There was no doorbell in the middle of the Fifth Brandenburg. Colin had been half-dozing as he was listening to it, but he was pretty sure the doorbell was coming from the front door and not from the symphony itself. And Morgan, damn him to hell, was out. Morgan was never home when he ought to be home. Morgan was the one who knew how to receive guests. Colin hadn't any idea where they even kept the elegant little pastries Morgan served to guests, never mind what the damn things actually were.

            Rolling himself off the couch, Colin peered through the leaded glass window that framed their front door. It was a none-too-subtle way of spying on the person on the doorstep, but Colin didn't bloody care much about the subtlety of it. And, at any rate, he was pretty well pleased with what the spying revealed to him. Morgan's mother, holding two promisingly greasy paper bags.

            He threw open the door. "Gwendolen!" he exclaimed. "Isn't it lovely to see you?"

            "Decided to open the door for me, did you?" she replied, drily, but she accepted his kiss on the cheek fondly.

            "Were you nice enough to bring me fish and chips?" he asked, because the smell now wafting through the front hall could not be mistaken.

            "No, these are for Morgan and myself," she replied.

            "Uh-huh," he said, taking his meal and heading toward the back of the townhouse, where the kitchen was. "Thank God you've come." He slid onto a stool at the eating counter, pulling the food out of the bag. "I had a  miserable day at work. I hadn't the foggiest idea what I was making myself for dinner."

            Gwendolen watched him attack the food, and wondered if he or Morgan ever thought to make anything for dinner. She really didn't understand how they survived. "Where is Morgan?" she asked, turning to retrieve vinegar for Colin's chips.

            "He's jogging. Thanks. He didn't tell me you were in town."

            "It's rather a bit of a surprise."

            "Rather. He would have bought you apricot tarts if he'd known."

            "He really must stop with the apricot tarts."

            "They're lovely, though. It's splendid when he comes home with apricot tarts."

            "I'm sure the two of you eat them for dinner."

            "Of course we don't," denied Colin, with false heartiness. "This is delicious. Really, thanks so much."

            "It's not a problem. When will Morgan be back?"

            "Oh, he shouldn't be much longer now."

            The symphony had reached a crescendo in the front parlor, crashing its way through the walls to the back of the house. "How's the conducting going?"

            Colin made a face.

            "Well, it will come. You're only twenty-four, after all. Give it a bit of time. Why was it a miserable day at work?"

            "Oh, it was-" The symphony shut off abruptly. "Morgan's home."

            "I don't mind you listening to symphonies endlessly, but you could at least-" began Morgan, then stopped talking when he spotted his mother.

            "Look," Colin said, cheerfully. "Your mother brought us dinner."

            "Isn't that splendid? What are you doing in town?"

            "You could be a little happier to see me. After all, I came bearing food."

            "Sorry." He finally walked fully into the kitchen, kissed her cheek.

            "You're all sweaty."

            "I'm sorry. I was jogging."

            "It's not the proper weather for jogging. You're going to catch your death of cold."

            "I'll be fine. Most people jog outside, you know. Most people don't just run laps around their ballrooms."

            "Go take a shower. I'll wait."

            "I thought I might be just that lucky. Don't eat my share of the fish and chips," he warned Colin, as he headed toward the staircase.

            "I wouldn't dream of it," said Colin, gravely, even as he opened Morgan's paper bag to grab a few more chips.

            "He's especially charming today," commented Gwendolen.

            Colin grinned. "He's been out-of-sorts of late. I'm playing the suffering martyr."

            "I'll just bet you are. Why's he out-of-sorts? I thought he was enjoying the internship."

            "Oh, he loves the internship." Colin hesitated. "It's other things. He wouldn't appreciate my revealing his confidence. No offense."

            "None taken. Besides, I don't need it to be revealed. Really, you should leave him a few chips, Colin. It has to do with Vivvie Westcott, naturally."

            Colin choked a bit on his food. Gwendolen, amused, turned to get him a glass of water. "Here." She slid it over to him.

            He took a sip, then said, "No, it doesn't."

