Raphael pulled the hood of the hastily purchased poncho further down and sized up the little, rural town of Eyrecourt with grim dissatisfaction. The rain was coming down in torrents, and the unmerciful wind whipped the poncho around furiously. He braced himself against it and buried his hands in his pockets. The foggy streets were deserted he noted, save for the occasional local hurrying to or from the cosy corner pub, umbrella in hand. How dearly he wished this mission were over. Dartz had reason to believe Alynna Mason was residing with relatives in the area, but he had yet to procure an actual address for Raphael's use. To make matters worse, Raphael had absolutely no idea what his quarry looked like. He would be forced to wing it. Maybe I'll turn up something at the pub, he thought, approaching the squat building with grimy windows and a swinging sign that read "O'Keith's". Inside, the fire crackled and the beer flowed. The place was obviously the only game in town and therefore, was packed tonight. He would be lucky to find a seat. To save himself the trouble, he elected to stand. The air was heavy with cigarette smoke and the aroma of fried food. No one had bothered to clean up the numerous muddy tracks covering the floor. But then, they probably didn't have the time. The traffic in and out of the establishment was fairly frequent. Raphael soon decided to stand by the fire, where he could not only warm his hands, but also observe the patrons from what he hoped was an inconspicuous vantage point. Before long, his keen ears detected an American voice amongst the many Irish ones. A female voice. He stole a glance in the direction from which it came and discovered the source. A 20-something seated near the window, chatting with the couple seated opposite her over some Guinnesses. Could the stranger be the elusive Alynna Mason? The odds certainly favoured it. Eyrecourt wasn't exactly a tourist hub. Americans were few and far between in this part of the country. Conjecture wasn't good enough though. Raphael would have to be sure. That would mean finding an opportunity to speak with her. Yet, he couldn't approach her -that might arouse her suspicion. He would wait it out; pretend to be occupied with some other matter. A newspaper would do nicely. He asked the barkeep for one and was provided with a recent copy of the Irish Independent. Opening the paper to the finance section, he leaned against the bar, keeping watch out of the corner of his eye on the mysterious American. Presently, she rose from the table, approached the bar, and put in an order for refills. Now was his chance. With unparalleled stealth, Raphael positioned himself. He was ready to make his move. The young women came by, beers in hand. At that moment he turned, bumping into her enough to knock her off balance. As she pitched forward, the glasses she had been carrying went airborne, and the amber liquid rained on the heads of those unfortunate enough to be in the immediate area of the incident. The woman looked stricken. Now for phase 2..., thought Raphael. He adopted the demeanor of a perenially self-concious, bumbling man and began to apologise profusely, dabbing at her clothes with napkins. Under normal circumstances most people would have seen through the ruse easily enough, as Raphael was neither self-concious nor bumbling, nor was he the greatest actor in the world. But in this particular situation, his little trick was very effective. The woman was inclined to feel sorry for him. "It's okay -could happen to anybody, she said softly, throwing him a smile, after he apologised for the umpteenth time. "I'm such a fool", Raphael said.
"Not at all."
"If I'd been watching where I was going, this wouldn't have happened."
"Maybe. But you have to admit, It's awfully crowded. I nearly hit someone opening the door earlier."
"I just can't help feeling like an ass. There must be something I can do..."
"Would you have coffee with me sometime?"
"What?"
The question came as a surprise.
"Would you like to go out for coffee?"
"I'm here on business."
"You know the saying: All work an no play makes Jack a dull boy."
"My name isn't Jack."
She laughed then -a soft, melodic laugh.
"Then may I ask what it is?"
He started to tell her "Raphael" but quickly decided against it. He didn't owe her the truth.
"Roger."
"My dad's name."
Oh great, thought Raphael, shifting on his feet. He wasn't used to interacting with females. Especially pretty ones, and this one was very pretty indeed. She was slim but shapely, with delicate features, honey blonde hair, and liquid brown eyes. A sprinkling of pale freckles across her cheeks added a youthful glow. Something stirred in Raphael's chest, and he suddenly felt compelled to put an end to the conversation.
"I have to go."
"I thought you wanted to make it up to me -knocking me down and all?"
"I do."
"So will you take me up on my offer?"
"I don't know..."
"Tell you what, Roger -have coffee with me and I won't stick you with the dry cleaning bill."
"You've convinced me."
"Lovely. Can you make it tomorrow?"
"Maybe. Do you mean here?"
"Yes."
"What time?"
"Your call."
"Around 1:00 okay?"
"As I said, your call. So yes, that will be fine."
Raphael nodded curtly and made for the door. As his hand closed around the knob, he suddenly remembered his purpose for initiating the conversation. "I didn't catch your name", he called after the young woman. "Alynna Mason, but you can call me Lyn", she replied.
