A Compromising Affair. Gwynne Forster

heavyset middle-aged man took the seat beside him in first class, whispered a prayer and almost immediately took out some photographs from his briefcase. A smile covered his face as he gazed at the pictures.

      Scott hadn’t planned to initiate a conversation with the stranger, but curiosity prompted him. “Your family?” he asked the man.

      “Yes. For the past year, I’ve been working as a construction engineer in Vilnius. I couldn’t leave the job, so I’ve never seen my infant son. I can’t wait to get home. I have twin daughters, too,” the man went on as if the floodgates had opened up. “They’re my life. We thought we couldn’t have any more children due to my wife’s age—she was thirty-five when we married, which is usually not good news if you want to start a family. But this little fellow is healthy, and I thank God all the time.” The man shook his head as if amazed by the miracle of it. He handed Scott the photograph.

      “I resisted getting married, but I’m happier than I ever thought I’d be. You got kids?”

      Scott stared at the photograph and handed it back to the man. “Not that I know of. I’ve been so busy with my career that I’ve let some important areas of my life slide. But when I get home, I’m going to put first things first.”

      “You’re right. I said I’d make my first million before I was thirty-five, and I put living on hold,” the man said.

      “Money is necessary, but it won’t buy any of the things that make me happy. Go for it,” the man said. “Life is short.”

      Scott could no longer bear to look at the expression of pure joy on the man’s face as he gazed at the pictures of his three children. Scott took pride in his accomplishments, since he was by any measure a success. But he needed more, a different kind of fulfillment. For two years, he had retired every evening to his personal quarters, taken off the diplomatic mask and settled into a loneliness that he couldn’t escape. Sure, he was satisfied with the choices he’d made, but not with the sacrifices.

      He lifted his glass to his seatmate. “Thanks. Here’s to a good life.”

      The man took a sip after the toast, but a quizzical expression soon spread across his face. “I appreciate your goodwill, but why did you thank me?” the man asked.

      Scott savored the glass of wine, held the glass up and drained it. “The people I meet in my line of work are chasing something—dreams, money, status, promotions, women, whatever,” he said. “But you stuck with your values, found what you need and recognized it when you got it. That’s rare. I hope to do the same.”

      Ten hours later, when the plane landed at Reagan National Airport, Scott had decided he was going to give himself one year in which to settle down and start a family. He realized it was a tall order, but he also knew that his bosses wouldn’t give him more than a year between overseas assignments. He had no intention of spending another year wearing Brooks Brothers suits with shoes that shone like glass, working five, and sometimes seven, days a week, making certain that his face bore just the right expression as he carefully watched every word he uttered, only to be rewarded with lonely, celibate nights.

      Where would he start? Of the women he knew and liked, he couldn’t see himself sharing his life with any of them. A State Department chauffeur and car met him at the airport and took him to the Willard Inter-Continental hotel, where reservations had been made for him. He usually didn’t require that kind of luxury, but it went with the job.

      After checking in, he went to his suite. There, he dropped his bag near the door and headed for the kitchen, where he knew he’d find some fresh fruit. When his superior at the State Department had asked his preference for a hotel, he’d said he didn’t care where they put him up so long as he found plenty of fresh citrus and berries in the refrigerator. He washed a handful of blueberries and savored them.

      Home. How sweet it is, he thought.

      He resisted the temptation to go to bed at three in the afternoon and telephoned Judson Philips-Sparkman, his closest friend since the age of five.

      “Attorney Philips-Sparkman speaking.”

      “Man, half of that name is enough. Saying the whole thing is a damned tongue twister.”

      “Scott! Where the hell are you? Aren’t you due back soon?”

      “I am, and I’m here.”

      “What? When? You mean you’re in D.C.?”

      “I’m at the Willard in a nothing-left-to-the-imagination suite. The plane landed about two and a half hours ago. How’s Heather? You two getting along all right?”

      “Heather’s fine, and of course we’re getting along. If you mean at the office, we’ve easily worked that out. She has clients, and I have clients. We consult with each other, offer and give advice, but we don’t interfere in each other’s cases.”

      “That’s good. Is her office as big as yours?”

      Laughter seemed to roar out of Judson at the question. “Truthfully I’d give anything to say no, but they’re exactly the same size. I furnished mine to suit me, and she did the same in hers. By the way, when I try to help her out, she gives me a hard time. I hope she does the same when you meddle in her business. How soon can you get over here?”

      “I want to hand in my report the day after tomorrow, so I can probably get there late Friday afternoon.”

      “Why not spend the weekend with us? Check out of the hotel, and I’ll pick you up, say, at three-thirty. How’s that?”

      “Works for me. Give Heather my love. See you Friday.”

      Since he didn’t have any casual clothes with him, he decided to walk up to F Street, where he bought two pairs of jeans, half a dozen T-shirts and a pair of Reeboks. All he wanted was a chance to soak up some sun, be himself with his friends and leave the ambassador behind. After checking in with his father and younger brother, he showered and crawled into bed for a nap.

      He awakened around six-thirty and called his grandmother, whom he had spoken to while en route to the hotel. “Hi, Nana. How about going out to dinner with me tonight?’

      “As long as you feed me Maryland crab cakes. I love Italian and French food, but you know I love my crab cakes.”

      “You’re on. I’ll be there in an hour.”

      His office had advised him not to check out, but to remain in the hotel until he could move into his condo and his belongings had arrived from Vilnius. So, when Judson arrived on Friday afternoon, Scott was leaning against the reservation desk waiting for him.

      “Lord, man, you’re a sight for sore eyes,” Scott said as he and Judson greeted each other with a warm embrace. “Marriage agrees with you, buddy.”

      “You bet it does. Wait ’til you get to know my cousins and their families.”

      “I liked what I’ve seen of them already. How is Heather dealing with such a big family?”

      “You’ll see. Neither of us hangs around the office.”

      “If you’d told me otherwise, I would have thought something was wrong with your marriage. You’ve only been married for, let’s see, eighteen months.”

      “Best year and a half of my life. Let’s take the elevator down to the garage level.”

      Judson drove his Mercedes out of the hotel garage onto Wisconsin Avenue, connected to Route 270 and headed for Frederick, Maryland. “We’re right in Eagle Park next to the Harrington estate, and that’s less than fifteen minutes from Frederick. Everybody’s expecting you. How’s Nana?”

      “Great. We had dinner the night I got back.”

      Half an hour later, Judson parked in front of a stately beige-colored brick house. The first-floor windows provided a glimpse of the cathedral ceilings and the elegant interior. “We told Russ what we wanted the house to look like,” Judson