            "Okay. I'll be sure to tell my son that you're a very good friend. Just for that, you can have a few more of his chips."

            Colin shook his head a little, as he pulled more chips out of the bag. "If I had a mother like you..."

            "There had better be a satisfactory ending to that sentence, young Barchester."

            "What sentence?" asked Morgan, reentering the kitchen.

            His mother looked at him in surprise. He was indeed showered and dressed in a pair of jeans and an Oxford sweatshirt, his hair dripping wet onto his sweatshirt. "That was a quick shower."

            "I wanted to know why you're in town." Morgan sat on the stool next to Colin, pulled his food over to him. "Also, I'm hungry." Morgan looked suspiciously at the amount of chips that came spilling out of his bag, and glanced at Colin, who looked decidedly innocent as he tore into his fish. Far too innocent. Morgan narrowed his eyes.

            "I have an interview for the column tomorrow."

            "Here in London?" Morgan took the vinegar away from Colin, sprinkled it liberally over his chips. "I thought you were moving away from interviewing London personalities for London Personality."

            "Well, I am. London's pretty much exhausted. And it's a bother coming back and forth from Ashfield House. But I'm rather excited about this particular interview."

            "Oh?" Morgan sliced a bite of fish. "Who is it?"

            "Vivvie Westcott."

            Morgan had no reaction. He ate the bite of fish he'd cut, swallowed, and said, "Oh."

            "I, uh, I have to-The fish and chips were lovely, Gwendolen, thank you so much, but I have to...Well, I really must...I'll see you later." Colin practically skipped his way out of the room.

            Morgan watched him sardonically. "Subtle, isn't he?"

            "I thought you might want to go to lunch with us."

            "You and Colin?" he asked, deliberately misunderstanding her.

            "No, me and Vivvie Westcott."

            "I'm not going to lunch with you and Vivvie Westcott. I don't usually go to lunch with your interview subjects. And speaking of her being your interview subject, that came rather out of nowhere, didn't it?"

            "I found her quite charming at Evan Thorne-Brighton's birthday party."

            "You talked to her for all of two bloody minutes, Mother."

            Gwendolen lifted her eyebrows. "I don't think it deserves that tone of voice."

            Morgan took a deep breath, hoping to keep his temper in check for a little while longer. Apparently the mere mention of Vivvie Westcott's name made him short-tempered. "I'm not using a tone of voice," he lied, shamelessly. "It's simply...Oh, it doesn't matter. It's just that you usually know weeks ahead of time when you're coming into town to do interviews. And now you drop down on my doorstep-"

            "But I did bring you food, darling," she smiled at him.

            "Right. But it's the sort of stuff Vivvie Westcott does."

            "Does Vivvie Westcott also drop down on your doorstep? I do hope she brings you food."

            "She turns everything upside-down. Everything. And she likes doing it."

            "I think she's wonderful, Morgan. I think you should ask her out."

            It took a lot to get a reaction from her son. Gwendolen was pleased to see she'd accomplished it. He stared at her, unabashedly open-mouthed.

            "Close your mouth, darling. It's not attractive at all."

            "Ask her out? Have you...I mean, have you absolutely lost your mind?"

            "No. I don't see why you should think that. Don't you think she's a splendid girl?"

            "Mother, do you remember the party at which you met Vivvie Westcott?"

            "Of course I do. It wasn't that long ago, Morgan, and I am not that old."

            "Do you also remember how Vivvie Westcott, at that very party, agreed to marry Evan Thorne-Brighton?"

            "I do."

            "Ah." Morgan paused. "So you think it perfectly appropriate for me have dinner with an engaged woman."

            His mother shrugged a little. "Or a cup of coffee, if you'd like to start out slow."

            "You're missing the point."

            "What's the point?"

            "The point is that she's engaged."

            "I didn't say you had to ask her out in a romantic fashion, Morgan. That was a conclusion you jumped to yourself."

            "Mm-hmm," he said, looking not the least bit amused by her.

            Gwendelon leaned on the counter. "Evan Thorne-Brighton's all wrong for her. She'll come to her senses soon enough. I saw that as clearly as I saw her agree to marry him."

