He wanted to pull her close to him and kiss her over and over but she pushed him away. "Your asshole boss and his wife will be here any minute and I ...on't want to have to go back and fix my make-up again." He again told her that he did not want her to do this. "When he had me come to his office the other day, he told me that one of two things was going to happen. Either, one, you would be fired or two, you would get a promotion. The choice was up to me. For you to get the promotion, I had. " And I'm sure he won't," her mother interrupted, "Sir Henry is a gentleman. He wouldn't dream of doing anything wrong." But mummy, in London..."Again she was interrupted, this time with, "Don't be so silly. I'm sure you exaggerate what happened. A man may kiss his fiancée I suppose? I doubt it went any further than that."Clearly her mother did not care what she did with Sir Henry, or even what he did to her, provided the marriage was not imperilled.In the six weeks after the trip to London. I sat him on my lap and allowed him to steer with only a few corrections at first. The road eventually brought us to a wooded section with a steep side. Sushi and I knew this place well, we had often made out in a lay-by at the top, before we married. James copped well with the bends in the twisting lane as it climbed up to the summit some hundred feet above the valley floor. ‘Isn’t it dangerous to let him steer?’ I looked at Sushi, my beautiful Sushi and one of those rare moments of perfect. South of Market, Bolton lived in a refurbished factory building now called The Modernist. Maybe a reference to the private club of the same name? Or to the nearby SF Museum of Modern Art? Maybe both? Maybe neither?Didn’t matter; I bought a membership in the Strivers Health Club located in the basement.Street level, there were four retail shops and a bar / restaurant called, yawn, The Modernist. Lots of lobby traffic. No doorman. The security guards seemed to be as much, maybe more, concierge.