She made it to the Imperial Jaguar service department’s parking lot without being stopped. Jake parked near the street under a shady tree and watched her in earnest, hand-waving conversation with an older, bald, potbellied man. Jake glanced at his wristwatch: two forty-three. He’d get her to her meeting with Sinclair in plenty of time.

Glynis looked surprised once she spotted his drab gray Mustang still in the parking lot. She hurried over to him.

“You waited for me?”

“Sure. Get in. I’m going back to the campus anyway.”

She climbed in and clicked on her seat belt. “What’s the sense of having a convertible if you don’t put the top down?” she asked as he started the engine.

He looked at her. “It’s kind of hot, don’t you think?”

“No. It’s a pretty day.”

Together they reached up and disconnected the latches holding the roof to the windshield, then Jake pressed the button and the fabric roof folded neatly back.

“There!” Glynis said. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

He nodded. She was smiling at him and those almond-shaped eyes of hers looked very enticing. Younger said she’s sleeping with Sinclair, he thought. Sinclair had a reputation, despite being married. Can’t say I blame him, Jake said to himself. She’s a real looker.

He pulled his sunglasses out of the console between the seats as he eased the Mustang toward the driveway that exited onto the street.

“So where are you from?” he asked as they pulled out into traffic.

“West Virginia,” she said over the wind and traffic noise. “Morgantown.”

“Coal miner’s daughter,” said Jake, picturing another kid struggling to make her way up from poverty, just as he was doing.

Glynis was silent for a moment, then said, “Not exactly a coal miner’s daughter. My father owns the mine.”

“Owns it?” Jake’s voice went high with surprise.

“I happen to be the grandniece of the Earl of Cardigan. That’s back in Wales. He’s impoverished nobility, of course, but the American branch of the family has done quite nicely for itself, thank you.”

“Wow.”

“How do you think I can afford a Jaguar?”

She was not quite laughing at him, but Jake felt embarrassed anyway.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” he lied. The truth was that he’d figured the Jaguar had been a gift, maybe from Professor Sinclair, who was rumored to give expensive gifts to beautiful young women.

“I ought to trade it in for a VW,” she said. “More reliable.”

“But you look so good in the Jag.”

“Thank you!”

“So what are you doing with Sinclair? I mean … what are you doing with the MHD program?”