            "I see. So I had better throw my hat in the ring."

            "Wouldn't you like to have your hat in the ring?"

            "No. Not really."

            "I think that's strange."

            "Why should it be strange? I'm no more right for Vivvie Westcott than Evan Thorne-Brighton is. She'd drive me raving mad in the space of a day."

            "Oh, I think you're wrong about that."

            "Well, Mother, what you think-"

            "And I'm known the world over for my brilliant perceptive skills."

            "Known the world over, are you?"

            "Yes. She's a nice girl. I think you like her. I think she likes you."

            "Your brilliant perceptive skills discerned that as well, did they? Well, there I must object. As of last week at this time, she hadn't the foggiest idea who I was."

            "But I thought you went to university together."

            "We did. And never, ever talked. We don't run in the same circles."

            "You act as if your father and I did."

            "Mother," he said, deciding he'd had more than enough of this conversation. He lifted his hands and cupped them around hers. "I think it's quite adorable how worried you are over the succession of the dukedom of Ashfield-"

            "Morgan, that's not what-"

            "I'm quite young, though. I have more than enough time to find a girl and settle down and give you grandchildren. So I appreciate the effort with Vivvie Westcott, but I think I will pass on lunch tomorrow."

            She regarded him for a second, decided that he was too serious and she'd done all she could for the day. "Well," she remarked, "if you're going to make me wait on grandchildren, then I'm just going to have to fuss over you."

-------

When the bell rang, precisely at eight, announcing Gwendolen Dunover, Evan glanced in the mirror, straightening his tie. "Am I-"

            "You know what?" Vivvie said, heading toward the foyer. "I'll run down and let Gwendolen in."

            "Why?"

            "Well, I don't-I don't want her to get lost on the way up."

            She heard him say her name in protest, but she slipped out and shut the door and headed to the elevator. She had to head Gwendolen off at the pass here.

            "Are we ready?" Gwendolen asked, brightly, when Vivvie opened the door on her. She was dressed in a tweed coat that matched splendidly the unique cinnamon color of her hair.

            Vivvie decided to start off slowly. "That's a lovely coat."

            "Yes. Haven't you one of your own?"

            "A coat like that?"

            "A coat at all."

            Vivvie smiled a little. "I've a bit of a problem."

            "You can't have me tag along today," Gwendolen guessed.

            "Oh, no, no. That's not it. Won't you come in? The problem is..." Gwendolen stepped through the door, regarded her curiously. "I mentioned to Evan that you were coming to interview me. Evan is...He's a politician. And he has this idea that you might be using me to get to him."

            "Oh, but I'm not," Gwendolen protested, sincerely. "Believe me, Vivvie, I'm truly interested in what you-"

            "Oh, I know. I mean, not that I automatically assume that everyone must be interested in what I do, because honestly, Gwendolen, it isn't that interesting, but it's simply...Evan's easier...I led him on a bit. I told him you think he's going to be Prime Minister someday," she blurted out.

            "Ah. Well, if it helps, I suppose the chances are quite good that he will be Prime Minister someday."

            "If you could gush a bit over him. There's really nothing to it, you just have to bat your eyelashes. Evan's ridiculously easy to charm." Vivvie pulled Gwendolen onto the elevator.

            "Charming men usually enjoy being charmed themselves."

            "You know, I never thought of it that way, but that's true, isn't it? Evan has to get to Parliament, so really it will just be hullo and good-bye."

            "It's really not a problem, Vivvie," Gwendolen assured her, as the elevator doors slid open.

            "Right this way," said Vivvie, although the instructions were superfluous. There was only one possible door to head to, and Vivvie had left it unlocked, so that they stepped right into the marble foyer and passed through it quickly into the great room.

            "Ms. Longworth," Evan proclaimed, affectionately, as if they were the best of friends. He walked toward her from the kitchen area, arms extended, and took hold of Gwendolen's hands firmly, leaned down and kissed both her cheeks. "Vivvie told me you were tagging along with her today, I was so hoping I would get the chance to meet you."

