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When he returned to 302 from the front desk, a maid had neatly arranged the bed covers and cleaned. Michael opened his retrieved bags at the foot of the bed. He intended to unpack, take off his shoes, and settle in for a few more days. He wore brown suit pants and a white dress shirt and he had stacks of the same in his bags. He also brought shorts and blue jeans on this trip but wore only his suits, though often he took off the tie and jacket on the hot afternoons. Working in Manhattan the last sixteen years, he had adopted the practical habit of wearing suits for all occasions. He had no interest in fashion. But thinking he was going to have an exciting adventure like the camping outings of his youth, he purchased the jeans and shorts just before the trip and then forgot to wear them. Before he lifted the first stack of clothes from his suitcase, Sonya entered the room.
“You’ll go looking for women in London?” Sonya asked when he explained his plans to her. “Really? It’s not like you, Michael. You’re not a real charmer, dear. This is your revenge? Is that the idea?”
Michael bent over his opened baggage and stared down at a stack of white dress shirts.
“There are a number of pretty ladies in London,” he said, “and they all speak English.” With his finger tips, he felt under the blond curls that fell over his forehead. Still dry, he told himself. Do not drip with sweat right now, please. “Frankly,” he continued, “your actions surprised me.”
He picked up the shirts and stepped to the bureau. “I have to do something, Sonya. I will stay in this room, your favorite room, two more nights to get my bearings and then take the hovercraft and train to London.”
“I could give a damn about the room,” she said. She sat down on the bed and watched him unpack.