I rapped firmly to announce my arrival.

      “Come in.” The voice was gruff.

      I entered a large, airy space. A window on the far wall offered a dizzying view of Tyson’s Corner traffic.

      The office, in contrast, was serene. Austerely furnished, it was enveloped by the soothing strains of Stravinsky’s Dumbarton Oaks Concerto.

      The lone occupant glanced up from a sheaf of papers on the desk. Bloodshot eyes of icy blue surveyed me from behind dark-rimmed glasses. The man appeared to be in his mid-thirties. His jaw was forceful, his features agreeable, but his lips, firm and mirthless, suggested sharpness in both dealings and disposition.

      “Ms. Prescott?”

      “Yes?”

      “What causes a concert pianist to sell her soul?”

      “Excuse me?”

      “My mother says that you were embarking on a promising career. Whatever possessed you to stop?”

      I gasped at his insolence. “That was a personal decision.”

      “What was behind it?”

      I sat forward. “Mr. Cameron, that has no place in this interview. I don’t recall giving your mother the details, but since you ask, I became engaged to a man who wanted me to stay at home when we married and I agreed to abide by his wish.”

      “Foolish. Very foolish. You forfeited a future you’d been planning and working toward all your life. And in the end you didn’t marry him.”

      Unable to believe what I was hearing. I struggled to match his level gaze. “I didn’t marry him because he died.”

      “I’m obliged to offer condolences. But don’t you regret that you gave up your career to satisfy his selfishness?”

      I stared in disbelief. His crude question transported me back to the evening I met Craig. The persistent force that had filled me with euphoria as I stood in the receiving line now dug once again into my heart. As music I loved played in the background, I relived all the doubt that had overwhelmed me as I wrestled with Craig’s request. Had it been worth it? Probably not. Would I admit that? Never to this man!

      “Well?” My long silence was making him impatient. 

      “That’s a two-part question, Mr. Cameron. I’m sorry I gave up my career because I’d much prefer playing a piano than discussing my private affairs with you, but I sold mine and can’t afford to replace it. For the past few years, I’ve supported myself working on the Hill. Right now I’m awaiting a security clearance upgrade and was on my way to visit a friend in Florida when I ran into your mother. Literally. With my car out of commission, I fell under her spell, and here I am, against my better judgment.

      “Am I sorry about anything else? Absolutely! I’m sorry I’ve wasted my time going through this absurd farce of the past twenty-four hours. No matter how tempting her proposal sounded yesterday, it’s not worth undergoing the kind of verbal assault you dish out. Frankly, sir, I find you rude beyond belief. I can’t imagine how you maintain a business by treating prospective employees in this manner.”

      Abruptly, I stood to leave and was about to stalk out when his expression softened. “You passed the test, Ms. Prescott. With flying colors.”

      “Test? What test?”

      “My test. I had to be sure you can handle others who might ask the same kinds of impertinent questions. I know about your situation and I deeply regret that you deny the public the pleasure of your talent. I’m fond of music myself, and if I had your ability, I wouldn’t be sitting in this office. I’m humbled to have you on this staff.” 

      He rose and held out his hand. “Please forgive me…and stay.”

      His stance was imposing, his handshake firm, almost warm and sincere. I astonished myself by slipping back into the chair. Still, words would not come. I listened as he continued.

      “Your clients deserve no details about your private life. Neither do I. Here’s the situation: this job requires both guts and social graces. You have them, in spades. We deal with people who may have questionable backgrounds, but that’s not your concern. Others will handle that. Your job is to please those assigned to you without crossing formal boundaries and becoming more personal than offering a handshake, if you grasp what I mean.”

      “I certainly do!”

      My indignant response unleashed a half smile. “It’s clear that you’ll uphold our standards. Once you’ve mastered the basics, we’ll place you with a client.” He paused. “Is there something wrong with my face?”
“I’m sorry to stare, but you don’t look anything like your mother.”

      He suppressed a grin. “You’re very observant. I’m told that I look like my father did at this age, which may explain the discrepancy on my maternal side, but that has nothing to do with your job at hand.”

      I reddened. “I didn’t mean to be flip.”

      “I’m sure you didn’t. I have the same habit. Right now, though, we need to forget our personal frailties and concentrate on the specifics of your job.”

      At least he didn’t mince words. I settled back and tried to absorb the information he imparted in terse phrases. By the time I was confused to the point of despair, he drew a video tape from a desk drawer. “Everything you need to learn, Ms. Prescott, is in this presentation.”

      “That’s it? Just look at a tape?”

      He removed his glasses and riveted his eyes on mine. “Do you know a better way?”

      “I assumed I’d shadow another agent.”

      “That’s not necessary. The tape will give you the essentials.”

      “How long do I have?”

      “Because I’ve pegged you as being very intelligent, I’ll give you to the end of the week.”

      “And if I disappoint?”

      “You won’t.”

      Once outside his office, I clenched my fists. I was being manipulated by both Burke and his mother. But before I argued myself into escaping out a side exit, a door directly ahead opened and I was face to face with Sheila. 

© 2004 Emily Pritchard Cary. All Rights Reserved. Contact Emily Cary at