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see them when they arrived. They were well dressed and elegant, and there was something enormously charismatic about both of them. He showed them to a quiet table in the back. He brought the wine list to Bill, handed them both menus, and then disappeared.
    “This is perfect,” Isabelle smiled as she sat back in her chair and looked at him. The last time she'd seenhim had been in Paris the previous winter, just before Christmas, he'd given her a beautiful Hermes scarf, and a first edition of a book they'd talked about. It was leather bound and extremely rare, and she cherished it, as she did everything he'd given her over the past four years. “I feel very spoiled.”
    “Good,” he said, patting her hand. They agreed on a pizza, he ordered salads, too, and a bottle of Corton-Charlemagne.
    “Now you're going to get me drunk in the middle of the afternoon,” she teased. He knew from previous lunches that she hardly drank, but it was a wine he knew she liked, and a very good year.
    “I don't think there's any risk of that, unless you've acquired some bad habits in the last six months. I'm much more likely to get drunk than you are,” he confessed, although she'd never known him to drink too much on any of the occasions she'd seen him. He was a reasonable person with no apparent vices, other than a tendency to work too hard. “So what are we going to do this afternoon?”
    “Whatever you like. I'm just happy to be here.” She felt like a bird that had escaped a gilded cage, and he suggested wandering through some galleries and antique shops, which sounded very appealing to her. They chatted all through lunch, and it was four-thirty by the time they left the restaurant, and he hailed another cab. He had a limousine waiting for him at the hotel, but they were both enjoying the freedom of simply wandering around London on their own. And after the galleries and the shops, they strolled back to the hotel. It was after six o'clock by then.
    “Dinner at nine?” he asked, smiling at her. “We can have a drink in the bar here, and then go to Harry's Bar.” She had admitted long since that it was her favorite restaurant, and it was his as well. It was all very respectable, and neither of them felt awkward about being seen there. They had nothing to hide, and even if Gordon heard about it eventually, she had no qualms about telling him she'd seen Bill Robinson. She didn't intend to volunteer it to him, but she had no cause for guilt, and nothing to apologize for. “I'll pick you up at your room at eight,” Bill said, and he had an arm around her shoulders as they walked into the elevator. No one who saw them would have believed that they had separate rooms and weren't married to each other. They looked so totally familiar and at ease, that at the very least it would have been easy to believe they were having an affair. But they seemed oblivious to all that as they talked on the way to the third floor and he walked her to her door.
    “I had a wonderful afternoon,” she said, and then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “You're very good to me, Mr. Robinson. Thank you, Bill,” she said solemnly, and he smiled.
    “I don't know why I should be good to you. You're such a dreadful person, and such a bore. But I have to do a little charity work now and then. You know, political wives, the halt and the lame… and time with you. Brownie points.” She laughed, and he gently touched her arm as she opened her door. “Have a little rest before we go out tonight, Isabelle. It'll do you good.” He knew how stressful her life was, how on duty she felt all the time, caring for her son, and hewanted her to relax and have a real vacation here. He knew from what she said that no one took care of her normally, and he wanted to do that for her now, for the short time he could. She promised him she'd take a nap, and then lay there thinking about him once she was alone in her room, lying on the bed. It was remarkable to think about how he