In the spring of 1965 I moved my household to the Broadmoor Hotel south of Colorado Springs because Mr Harriman was building his Moonship on Peterson Field. In 1952 I had tried half-heartedly to drop my lease in Kansas City after Brian had taken Priscilla and Donald back to Dallas (another story and no t a good one). But George had outflanked me. Title to that house was in George, not Harriman and Strong, not Harriman Industries. When I told him that I no longer needed a four-bedroom house (counting the maid's room), he asked me to keep it, rent free.

I pointed out that, if I was to become his paid mistress, it wasn't enough, but if I was to continue the pretence of being a respectable woman, it was too much. He said, all right, what was the going rate for mistresses? - he would double it.

So I kissed him and took him to bed and we compromised. The house was his and he would put his driver and wife in the house, and I could stay in it any time I wished... and the resident couple would take care of Princess Polly.

George had spotted my weak point. I had once subjected this little cat to the trauma of losing her Only Home; I grabbed this means of avoiding doing it to her again.

But I did take an apartment at the Plaza, moved my most necessary books there; got my mail there, and occasionally took Polly there - subjecting her to the indignity of a litter box, true, but she did not fuss. (The new clay pellets were a vast improvement over sand or soil.) Moving back and forth this short distance got her used to a carrying cage and to being away from home now and then. Eventually she got to be a true travelling cat, dignified and at home in the best hotels, a sophisticated guest who would never think of scratching the furniture. This made it much easier for Elijah and Charlene to take vacations or go elsewhere if George needed them elsewhere.

So in the spring of 1965 a few weeks before the historic first flight to the Moon, Princess Polly and I moved into the Broadmoor. I arrived with Polly in her carrying case, baggage to follow from the terminal of the Harriman Prairie Highway fifty miles north of there - I hated those rolling roads from the first time I rode one; they gave me headaches. But I had been told that the noise problem had been overcome on the Prairie Highway. Never trust a flack!

The desk clerk at the Broadmoor told me, ‘Madam, we have an excellent kennel at the back of the tennis club. I'll have a bellman take your cat there.'

‘Just a moment,' I got out my Harriman Industries card - mine had a gold band.

The clerk took one look at it, got the assistant manager on duty. He hurried over, gardenia and striped pants and professional smile. ‘Mrs Johnson! So happy to welcome you! Do you prefer a suite? Or a housekeeping apartment?'

Princess Polly did not have to go to a kennel. She dined on chopped liver, courtesy of the management, and had her own cat bed and litter box, both guaranteed sterilised - so said the paper band around each of them, like the one around the toilet seat in my bathroom.

No bidet - aside from that the Broadmoor was a first-class hotel.

After a bath and a change - my luggage arrived while I was in the bath (of course) - I left Princess Polly to watch television (which she liked, especially the commercials) and went to the bar, to have a solitary drink and see what developed.

And found my son Woodrow.

He sported me as I walked in. ‘Hi, Mom!'

‘Woodrow!' I was delighted! I kissed him and said, ‘Good to see you, son! What are you doing here? The last I heard you were at Wright Patterson.'

‘Oh, I quit that; they didn't appreciate genius. Besides, they expected me to get up too early. I'm with Harriman Industries now, trying to keep ‘em straight. It ain't easy.'

(Should I tell Woodrow that I was now a director of Harriman Industries? I had avoided telling anyone who did not need to know - so wait and sec.) ‘I'm glad you're keeping them straight. This Moonship of theirs - Do you have something to do with it?'

‘Sit down first. What'll you drink?'

‘Whatever you're having, Woodrow.'

‘Well, now, I'm having Manitou Water, with a twist.'

‘It looks like vodka tonic. Is that what it is?'

‘Not exactly. Manitou water is a local mineral water. Something like skunk, but not as tasty.'

‘Hmm... Make mine vodka tonic with lime. Is Heather here?'

‘She doesn't like the altitude. When we left Wright Patterson, she took the kids back to Florida. Don't raise your eyebrows at me; we get along just fine. She lets me know when it's time for her to get pregnant again. About every three years, that is. So I go home, stay a month or two, get reacquainted with the kids. Then I go back to work. No huhu, no sweat, no family quarrels.'

‘Sounds like a fine arrangement if it suits you two.'

‘It does.' He paused to order my drink. I had never learned to drink but I had learned how to order a tall drink and make it last all evening, while ice cubes diluted it. I looked Woodrow over. His skin seemed tight on his face and his hands quite bony.

The waitress left; he turned back. ‘Now, Mom, tell me what you're doing here.'

‘I've always been a space travel buff - remember how we read Roy Rockwood's Great Marvel series together? Lost on the Moon, Through Space to Mars -‘

‘Sure do! I learned to read because I thought you were holding out on me.'

‘Not in those. A little in the Barsoom books, perhaps.'

‘I've always wanted a beautiful Martian princess... but not the way you had to get one on Barsoom. Remember how they were always spilling each other's blood? Not for me! I'm the peaceful type, Mom. You know me.'

(I wonder if any mother ever knows her children. But I do feel close to you, dear. I hope you and Heather really are all right.) ‘So when I heard about the Moonship, I made plans to come here. I want to see it lift off... since I can't go in it. What do you think of it, Woodrow? Will it do the job?'

‘Let's find out.' Woodrow looked around, then called out to someone sitting at the bar. ‘Hey, Les! Bring your redeye over here and come set a while.'

The man addressed came over. He was a small man, with the big hands of a jockey. My son said, ‘May I present Captain Leslie LeCroix, skipper of the Pioneer? Les, this is my daughter Maureen.'

‘I'm honoured, Miss. But you can't be Bill's daughter; you're too young. Besides, you're pretty. And he is - Well, look at him.'

‘Stop it, boys. I'm his mother, Captain. You really are the captain of the Moonship? I'm impressed.'

Captain LeCroix sat down with us. I saw that his ‘redeye' was another tall, dear drink. He said to me, ‘No need to be impressed; the computer pilot does it all. But I'm going to: ride her... if I can avoid Bill long enough. Have a chocolate écláir, Bill.' ‘

‘Smile when you say that, stranger!'

‘A cheeseburger? A jelly doughnut? A stack of wheats with honey?'

‘Mom, do you sec what that scoundrel is doing? Trying to keep me from dieting just because he's scared I might break his arcos. Or his neck.'

‘Why would you do that, Woodrow?'

‘I wouldn't. But Les thinks I would. He weighs just one hundred and twenty-six pounds. My best weight, in training, is one forty-five, you may remember. But by lift-off day and H-hour I have to weigh exactly what he does... because, if he catches a sniffle or slips in the shower and breaks something, God forbid, I have to sit there in his place and pretend to pilot. I can't avoid it; I accepted their money. And they have a large, ugly man following me around, making sure I don't run:

‘Don't believe him, Ma'am. I'm very careful going through doors and I won't cat anything I don't see opened. He intends to disable me at the last minute. Is he really your son? He can't, be.'

‘I bought him from a Gypsy. Woodrow, what happens if you don't make the weight?'