Her thoughts turned from the anger she felt at her employer to the person to whom she’d been "sold."

"You’d better think long and hard about this, girl," she said aloud. Dierdre started her car and pulled out into traffic.

With all that was whirling around in her head this evening, she never even noticed another car on the road. She drove her usual route, paused during the usual back-ups and arrived home wondering how she had gotten there.

She wandered from room to room in her apartment as she mulled everything over in her head, replaying the day in her mind.

~ * ~

It had started like any other work day with the possible exception of awakening with a particularly good feeling, a feeling as though something wonderful or exciting was about to happen. She often had vague premonitions of events which came to pass in the very near future, or which sometimes were at that moment happening somewhere out of her realm of knowledge.

She also had an uncanny gift for knowing, without realizing it, that she was either being thought of, or needed by any one of several people who were very close to her. Often, without any idea why, she would pick up the phone and call a particular friend, thinking the idea entirely her own and of no particular origin, only to find her friend was thinking about her, or about to call her, or just needed someone to listen. Consequently, this morning’s feeling of impending good fortune was not something to be ignored. Neither, though, was it something in which Dierdre put too much stock, never wishing to be disappointed.

"DeeDee," her father used to say, "what does that little angel on your shoulder whisper in your ear? Whatever it is, do it."

She checked every detail in the mirror at the insistence of a gnawing premonition her father called her "angel." A modest amount of make-up, and the ensemble was completed with an antique brooch and earrings passed down in her family for many years. A spritz of her favorite cologne in the air to fall about her in light freshness and she was off.

Somehow, this morning, everything looked and felt just right. It was the first time her accomplishments felt real. She’d started at the bottom, a secretary with a college degree, and two majors, business and political science. She’d worked so hard, used so much force of will and tenacity to become the Director of Training and Customer Relations. She’d sacrificed any kind of private life to make it in her company. Never asked anyone to do any job she hadn’t done herself. Never used her femininity, even ignored it a great deal of the time.

Too bad for Mama that’s all passed me by. I know she longs for grandchildren. I guess I’m a lost cause. Perhaps I’ll meet Prince Charming today, Mama. She rolled her eyes. But then, I wouldn’t know what to do with him. This thought brought a mischievous smile to her face as she bounced out the door of her apartment.

She jumped into her little car, remembering how it shortened her day to drive instead of being jostled to and from work on the bus and then the Metro. As a new executive, she had her own company-paid parking space, an achievement in Washington. It read "Ms. Bryant." Computrex, the company for which she had worked for the last eleven years, owned one of few remaining open parking lots in the city.

Dierdre worked with the clients to determine what tasks could be automated, then with her company’s programming department to develop specialized computer programs for the clients. Then she trained the clients’ staff in the use of the software and hardware so that they, in turn, could train their own personnel.

Dierdre was beginning to see her hard work paying off. The future was bright. She’d graduated from high school at sixteen and from college at twenty. She worked hard for her promotions, but tried not to be too fanatical about her ambition. Her pursuit of success stemmed from the fact that she had to keep proving herself over and over again, first in school, and then in the business world because of her age and her gender.

Thirty-one, heart locked away--maybe I don’t have one. She mused, scanning her rear-view mirror. Maybe Anne is right, maybe I can stop and smell the roses a little, maybe Mr. Right will fall into my life…hmmm…is that what I want, or what Anne wants? And what Mama wants… Anne’s been chasing that rainbow with every Tom, Dick, and Harry and where has it gotten her? Two crumby roommates, and a lot of brief romances. Nope! Not for this girl!

Today, Dierdre decided, was not the day for such thoughts. Today was a day for sunshine and living, not dreaming. She played the radio louder than usual as she fought the daily rush-hour traffic toward downtown, tapping the steering wheel and rocking her shoulders to the music. She proudly parked in her "reserved" space, opening the car door before even turning off the ignition. As she rounded the corner of the building, she noticed a new street vendor selling flowers.

She paused long enough to buy herself a deep-red rose for her desk and then bounded into the building sporting a broad smile. She nodded her usual morning greetings to the receptionist in the lobby, and punched the up button on the elevator. This morning "up" was definitely her direction.

As usual, Dierdre was in before her secretary, and before her boss, the Executive Vice-President of Marketing. She got a vase out of her desk and put the rose in water, then placed it deliberately upon her desk, pleased with the attractive accent it added to her new office.

