted them behind the waiter as he was taking her order, had heard them talking, and had immediately recognized them for what they were.
    Lysa took her time looking for something in her purse, until the waiter returned with a tray of oysters elegantly arranged on ice and a bottle in a chromium-plated bucket.
    The men at the table waited until she had been served, and then one of them, a tall fellow with a receding hairline and a beer belly, got up from the table and, after conferring with his friends, came towards her.
    Lysa had been expecting something like this to happen.
    He reached her table just as she was serving herself a large Belon oyster. ‘Hello there, darling,’ he said. ‘My name’s Harry and I’m from Texas.’
    Lysa lifted her eyes for a moment, then immediately dropped them and started seasoning her oyster. She spoke without looking the man in the face. ‘I guess that makes you special?’
    In his eagerness, Harry had not noticed the question mark at the end of the sentence and accepted it as a recognition of his