but even in her old-fashioned clothes, which were doubtless the rage in

Roswell, she had an undeniable attractiveness and, at least to him, an

oddly opaque, provocative sensuality.

She made him feel slightly out of breath.

As he sat beside her in the banquette, wondering why she had

chosen it instead of an open table, she held up her gla.s.s, grinned

laconically, and said, 'I've been on the wagon since last night, but I

couldn't resist this. We working journalists are all the same.' 'It looks almost empty,' Bradley observed. 'Shall I order another

one?'

'Why not?' she responded.

'Shall we also order the food?'

'Sure,' she said. 'Why not?'

Instantly recalling her ability to hold her liquor, and also

remembering that when drinking she could be impish, Bradley ordered

two more bourbons. He went through the menu with her, ordered the

food for both of them, then, when the aperitifs had arrived, raised his

gla.s.s to her.

'Cheers,' he said.

'Cheers, Mr Bradley,' she replied, also raising her gla.s.s and

smiling.

'Mike... Please call me Mike.'

'That sounds really intimate, Mike but what the h.e.l.l, call me

Gladys. Not the most romantic name for a lady, but I've learnt to live

with it.'

He had to grin at that one. 'You said you were on your way to

Europe. Did you really mean that?'

'Yep. Sure did, partner. I never quite recovered from the way that

b.a.s.t.a.r.d Wilson left me, I didn't particularly like being a middle-aged

spinster in New Mexico, and so I w.a.n.gled myself a job as foreign

correspondent to the Roswell Daily Record, which I've served so well

so far. Those good ol' boys in Roswell always treated me fine, and

when I told them I needed to get away, this is what they came up with.

It doesn't pay much, but I'll get to see Europe, and I've dreamed about

that all my life.'