"Just right," she whispered as she nodded. She went about her usual pre-office-hours routine, watering her plants and straightening her desk, when her intercom buzzed unexpectedly.

"Yes?" she inquired as she pressed the button.

"Oh, good, Dee, you’re in. This is Al." The voice was unusually chipper.

Al? Dierdre thought, Mr. Jennings never refers to himself as Al to me.

"I have a new client I’d like you to meet."

"Certainly, Mr.--uh--Al," she choked on the familiarity. "Shall I come in?"

"No, we’ll be right there."

"Yes, sir," she replied numbly.

How lucky, she thought, that I dressed so well this morning. Dierdre straightened the skirt of her expensive new gray tweed business suit as she whipped open her closet door to look in the mirror. The white Victorian-style blouse with a high lace collar was just the right touch to add a little femininity. She smoothed the French twist in her dark auburn hair and fluffed the fine new hair, too short to be caught up in the twist as it curled naturally about the nape of her neck and in front of her ears.

In a moment her door opened and standing there with "Al" was a tall, well-built, blue-eyed man with light-brown hair and an impish grin. She inhaled the fragrance of a subtle, masculine cologne about him, glad it was not the overwhelming scent so many men applied these days.

"Dierdre Bryant, may I present Lord Donald MacBaine, one of our newest clients. He’s come all the way from England to look us over."

"How do you do, L-Lord MacBaine." Dierdre extended her hand to shake his.

He reached out his hand almost timidly. It was obvious he was not used to shaking hands with women. "I’m very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Bryant. I only just arrived last night, but I’ve already heard a great many good things about you."

"Thank you, Mr., uh, Lord MacBaine. Mr. Jennings says you’ve come from England, but do I detect a ‘wee bit of a burr’ in your speech?"

"That’s terribly perceptive of you. I was sure after my years living in London and my schooling at Oxford, m’ accent had disappeared."

"Oh, well, I have a sort of fetish for accents from the U.K."

"I compliment you on your good taste." He chuckled.

"I see you two are going to get along just fine," Mr. Jennings said, patting MacBaine on the shoulder, "so I’ll leave you to explain our idea to Dee."

Dierdre and Lord MacBaine nodded toward Mr. Jennings and she gestured toward a chair.

"Won’t you sit down, my Lord?"

"Yes, but please, call me Donald, and may I call you Dee?"

"You may, but my name is Dierdre. You see, Mr. Jennings just can’t seem to remember it, so he calls me Dee."

"Oh, I’m frightfully sorry, well, Dierdre it is, with your permission." He nodded.

"By all means."

"Dierdre is a much prettier name anyway. Gaelic, isn’t it?"

"Yes, Irish Gaelic," Dierdre replied with a smile. "Now, what is it I can do for you Lord MacBaine?"

He grimaced and sighed. "I have great hopes we can do something for each other," Donald began a tentatively. "You see, I have a sort of problem, and Al assures me you are by far the person best equipped to solve it."

"I’ll certainly be glad to try." Dierdre’s tone was sincere.

"My brother and I own a textile company in Great Britain. Most of our factories are in Scotland, as is our home office. Some of our smaller enterprises, leathers, in particular, are in Wales. Our international offices are in London, that’s basically where I work. We manufacture tartans and tweeds for sale to clothing manufacturers and designers, and small leather goods of high quality."

Dierdre listened with interest as he continued.

"When our father died, eight years ago, I rather got thrown into the business. I was already working in a London office as Manager of International Sales, ever since I left Oxford, but it was rather removed from the rest of the business. My brother and I had to take over very suddenly.

"He puts in an appearance from time to time in the home office in Edinburgh, although I must admit, he’s out of the office much more than he’s in. He also makes the rounds of our factories there between my visits. He’s not as keen on the business as I. His interests lie elsewhere. I see to the London Office and our interests in England and Wales.

"At any rate, when I took over our regional office in London and combined my international office with it, I was appalled to find many of our orders were either unfilled or undelivered. We were so far behind the rest of the civilized world that not one of our clerks even had an electronic typewriting machine, much less any automated bookkeeping or invoicing, shipping and receiving. It was unbelievable. I didn’t know where to begin to modernize.