            "And I you," she said, simpering a bit. "I was at your birthday party, but I really didn't get much of an opportunity to speak with you. And also, I think my husband was a bit jealous." She said this conspiratorially.

            Vivvie, watching, had to hand it to the woman. She was handling Evan perfectly.

            "This is a lovely home," continued Gwendolen, turning to take it all in.

            "Thank you."

            "Did you have any hand at all in designing it?"

            Evan puffed up visibly. "Well, yes, actually, I designed it myself. See, when I bought the flat, the floor plan was-"

            "Evan, didn't you tell me you had to be at Parliament?" Vivvie interrupted, sweetly.

            "Oh, damn. Yes." He turned to Gwendolen. "I really must go. It was so lovely to meet you." He said he had to go, but he waited carefully so that Gwendolen would have the opportunity to offer to interview him, if she wanted to.

            Gwendolen took the bait. "I was wondering, Mr. Thorne-Brighton, if it would be possible to interview you at some point?"

            "Oh. Why, yes. How flattering."

            "I will have Vivvie give me your contact information."

            "Splendid. Well, I must go. Enjoy your day, luv," he told Vivvie, kissing her cheek.

            "Thank you." She watched him leave, listened for the closing of the door, then grinned at Gwendolen. "Well, you're  brilliant, aren't you?"

            "Let's say I've handled my share."

            "More than your share, with the line of business you're in. Well. Shall we be off?" Vivvie walked back toward the foyer, retrieved her camelhair coat from the floor.

            "It's an interesting closet system you have here," commented Gwendolen.

            "Oh, I haven't gotten round to buying a coatrack yet," Vivvie complained. "Also, I'm not really sure where I would even go to buy a coatrack."

            Gwendolen laughed as they stepped on the elevator. "That's what was convenient about marrying David. The house had been fully furnished since the fourteenth century."

            "Right, but was any of the furniture comfortable?"

            Gwendolen laughed again. "I take it you are not much of a decorator?"

            "No. My brother got all the creative genes in the family. The rest of us struggle along."

            "Your brother? Geoff?"

            "Michael. My other brother. He is my younger brother."

            "Oh. What does he do?" She watched Gwendolen flag down a cab. "Do you take a taxi every morning?"

            "Oh, no. Only on special occasions. Normally I take the tube. After you."

            Gwendolen preceded her into the cab, said, after she had given the address, "What does your little brother do?"

            "He's a photographer. Perhaps you've heard of him. Michael Chase."

            "Michael Chase is your brother?"

            "Yes. Chase is his middle name."

            "Well, I suppose he does have his share of creative genes, doesn't he?"

            "He'll be happy to hear that you've heard of him. Of course, if I ever get the chance to tell him. I've been trying to get in touch with him to tell him about the engagement."

            "How is the engagement going?"

            "Do you know the Thorne-Brightons?"

            "Yes, actually."

            "Then you know how it's going," Vivvie decided, grimly.

            Gwendolen sent her a sympathetic smile. "The woman was born with a lemon in her mouth. You really must ignore her. She hasn't a good opinion of anyone. You must be sure not to mention my name in her presence. I'm afraid I crossed her many years before."

            Vivvie decided not to reveal that she'd already committed that particular faux pas. She asked instead, "How did you cross her?"

            "We share the same exact wedding day. I was marrying a duke, she was marrying a rather minor naval officer. Who do you think got more press?"

            "So did you have the wedding of the year?" inquired Vivvie.

            "I don't think it was. I certainly didn't want the wedding of the year. Marrying a duke is an absolute circus."

            "But was he a duke at the time?"

            "No, he was the Earl of Airesdale, just as Morgan is now. It doesn't matter. He was going to be a duke. My, you do work in a rather, er-"

            "Yes, it isn't the most pleasant area." Vivvie had grown used to the place, but, seeing it through Gwendolen's eyes, she thought it must look horrific. "It's really not as bad as it seems. The children are...Well, they're difficult. All of them. Even the little ones. They're never really little around here."

