A tinge of mint mixed with the acidic scent of chemical fertiliser hung in the air blending with the memory of stale perfume. All around him smoke from discarded cigarettes left in well used ash trays rose into the air in whirls that glowed in the dim lighting of the empty dance floor. Looking around him it felt almost odd that he was the only one here, there were people hidden away in the silent warmth of the private quarters but only he was present in so lonely a place. He was left alone to gather glasses used by thoughtless people on trays to be put in the dishwasher behind the bar. After that he had to wipe the tables before returning to the bar to lavish it with his loving attention. When all these tasks had been completed he could allow himself to retire to the basement below for the day until night came again bringing with it the denizens he knew so well.

They were his people, his friends; some were his masters while others were his subordinates. They shared with him a gift only given to those worthy of it. For many years he had worked behind a bar owned by a woman that he had great personal loyalty for. For many years he had watched faces old and new come and go, each one changing with times that meant nothing to them. All of them at one time or another, young or old, thought of moving on; of taking themselves away from all that was around them and starting a new life that offered them new opportunities. Sadness touched him for a brief moment when he realised that his time would come too, when he would have to say goodbye to this life only to start another. Sometimes he found the whole rigmarole arduous, there was so much to be done these days; so many loose ends to tie up. It seemed that the longer he lived the smaller the world got. There were so few places he had been now, he thought of returning to his native Hungary; it had been so long since he'd last been there; he was almost scared to return for fear of what he might find left over from the harsh tides of time.

Quiet footsteps reached his ears and he tilted his head slightly to one side to discover the source. He could hear the staccato rhythm of a woman's high heels echoing along the street outside. As the heels came to a stop he could hear the main door of the club open with a squeak. The heels walked inside the club before the door was closed harshly. Now he looked up to see who had entered his silent domain.

His eyes glittered as they fell upon the figure of a woman wrapped in a long coat, her eyes were obscured by sun glasses but he still knew who she was. Abandoning his glass laden tray for the moment he walked towards her, his footsteps mingles with hers as she made her way down the steps. She smiled at him in her own unaffectionate way and handed him her coat. As he took it from her he returned her smile, a smile he could see reflected in the dark lenses of her sunglasses. The image was soon gone as she raised a hand encased in an elbow length glove of the finest silk and removed them. Her dark blue eyes fell on his as she looked at him.

"How has your week been, Miklos?" She asked her voice a soft purr against his ear.

Miklos shrugged, "Just like any other week although last night was different. How was Paris?"

"It was Paris." The woman remarked as if bored with the city, "What made last night different?"

"I'm sure Mr LaCroix will explain that, he's out the back if you want to see him."

As graceful and as poised as a Gazelle on the lonely plains of Africa she walked across the dance floor with the faintest amount of effort. Her sensitive ears picked up barely audible sounds emanating from the private quarters she had made her home in. A smile touched her lips as she heard a sorrowful yet enjoyable tune being played upon a violin almost as old as her. As she came to the last door separating the club from this private realm, far flung from the troubles of the world outside, she wondered at what her father had to speak to her about.

Pushing open the door she soon found out.

Hushed conversations echoed around him, their words meaning nothing to him as he sat alone in a room filled with people. He looked at his watch once, twice, a third time with growing impatience. He stared at it is if it could give him answers to all the questions in the world but despite all its promises was remaining mute. If only they would hurry up, if only they would live up to their so called reputation that in reality was as reliable as a fifteen year old newspaper article about a man who had lost a tooth biting into a stick of butter in a tabloid that only one person had ever read. He wanted to go to the service desk again, he wanted to speak to the woman who seemed to be so disinterested in her job as a customer service officer that she'd pack her bags and leave any minute, unfortunately he couldn't. Time was that policies had changed; she had no more control over flights than he had. All she would do was sit and sigh or say 'sorry sir, another five minutes'. The sad truth was that she'd used that line a total of eight times and he'd been waiting two hours for that golden five minutes to come when something was going to happen.

As if Moses had once again parted the red sea or Houdini had radically pulled off his last stunt without dying the announcement came, it was a miracle. Hundreds of feet bored beyond the capacity of life trudged over to the gate each mouth they belonged sighing in a mix of annoyance and relief. Finally they were getting somewhere. Finally the system seemed to be working. All they had to do now was endure the bitter slog from terminal to plane and then on from plane to terminal at the other end. For those lucky few that had no baggage the journey would be considerable shorter, they could begin to relax whereas their unlucky counterparts had to wait endlessly to see their luggage tossed about by louts no more sophisticated than shaved gorillas or to find out from some snotty nosed desk clerk, who couldn't care less, that their luggage had been 'misplaced'.

Oh the joy. It came again, that announcement read out by a woman who sounded as bored as they were. Tinny as it was it was sweet music to their ears. The gates opened and as their tickets were haphazardly ripped by men with stubby fingers that snatched their victims before thrusting them back to their owners they stepped out into the air of the night. All around them they could hear the scream of aeroplanes' engines mingled with the roar of courtesy coaches waiting to take them to their craft.

It seemed so pointless to him, the stress that people endured to go somewhere to relax, being shoved into a bus as if you were the grand prize at a cattle market and being treated like dirt by someone else's kids or people that had nothing better to do. Unlike them he wasn't on holiday, he wasn't going to go sightseeing or shopping in any of the fancy outlets. No, he was going to search for his missing love. He knew that Toronto was a big city and he hadn't the faintest idea where to start looking. All he could do was hope that he hadn't been sent on some wild goose chase by someone posing as a friend.

As he got off of the bus he considered turning back, telling the staff at the airport that he'd made a mistake but something called him on. It tickled his ears like a soft kiss upon his lips and grew until it made his head hurt. Over the noise of the engines he could hear her voice. Pushing himself forward he boarded the plane; he was going to find her no matter what.

"Janette," LaCroix said as the door to his quarters opened and admitted his daughter.

"LaCroix," Janette purred back in her French accented tones, "Miklos seemed to think that you had something to tell me."

"He was correct ma chéri, sit down a moment."

Janette did as she was asked. Cocking her well styled head to the side she waited for a further elaboration on what her father had told her so far, which was very little. She watched as he walked across the room and knocked on a door of the finest oak. Much to her barely concealed surprise a woman much younger than herself stepped from behind the door as it opened slowly. Looking at the woman was like looking at an echo of someone she had seen many years before and that no longer walked upon the great expanse of the earth.

LaCroix smiled briefly at Janette's surprise as he indicated the woman, "Janette, this is Robyn."