Dateline: June 25th, 2005, London, UK

Like a bird on the wire,

Like a drunk in some old midnight choir

I have tried in my way to be free.... Leonard Cohen

It wasn't her imagination or overwrought senses; indeed the man sitting across from her in the airport lounge was looking at her, his eyes darting between her face and throat. Unnerved, Olivia regretted the low, scoop neck of her blouse as she wondered whether she had seen him on the plane. But no, she hadn't; his good looks with the smoothed-back waves of dark-blond hair and trim, light blond mustache would not have been easy to forget. Determined not to react, her gaze turned to sweep the spacious international area of Heathrow, alas not before his questing hazel eyes caught her green ones with electric impact. Hot blood rushed to her cheeks and she knew herself red of face and neck. Olivia's pale skin was always embarrassing her at awkward times, telegraphing her emotions to friend and foe alike. But at least she was free of the freckles that usually went with such titian hair, worn clustered in short bouncy curls around her ears.

Admittedly, this man stood out among the other travelers in his tailored business suit, a brown one that showed no evidence of a long transatlantic flight. She forced herself to tune away from him, the people around her were safer to watch. A mother covered in a dark chador and her two hyper youngsters with mounds of luggage appropriated an entire section of seats nearly opposite her. She wondered how the woman managed and if she expected to put all that on the plane. The baby on her lap began to howl and the toddler grasped the opportunity to run off. Olivia was about to offer help when a young man rushed to them, yanked the toddler back to his mother and began picking up most of the luggage. After a heated discussion that sounded Arabic, the group walked away with the load.

Olivia stole another look at That Man, observing that he too had been watching the family scene that had attracted her attention. Now a green tie showed briefly, edged by the white of his shirt as he leaned aside to lift a black leather briefcase onto his knees. His attire irritated her, making her feel dowdy in her rumpled jeans and gypsy blouse. He busied himself with some papers and a tablet-pc, drawing them from his case and closing it to use as a desk. Humph! Of course, one of those corporate road-warriors.

She settled back into the depths of her chair and closed her eyes. The disturbing sense that he was continuing to study her, would not quit. She held back a sigh. It was worrisome that little more than halfway to her destination, jet lag was interfering with her common sense! Darn it, her defenses were down, sleeplessness getting to her. Terribly excited as well as anxious about this trip, she had not slept one wink during these last twenty-four hours. Thank goodness she had no pieces to look out for as her luggage was checked through to Ankara, capital of Turkey. She bent her fingers loosely over the strap of her canvas shoulder bag, a capacious purse with zippered compartments ready to accommodate memorabilia. Next to her legs, stood the sturdy carry-on on wheels, housing her laptop with the text of the novel she was writing about Troy, digital movie as well as photo cameras, and the paraphernalia that went with them.

By joining a tour of Turkey on an impulse, she had thrown her well-arranged life comprised of a secure job as a librarian and a long-standing engagement with Norman Wilson, into a spin. Until now, Olivia Hayden had always done what was expected of her, to the extent of preparing to marry the son of her mother's best friend from high school. But she began to assert herself when she decided to blow all of the money her grandfather, Christopher Hayden, had left her, on a visit to Troy. The inheritance included rare books, seven thousand dollars, and a gold medallion which had been presented to an ancestor by Dr. Heinrich Schliemann, who'd befriended her family when he lived on the same street in Indianapolis. The medallion, two inches in diameter, depicting an exquisitely carved woman in a flounced skirt and an owl, and suspended on a serpentine gold chain, was said to date back to ancient Troy; it had enchanted her ever since her childhood. So the news that Gramps had found her fit to be its guardian had affected her strongly, suffusing her with wants and needs she dared not yet articulate. On the afternoon of receiving the medallion and anchoring it around her neck, a chain of events had led her to quit her staid but secure librarian post and accept one with no future but with independence of family dictates, loving though they were.

Fatigue continued to rampage through her system in huge waves that she could not ignore, and her eyelids weighed down. Perhaps she should let go a bit, just a little doze, surely she could cat-nap with one eye open....

"Are you all right?" The warm male voice sounding above her made her jump. Two hands on her elbows were shoving her back up into her seat. Blinking rapidly, she inhaled the faint citrus of an aftershave and stared into a pair of large hazel eyes flecked with blue, noticing the ridged scar that led from his left eyebrow to his ear, barely noticeable except close up. "Could I bring you something?"

Horrified, she realized that she had fallen asleep like a log, consequently almost slid off to the floor.

"A cold drink?" he pressed, "I'm going to the bar, could get you a soda."

"Thank you," she managed, "but no. I'm fine."

"Sure?" he stepped back, hesitated, and then said kindly, "Are you alone?"

His mouth, she thought, beautifully drawn. Automatically her hand lifted to smooth her hair. Did she need lipstick? "I'm meeting friends," she replied, shifting in her seat, "I didn't get much sleep over the Atlantic."

"Ah, then we must have been on the same plane." He smiled and moved as though to sit beside her. "Jet lag bothers me going west, but not eastward."

Shrugging her shoulders, she tried to spread herself in her seat and he seemed to get the message. He ducked his head, sketched an old-world bow, and left her. She breathed a sigh of relief, and wondered if in truth, this was a sigh of regret.

The members of the group she was to join had made their own travel arrangements and would get together at their hotel in Ankara. She glanced at her watch. One more hour, and this waiting would end. Standing up, she stretched as inconspicuously as she could. She heaved the strap of her carryall over one shoulder and looked around; Heathrow was a big place and she was nervous of missing her connection. She checked the nearest monitor, found her flight posted, and then went to find her gate. The walk was a long one, as it had been on arriving, with the transfer by bus. Glancing around she was relieved and yet disappointed not to see That Man. Wheeling the carry-on bag, she scurried along with groups going her way.

Olivia was among the first on board and found her seat at a window near the middle of the plane. She watched the last minute activity going on outside.