            "Your degree is in psychology?"

            "Yes, I-" The cab drew to a stop, and Vivvie leaned over and paid, thanked him, and they stepped outside.

            "They're forecasting snow again, I heard," commented Vivvie, as they stepped into the shabby anteroom of St. Basil's Clinic.

            Gwendolen tipped her head back and admired the intricate plaster molding that was slowly disintegrating on the ceiling. St. Basil's Clinic had once been a fashionable townhouse of a member of the upper middle class in the mid-Victorian era. The ceiling moldings were really the only things that remained. The walls had been painted a hideous shade of green that was starting to chip and peel. The large, gracious windows were shaded with grime and bars.

            "This is our receptionist, Karen. Karen, this is Gwen Longworth."

            Karen was probably about Gwendolen's age, but looked much older, and not for the first time Gwendolen thought how spoiled she was that David's fortune was so vast that two spa treatments a week were not even noticed in the larger scheme of things.

            "London Personality?" asked Karen, brightly.

            "Yes," Gwendolen affirmed. She was used to this by now. She had been London Personality for thirty-five years.

            "She's going to be tagging along for the day," Vivvie explained.

            Karen snorted. "Lucky her."

            Vivvie chuckled. "Karen is in charge of making sure kids don't sneak out. Or in, but that doesn't really happen. I'll follow the normal schedule all day, Karen. Maybe a bit longer lunch."

            "You've got it, Viv," Karen told her.

            Vivvie turned to her right, unlocking a heavy steel door that led to a long hallway, painted the same dismal shade of green and completely windowless. And with a strange, expensive-sounding hardwood floor that was begging for refinishing.

            Gwendolen must have looked perplexed, because Vivvie explained, "This was the drawing room. These walls are false, so we could create a hallway. Here we are." She turned into a door to the left, which led to a small, cluttered office. The wall cut another of the large windows in half, so that Vivvie had a lovely aymmetrical glass arch that looked out onto what once had been a traditional English garden and what was now a patch of dirt.

            "The kids play out there," Vivvie explained, shrugging out of her coat and dropping it on her chair.

            "Ah. What exactly is it you do here?"

            "We....St. Basil's is supposed to be a school. We have lots of private tutors who are trained very specifically to deal with troubled youth. The kids here at St. Basil's really have nowhere else to go. This is our last-ditch effort to get them an education and, by extension, a future."

            "Do you teach?"

            "No. I'm their psychologist. Just as I would be your psychologist. I have standing appointments with the kids, and I'm supposed to be helping them deal with all the traumas of their young lives."

            "You don't sound very confident of that."

            "Well, I-"

            There was a cursory knock on the door, and a man with a vivid, red face walked confidently into the room. And drew up short at the sight of a visitor.

            Vivvie smiled sweetly. "Hullo, Andy. What can I do for you?"

            "I didn't know you were having visitors. You could have cleared her with-"

            "This is Gwen Longworth. She's going to give the clinic some wonderful publicity."

            "Is she? Well, good, good. I was just stopping by to, you know, wish you a, you know, good day."

            "Uh-huh," said Vivvie.

            "So...good day."

            "Good day, Andy," Vivvie replied, gravely.

            Gwendolen waited until he was out the door before asking, "And Andy is...?"

            "Officially, my supervisor. Unofficially, the bane of my existence. He hasn't a degree in psychology and hasn't the foggiest idea what he's talking about. His brother-in-law is rich as Midas, funds St. Basil's. I forget his name now. Evan's friends with him. That's actually how I met Evan. At any rate, Andy is convinced that he's God's gift to women. Unfortunately, he's not easily charmed. Easily satisfied, I'm sure, but I've never been tempted to give it a try. Although you're more than welcome."

            Gwendolen's lips twitched. "I'm sure I'll take a rain check on that one."

            "And I'm quite sure David wouldn't mind. I'm sorry my day is so boring. Compared to the people you usually interview-"

            "This isn't boring. Not at all. What do we do now?"

            "Well, my first appointment will be arriving at any time. As soon as his tutor bullies him into coming."