Laura said, “I agree we should keep our name. It’s a good name. An excellent name.”

“But?” Foster said.

“But it suggests light. Sunny days. Bright skies and open landscapes. Our planes are the color of storm clouds, and so are the uniforms.” She paused, knowing the proposal she was about to make was destined to raise a chorus of protests. “Even if it means making cuts in other areas, including the flight attendant program, I propose we budget to retain a first-rate design company to revamp the entire look of the airline.”

“Hear, hear!” This from the well-liked head of advertising and marketing, a genial young man named Joe McDonald. He always wore an outlandish bow tie and suspenders. Everyone at SunSouth knew him because he made it a point to know everyone. He was an equal-opportunity teaser, from executives to the janitors who came in after hours to clean the offices. “Thank you, Laura, for putting your butt on the line, thereby saving me from having to place mine there.”

Everyone laughed. The discussion continued but in a more lighthearted mode.

Laura’s proposal, seconded by Joe McDonald, was ultimately acted upon, although not without many lengthy meetings and hours of debate. Cost was the major factor. Designers of the caliber she proposed didn’t come cheap. Then, revamping a fleet of airplanes inside and out was exorbitantly expensive. Every coat of paint on an airplane added weight, which required an increase in the fuel needed to fly the aircraft, and therefore an increase in operational costs that was passed on to passengers in the form of ticket prices, which Foster Speakman had gone on record saying were going to be the lowest in the industry.

With that in mind, the design company suggested stripping the planes of paint and applying the newly designed logo to the silver metal. Eventually the shade of red used in the logo became the signature color of the new flight attendant uniforms. They were tailored and professional looking but conveyed a vivacity and friendliness that the media picked up on and extolled. The pilots’ uniforms went from navy blue to khaki with red neckties.

The first flight of the renovated airline departed at six twenty-five the morning of March tenth-its scheduled relaunch date. That evening, Foster Speakman and his wife, Elaine, hosted a lavish party in their home. Everyone who was anyone in Dallas had been extended an invitation to the black-tie event.

Laura’s escort for the evening was a friend with whom she played mixed-partners tennis. Their friendship was uncomplicated and unromantic. He was divorced, owned his own accounting firm, was at ease with strangers and consequently someone she didn’t have to cater to, worry about, or look after.

Indeed, shortly after they arrived at the mansion he excused himself to go look at the billiard room. Once featured in an issue of Architectural Digest, it was reputed to be a guys’ fantasy room. “Take your time,” she told him. “I’ll be busy mingling.”

Mrs. Speakman, Elaine, was a gorgeous woman, impeccably turned out in an understated designer gown and breathtaking jewelry. But hers was a frail beauty, fragile, like that of a character F. Scott Fitzgerald might have conjured. Like her husband, she was blond and blue eyed, but hers was a watercolor version. Standing arm in arm with him, she paled in comparison, literally.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you,” she said to Laura warmly when Foster introduced them. “I serve on the board of SunSouth-one of the few to survive the shake-up when the new owner assumed control.” She gave her husband a nudge in the ribs.

Leaning in, Foster lowered his voice to a whisper. “I understand he can be a real bastard.”

“Don’t believe it,” Elaine said to Laura.

“I don’t. My experience has been that he’s tough and knows what he wants, but he’s a pleasure to work with.”

“And a sweetheart at home,” his wife said. The two smiled at each other, then Elaine turned back to Laura. “We on the board have heard about your excellent ideas and innovations. On behalf of the board members, the investors, and myself, thank you for your valuable contributions.”

“Thank you, but you give me far too much credit, Mrs. Speakman.”

“Elaine.”

Laura acknowledged that with a slight nod. “Foster has made it known that the new SunSouth is a team effort. Every employee has a voice in the company.”

“But some voices offer substantially more than others,” Elaine said, smiling.

“Thank you again. However, I still maintain that our success will be attributed to your husband’s motivational and management skills.”

“Am I blushing?” he asked.

Elaine regarded him adoringly, then to Laura she said, “The gentleman I saw you arrive with, is that your-”

“Good friend,” Laura said, cutting her off and hoping to avoid having to explain her single status. Although thousands of women in their thirties remained unmarried, it seemed an explanation was still required.

The truth of it was that no one, not even the occasional lover-and there hadn’t been many-had been as important to Laura as the pursuit of her career. But somehow that simple explanation fell short of satisfying people’s curiosity. “He’s dazzled by your billiard room. I may have to drag him out.”

They chitchatted for a while longer, but Laura was aware of others who wanted time with the couple. She shook hands with both and moved away.

Later, as they were leaving, she let her friend deal with the parking valet while she looked for an opportunity to thank her hosts. She spotted them across the room, their heads together, talking privately. Foster leaned down and said something that caused Elaine to laugh. He pressed a kiss on her smooth temple. Laura was struck again by what an attractive and obviously enamored couple they were.

“He’s devoted to her.”

Laura turned to find a co-worker standing beside her. She, too, had been observing the Speakmans.

“And she to him,” Laura said.

“She’s lovely.”

“Inside as well as out. A real lady.”

“Yes,” the woman sighed. “That’s what makes it so tragic.”

Laura turned toward her. “Tragic?”

The co-worker, realizing her mistake, touched Laura’s arm. “I’m sorry. I thought you knew. Elaine Speakman is ill. In fact, she’s dying.”

The sudden laughter coming from downstairs was muted by distance but loud enough to rouse Laura from her reverie. She didn’t recognize it as Foster’s familiar laugh, so it had to have come from Griff Burkett. What could Foster possibly have said to bring on a laugh?

A few moments later, the telephone on her desk rang. Finally, she thought. She picked up the phone before the second ring. “Foster?”

“Can you join us, darling?”

Her heart bumped. His summons meant that, at least so far, it was a go. “I’ll be right down.”