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The year was 1951, and I was on my way from Paris to Istanbul. In those days, the only civilised way to make that journey was to travel by the Orient Express. I hurried along the passageway towards the dining car. I had become completely immersed in my writing and had lost track of time, and now the final sitting for dinner was about to close. I reached the dining car and sat down just in time, much to the annoyance of the headwaiter. Taking pity on the kitchen staff, I ordered a simple dinner, roast beef and vegetables. While I waited for my food to be prepared, my mind went back to the novel that I was writing. My hero had got himself into what we English call a ‘sticky situation’, and I was trying to figure out an ingenious way for him to extricate himself. As I stared into space, I was momentarily distracted by movement at a nearby table. I glanced towards the table and was taken by the sight of a beautiful woman sitting there alone. She was obviously French, and she wore an. "Yes, Sir," she said. "Good girl, Lucy. Now, put your clothes on and go back home and get some sleep. You still have a job waiting for you tomorrow morning, and you don't want to be late or sleepy for it." She smiled weakly at that. She turned to the table by the door and started getting dressed. When she was finished, she touched her collar and looked at Sean. He smiled back at her. "Good night, Lucy." "Good night, Sir," she said and opened the door and walked out into the night. --- Lucy arrived at her apartment. She walked in the door, shut it behind her and pulled off her T-shirt. She started to unbutton her pants when a voice in her head asked her what she was doing. She stopped and pondered that. She never spent time nude in her apartment other than getting in or out of the shower. Sean wasn't here. He didn't tell her she had to be nude when she wasn't alone with him. So why was she taking off her clothes? Deep down she knew the answer even as she asked herself the question..
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