Pres Hooper eased the black Continental into the luggage zone. An alert redcap strode up to the car, holding before him like a jousting lance a fistful of blank baggage checks.

       "I hope you appreciate your thoughtful brother," Pres said to Mary Sue as he pressed the button that sent the trunk flying open. "Just so you'd have room for your suitcases I drove this tank of Uncle Daniel's instead of my convertible."

       "And you're so perfectly turned out in a silk suit, artful tie, and Italian shoes, a vision to comfort me on the long flight. And also intended, I�m sure, as a vision to dazzle every delectable woman in the airport."

       Pres from long habit ignored his sister's sarcasm. He was acting the thoughtful brother, bringing Mary Sue to the airport and, yes, looking pretty damn dazzling in the process. Why not? On a good day airports were smorgasbords. Moreover, he was pretending to believe that his sister was flying off to Ireland to buy an Irish Connemara. Mary Sue was one hundred percent capable of circling the globe to find a good jumping horse. She lived for her Gymkhana trophies.  Even so, Pres suspected that this trip toIreland was going to circle through Madrid where there were no Connemaras at all.

       Pres smiled at fond memories as he handed the redcap a tip. Madrid!Spain! The land of romance! Spain had turned out well for him. Well, a painful entry on the heartbreak side of the ledger. But a fine profit on the respect side. Mary Sue had more respect for him now, and, in all honesty, he had more respect for her. For a couple of weeks in Madrid she had set aside her baggy tweedy suits and tally-ho hats and looked really good. Too good for her own good.

       "Did you ever hear from Marcos after that trip to Ireland fell through?" he asked as they walked through the battery of glass doors into the airport.

       Mary Sue looked at him with the steely eye she usually reserved for a misbehaving colt. "Subtle, Pres. Very subtle."

Pres was right. Mary Sue did meet Marcos in London and together they went to Ireland.

   Marcos reached over and took her hand. "Madrid worked out very well.Ireland is working out even better."

       Mary Sue gave his hand a squeeze. "Just don't go getting wounded again."

       "I promise! They say there's a happening pub over on the green, lots of mahogany, pewter, and music. Or do you prefer room service?"

       "I think we'll see the inside of enough pubs when we head north."

     They smiled at each other, bonded by secrets, bonded by understanding. Yes, thought Mary Sue as she watched Marcos maneuver the traffic, he's extraordinary, a strong, gorgeous man, but more importantly, gorgeously skilled at doing whatever was needed in a business that needed a wide range of skills.  Yet, unlike Garrison, he remained human, taking time to wink at her as they neared the hotel. Yes, she could wear that man's ring and be happy the rest of her life. . . . .

     In his private office on the top floor of Swallow & Hooper -- Serving America since 1732 -- Pres Hooper eyed the glistening 6-foot, 3-dimensional snowflake.

       "Snowflakes," Marv explained, "Christmas-y, yet secular. I know it's six months off, but we need to order now to get what we want. This one would be the largest size. We'd hang four, maybe six different sizes. Notice the glitter. Opalescent, so, as they turn slowly where they hang, you get different color effects. Ethereal, floating in the heavens, but Nature-related. And we economize. No need to go to the extra expense of a different ceiling for Elf Land."

       "Old Daniel will like that," said Pres. He walked all the way around the snowflake. "Beautiful, Marv! You always come up with winners."

       "Thank you, Mr. Hooper."

       The ever-pleasant Selma opened the door just a crack. "A phone call, Mr. Hooper. I'm sorry to intrude, Marv.' Selma didn't say the word "urgent" but the fact that she hadn't used the intercom said it for her.

     Marv put his arms around the snowflake and began to ease it out of the office. "Your grandchildren are going to love Elf Land this year, Selma. It'll amaze even you."

       "We'l be there," she promised. She looked at Pres and nodded at his phone. "Line 5."

       "Personal?" asked Pres.

       Selma lowered her voice, in case Marv and his huge snowflake were still in hearing range. "Family. It's your sister. Long distance. She's terribly upset."

       Mary Sue? Upset? No wonder Selma had broken into his meeting with Marv. Well, he wasn't exactly surprised. Poor Mary Sue! She was just way out of her depth with Marcos. Not that she would have listened to any warnings from her brother. Lucky for her, Pres knew a lot about broken hearts, and how to mend them. He was, if he said so himself, the Prince of Panache when it came to mending broken hearts. He could help Mary Sue mend hers. There were times when a girl, even a girl like Mary Sue, needed a brother's wisdom.

       He kicked back in his desk chair and picked up the phone. "Hi, Mary Sue. How's the land of the leprechauns?"

       She wasn't crying. She was calm, way too calm, like a soul in a straightjacket, not moving because it couldn't.  

        "I thought you should know, Pres. Something very bad has happened."

      As Pres listened, he slowly straightened up in the chair. His mouth dropped open. He shut his mouth and tried to grasp what she was saying. It was bad, all right . . . . . .

.

So the mission does not so much begin as continue, for it has already gone very wrong.