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"You'd better get some sleep," he said, quickly ending the struggle within me. "Me, too. I have a deposition at nine in the morning. It should take only an hour and a half, and then I'll come by and pick you up to take you to my parents' brunch. okay?"

"Yes," I said "Thank you. I had a good time."

"I'm glad. You're a lot of fun to be with." he added.

It brought a smile to my face, and he filled that smile quickly with a soft but lingering kiss on my lips and then whispered. "Good night."

I wavered in the doorway and watched him turn and go back to the elevator, Then I stepped into my room and closed the door.

I was asleep almost before my head hit the pillow.

.

And I overslept.

What woke me was Thatcher's call from his car telling me he had finished with his deposition and was on his way to the hotel.

"What?" I cried, looking at the clock. "Oh. no!"

"I woke you?"

"Yes, but I'll be ready." I promised.

I hurried to shower and dress, chastising myself for permitting this to happen. I wanted to go back to Joya del Mar very much, hoping somehow to find a way to see my mother again. I brushed my hair quickly and tied it back as my mother had tied hers the day before. When I gazed at myself in the mirror. I thought anyone could see the resemblances between us. Was it wishful thinking?

I put on a sleeveless light blue sweater and a ball skirt. Just in case it was breezy, I tied a matching cardigan over my shoulders and then slipped into a pair of sandals I had brought along. I hoped I wasn't dressed too casually. but I didn't have much time to think about it and worry over it. Thatcher was already knocking on my door.

"Amazing," he said. smiling.

He wore a blue blazer, a pair of white slacks, and black loafers. "What?"

"I expected to find you still rushing around, half dressed."

"Sorry to disappoint you," I replied.

"Believe me. Isabel, you're not in the least disappointing," he countered.

He kept his eves on me as if he were

determining the meaning of every aspect of my reaction: the look in my eyes, the movement of my lips, the way my shoulders turned.

"Shouldn't we be going?" I asked to fill the soft silence.

He nodded. I stepped out and closed the door. There was something about the way he looked at me and then looked away that stirred my pulse. He was quiet all the way down and through the lobby, even after we pulled away from the hotel.

"Something wrong?" I finally asked. 'I'm not intruding or anything, after all. am I?"

"Oh, no. Far from it. My parents love impressing strangers and love meeting new people. That's the variety now that adds the spice to their lives. Different people are like different flavors of ice

cream or different recipes for dinner. They love nothing more than experimenting," he said. "Even here, people grow tired of each other."

"I must say you puzzle me. Thatcher. How can you live and work in a world for which you have so little respect?" I asked.

"Is that really so unusual?' he threw back. "I read somewhere that something like eighty percent of working people hate their jobs and are bored with their social lives." He smiled at ine. "You don't have to be rich to be unhappy."

I laughed. "Funny way to put it," I said.

"At least I'm being honest with you, aren't I, Isabel?" His voice had taken on a harder, colder tone.