Martha didn’t feel like a jet-setter and she was pretty sure she didn’t look like one either, but she was willing to do whatever it took to embrace that lifestyle.

“What should I wear?”

“Casual chic.”

What exactly was that?

In the end she wore the only dress she owned. She grabbed her denim jacket in case she was chilly and slid her feet into a pair of white running shoes.

Kathleen was wearing her customary floaty layers in jewel colors, with a narrow gold watch on one wrist and multiple bangles on the other. With her cropped white hair and her effortless elegance, she looked impossibly glamorous.

When you looked at her you saw bone structure and poise rather than age, Martha thought.

“You look beautiful, Mrs. Harrison.”

“Call me Kathleen.” Kathleen picked up her purse. “We’re heading up to the roof terrace, where we will drink Manhattans and eat lobster risotto.”

Was that going to be delicious or disgusting? Martha pictured herself in the local pub at home on her return. I’ll have a Manhattan and lobster risotto. The response would probably be, What, love? accompanied by a blank look, a plate of fish fingers and half a pint of beer.

The roof terrace turned out to have views over downtown Chicago, and the lake beyond that.

“This is very cool.” Martha settled herself at the nearest available table but Kathleen gestured to the waiter.

She said something that Martha couldn’t hear, and the next moment they were being ushered to a table by the balcony, with the best views of the skyline.

Martha sneaked a look at the people around her, relieved to see a variety of clothing. Some were casual, some dressier in their approach, but they all had one thing in common—confidence. They all looked as if they belonged.

Martha sat up a little straighter and tried to look as if this glamorous bar was her normal habitat even though she was sure she wasn’t fooling anyone. She probably stood out like a zebra on a sandy beach.

And then the cocktails appeared, delivered with a flourish.

“To adventure.” Kathleen raised her glass and Martha, half dizzy with jet lag, tiredness and an overdose of excitement, lifted hers too.

“To adventure.” And a new life, far away from her old one.

Martha, explorer and drinker of exotic cocktails.

Take that, Slimy Steven.

She took a mouthful of the cocktail and almost choked. Her alcohol intake was restricted by her lack of funds, and when she drank she usually drank the beer her dad kept in the fridge. She probably had the most unsophisticated palate on the planet.

It took three sips for her to discover that the cocktail was the best thing she’d ever tasted and four to decide she’d be quite happy never to drink anything else. By the time she’d emptied her glass she realized that Kathleen was nothing like her own grandmother.