"Gradually, we’ve been able to upgrade to electric and electronic automated systems in one manner or another, but they’re all independent, and the exchange of information is impossible. I want to put everything into a mainframe computer or whatever you recommend, entering orders and inventory, tracking and billing shipments. I want to introduce word processing for international correspondence, and so forth. The modern world has completely passed us by.

"This is where you come in. You see, we have a unique problem. We have some very old employees and their devotion to the company is very precious to us. Without it, I’m afraid the company would have crumbled long ago when economic conditions fluctuated."

"I can see your predicament. Trying to teach some, if you’ll excuse the expression, ‘old dogs, new tricks’ without risking alienation or making them feel ignorant." She gnawed at one side of her bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Precisely!" Donald exclaimed with glee. "Al said you would understand and I’m pleased to see he was right."

"Yes, I understand. I’ve run into several clients who needed to teach established personnel new techniques and bring in new staff to operate the computer systems without the old employees feeling threatened. But, I don’t see how you think I can help you, unless you want me to give you a crash course on helping employees cope with change and innovation."

"No, that’s not exactly what we had in mind." Donald lowered his head and ran his thumbs underneath his lapels as if he were almost afraid to make his suggestion.

"You see, we were hoping, Al and I, that is, to convince you to come to England for a few months and take charge of this program."

"England? But how could I do that, my job is here?" She fidgeted in her desk chair, upset that her company was willing to let her go, give up her job when she had just been promoted a few months ago.

"I don’t see how I could give up my job for a job of only a few months." She shook her head and sighed, attempting to compose herself. "I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I’m not ready to give it all up now."

"Oh, no, my dear girl, you wouldn’t have to quit! Al and I have talked about all the arrangements, and your job is not at all in jeopardy. On the contrary, you would be on loan to us as a professional consultant, at, I might add, a substantial increase in salary."

"But my home, my friends..."

"Perhaps I should explain more thoroughly. Is there somewhere we could sit and discuss all the possibilities over a cup of tea, or coffee, or better still, breakfast? I have Al’s permission to monopolize your whole day, but he’s left it up to me to convince you to take on the job. He will accept your decision either way and your job will in no way be affected regardless of your final decision."

"Well," a shuttering sigh preceded the end of her sentence, "I guess we could go to the little coffee shop on the next corner." Her voice was low, her thoughts far away and racing.

"Splendid!" Donald bowed slightly from the waist and opened her office door with one hand, giving a lordly gesture with the other for Dierdre to precede him.

"By the way," he added, "I believe that’s one of our fabrics you’re wearing today." He smiled as he closed the door behind them.

Dierdre looked down at her jacket. No wonder this suit was so expensive. Why didn’t I wear good old American cotton in red, white and blue? I should have known better than to start feeling secure in my job. If I were a man, Mr. Jennings wouldn’t have offered to farm me out without talking to me first! Is this his way of getting rid of me? Send me off and let my staff fill in the gaps, and then when I come back, tell me I’m not needed?

~*~

Dierdre listened attentively to every word Donald spoke, trying to absorb as much as possible, trying not to let her mind drift to ulterior motives, while pondering all the ramifications, hoping to collect enough information to find a way to get to the bottom of this mess. She tried to look interested, as though she was gathering information to make an objective and intelligent decision. Actually, she was just trying to find out why Jennings wanted to get rid of her. She let MacBaine do nearly all the talking, injecting an acknowledgment here and there to show she was listening.

"My brother and I are as different as ‘chalk and cheese,’ you see, both in looks, and ideas." He noticed some amusement on Dierdre’s face at his expression "chalk and cheese." "Perhaps I should have said ‘night and day.’"

"Oh, no, please, I think it’s delightful." And truthfully, she did. She kept getting lost in his accent and stilted manner, that only slipped when his enthusiasm bubbled to the surface. Maybe I should give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Maybe he’s an unwitting partner in this crime.

"If you say anything I don’t understand, I’ll ask you to explain." You just keep talking while I figure this thing out. Though Dierdre kept her face turned toward him, her mind was a million miles away, like a radio playing in the background when she did her homework as a child.

His voice droned on as her mind raced.

"You see, Douglas is like Father. He sees no reason to change anything, but he has no objection to me trying, probably hoping I’ll fall flat on my--uh--anyway, he’s much more absorbed in his renovations of the castle and grounds than in the business." Donald’s tone was not one of bitterness or disgust. He seemed to acknowledge his brother’s right to different interests and priorities.

Dierdre’s attention snapped back and her gaze flew to