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“You wish to buy one now?”
“Maybe.”
She waited.
He sidled six inches to the left to get a better view.
“Mr. Traveler, I really think we should carry on.”
“See, I’ve got this Gucci key chain a friend of mine gave me a couple years ago. But I don’t much like things with other people’s initials on them.”
“You received this key chain a few years ago?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She remembered a sermon she’d once heard about the way God sometimes compensated human beings who were born handicapped in one area by richly endowing them in another. Someone who was born with exceptional good looks, for example, might be dull-witted. A pang of compassion struck her, along with a sense of relief. His denseness would make the next two weeks so much easier. “Very well. I’ll wait.”
He continued to study the display.
Her arms were beginning to ache from the combined weight of her carry-ons. She finally extended her carry-all. “Would you mind taking this for me?”
He regarded it doubtfully. “It looks heavy.”
“Yes. It is.”
He nodded vaguely, then returned his attention to the window.
She switched the carry-all to her other arm. Finally, she couldn’t stand it any longer. “Would you like some help?”
“Oh, I can pay for it myself.”
“That’s not what I meant. Would you like some help making your selection?”
“Now, see, that’s what got me into trouble in the first place. I let somebody else choose my key chain.”
Her shoulders had begun to scream in protest. “Mr. Traveler, we really have to be going now, don’t we? Perhaps you could do this some other time?”
“I s’pose I could, but the selection might not be as good.”
Her patience frayed. “Very well, then! Get the one with the cowboy on it.”
“Yeah? You like that one?”
She forced her jaw to unclench. “I adore it.”
“The cowboy it is.” Looking pleased, he walked into the shop, paused on the way to admire a display of tea towels, then took forever to chat with the attractive young woman behind the counter. Finally, he emerged with a small package, which he immediately deposited in her cramped fingers. “Here you go.”
“What’s this?”
He looked exasperated. “The key chain. You said you liked the cowboy.”
“The key chain was for you!”
“Now, why would I want a key chain with a cowboy on it when I’ve got a perfectly good Gucci in my pocket?”
He took off down the corridor, and she could have sworn she heard him whistling “Hail Britannia.”
Twenty minutes later, they were standing in the parking garage while Emma stared at his car in dismay. It was a large American luxury automobile, a late-model champagne-colored Cadillac Eldorado. “I can’t possibly afford this.”
