"Call me Sarah, please," I said but Karen continued to address Thatcher.
"To the house first," Karen said as Thatcher nodded. He whispered something to the driver and dialed his cell phone. When we arrived at the Newton mansion, I bent over to hug Karen good-bye but she hopped out of the car with the single command, "wait." She returned after several minutes carrying a small overnight bag. She offered no explanation. Neither Thatcher nor I questioned her. When we alighted from the limo at the front of the hotel Karen's only comment to Thatcher was not to book a suite. It caused me to smile and aroused my curiosity. How much had Paul told his daughter about our brief time together?
Thatcher returned minutes later with a separate room key and a bag of toiletries for each of us. Karen said something to Thatcher I couldn't hear. He moved away as if dismissed. Before he left, Karen informed him I needed some clothes. It was after midnight. I waved him off, saying I'd be fine until morning. The poor man turned to Karen who nodded her approval. He looked relieved and I had little doubt he'd bully some boutique into opening if this friend of his employer so demanded it. He shook my hand and after giving Karen a hug, left us at the elevator door.
My room was eerily similar to the quarters now standing vacant hundreds of miles south in Washington. As I turned to bid Karen good night, she scooted by me and ducked into my bathroom calling, "I'll take the bed by the window, Mrs. Blanding." Any farfetched dreams of spending the night with Paul vanished in a puff.
She emerged in pajamas, slippers and a bathrobe which she modestly clutched at the throat. She held a book in her other hand.
"Please call me Sarah," I repeated. "I don't want to call you Miss North. Besides, I'm not Mrs. Blanding. That's my maiden name; I dropped my married name Jacobson."
Karen gave me a look of surprise, as if not used to someone telling her what to do. Instead of responding, she changed the subject. "I guess you'll have to sleep in your clothes," she said as she opened a book.
"No. I'll just strip to my underwear," I answered as I began to unbutton my blouse. Karen immediately turned away, embarrassed. Out of consideration to her, not my barely existent modesty, I retreated to the bathroom to finish disrobing. In my growing-up household, we were anything but discreet so this young lady's attitude amused me.
"You should have told Thatcher one room was enough," I called from behind the closed door.