Jacoby & Meyers was the New York law firm whose television commercials urged you to sue your grandmother if you tripped over her hand-crocheted rug. Kit’s sun-streaked hair was still wet from the shower. Water was squishing from her five-and-dime thongs. Her travelling robe covered all five feet three of her slender frame.

“A plumbing salesman would starve to death in these parts,” Kit continued. “And to think Thomas Crapper was an Englishman. They should pay more homage to his memory.”

“I feel responsible,” Regan said humbly. “I should have told you to wear shoes with cleats. Anyhow, let’s get out of here and go downtown.”

Chapter 3

EVEN FOR ENGLAND, it was chilly for mid-June. The sun was trying unsuccessfully to cut through the clouds. Regan and Kit, both dying for a cup of hot English tea, quickened their pace as they hurried into town to the Nosebag. Regan poked Kit as they passed Keble College, famous for its ugly exterior in the midst of so much architectural beauty.

“Remember having dinner there? That was incredible. It was so regal seeing all those guys in their flowing black gowns and watching the faculty parade into that ancient dining hall with the long wooden tables.”

“All I remember is Simon correcting me on which spoon to use.”

“Oh yeah.”

At the Nosebag, a cozy restaurant known not only for its Laura Ashley decor and good food, but also for its soft classical background music that was unobtrusive but just loud enough to create an atmosphere, they found four of their classmates who had also come back for the reunion. They immediately merged to a larger pine table, ordered, and over a full English breakfast began the inevitable “Do you remember?” From there they progressed to “Have you heard? ...” The hot news offered by Kristen Libbey, who had arrived three days early and had had a chance to catch up on the gossip, was that Professor Philip Whitcomb was finally getting married.

Regan lead the incredulous wave of “You have to be kidding!”

“Well, after all,” Kit said thoughtfully. “He is only in his early forties. He’s not bad-looking ...”

“What?” Regan interrupted. “He’s wimpy-looking.”

Kit ignored her. “He really is a good teacher.” They all nodded in agreement.

Regan interjected. “He always seemed like the typical perennial bachelor. All his time off he spent gardening at his aunt’s place. Who is he marrying anyway?”

“A teacher who came the term after we were all here,” Kristen told her.

“Did they just discover each other, or have they been planting daisies together for the past ten years? What’s her name anyway?” Regan asked.

“Val Twyler. Rumor has it she’s been after him for the past couple of years. She teaches English Lit, is a few years younger than Philip, very intellectual and very efficient.”