She had been my friend for years now. We had met in Savannah when I had been sent to Fort Stewart for training after 9/11. Now we were dear friends and had vowed to keep it that way forever. My wife was with me, and Clara was also married. We both intended to stay true to our spouses. But we both adored each other. What can I say? She was the one, but born too late. Now Grace and I were visiting Clara's city and she was going to show us a nice time. Luckily, my wife also had a dear friend there in town. He was an old college friend who now had an apartment he owned across from Lincoln Memorial Cemetery in the old part of town. I had known him too. He had been at university with my wife while I was working to pay her way through. First he was going to show us his vacation hometown and the next day Clara would take her turn, Just for me of course, but she was such a kind and generous person she was going to make my wife happy too. Jonathon walked us all over the classic part of. He was tall, broad shoul-dered and lean hipped, wore his well-cut, tailored clothes with a flair, smiled broadly with an open, warm expression, his discerning blue eyes spar-kling sincerely, his deep masculine, resonant voice inspiring confidence. Madeleine was particularly taken with his heavy shock of waved, greying hair, the one single tell-tale of his fifty odd years.She was surprised at his simple, lackluster office, knowing his successful business capacity as an importer and owner of night clubs through-out the city, as well as holding a post as Ministre Of Gouvernment, say nothing of his luxurious home in Mont Royal that she had only seen, of course, from the street. But in all, she was most impressed by the way he made her feel, even after she had told him who she was and why she was there... "Please, my dear, won't you sit down and be comfortable?" he had offered coming from behind his cluttered desk to place his hand on a chair in a gestured invitation.Madeleine went to it.
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