From the Heart

hadn’t existed before he had touched her. Her purpose for being in London was professional. Even if she had the time, she didn’t have the inclination for anything else. She simply didn’t want to be involved with him. Why couldn’t he see that?
    Because, she thought wearily, saying something and acting on it are two different things. How could she convince him she didn’t want to be involved when she responded totally every time he took her into his arms? Yes, she had wanted him. In that flash of a moment when she had been held close, mouth on mouth, she would have given herself to him. Her will had bent to his. That frightened her.
    The problem, as she saw it, had to be resolved within herself first. The most important thing to do was to change the wording: not that she didn’t want to be involved, but that she refused to be involved.
    Rising, Liv prepared to shower and dress. There was toomuch to do that day to sit and brood about a personal dilemma. In any case, she thought it gave Thorpe too much importance to brood about him at all. How he would enjoy knowing she had done just that!
    She had packed a very somber suit, charcoal gray and tailored. After doing up the final button, Liv gave herself a quick, professional study in the full-length mirror. She would do. A dab of extra makeup concealed the faint shadows under her eyes. Thorpe again, she thought resentfully.
    The slim briefcase would carry her notes along with an extra pad and a supply of pencils. Tossing her coat over her arm, she prepared to leave. A slip of white on the floor by the connecting door caught her eye.
    Liv stared at it for a moment. It looked suspiciously like a note. The best thing to do, she thought, would be to ignore it. She walked all the way to the front door before she gave up and went back. Stooping, she scooped the paper up.
    “Good morning.”
    That was all it said. A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. He’s mad, she decided again. Absolutely mad. On impulse, she ripped off a sheet of her own notepaper and scribbled a similar greeting. After slipping it under the connecting door, she left the room.
    As arranged, she found her crew in a corner of the hotel’s coffee shop. “Hey, Liv.” Bob sent her a quick smile. “Want some breakfast?”
    “Just coffee.” She took the communal pot and poured. “I feel like I need a gallon of it.”
    “It’s going to be a long day,” he reminded her, and dug into his eggs.
    “Starting immediately,” she agreed. Absently, she shook her head at the waiter. “I want a stand-up in front of Westminster Abbey before the crowds get there, and another at 10 Downing Street. With luck, we might get some tape of Summerfield’s widow. I imagine they’ll start lining the streets a good hour before the funeral procession is scheduled.” One of the crew tempted Liv with a piece of toast, but she smiled and shook her head. “We’ll want some pans of the crowd on tape to use with a voice-over later.”
    “I’ve got to pick up some souvenirs for my wife and kids.”Bob shot Liv a grin as she picked up her coffee. “Look, Liv, I got enough grief because I took off for London without them; if I don’t bring back a few goodies, I’m going to be sleeping on the sofa.”
    “You should be able to squeeze out a few minutes for shopping between setups,” she said. As she spoke, her eyes roamed the room, skimming over the faces of other reporters.
    “Looking for somebody?” Bob asked, and cut into a sausage.
    “What?” Distracted, she looked back at him.
    “You’ve been scanning the room since you sat down. Are you meeting someone else?”
    “No,” she said, annoyed that she had unconsciously been looking for Thorpe. “You all better hurry,” she told the crew in general. “The schedule’s tight.”
    For the next ten minutes she drank her coffee with her back to the rest of the room.
     
    The weak sunlight brought little warmth as Liv stood across from Westminster Abbey. She waited, going over her notes for the stand-up one last time as the crew set up their equipment. She estimated the spot would take forty-five seconds. Behind her the abbey’s towers rose into a murky sky. London was gray under the clouds, the air heavy with threatening rain. At the moment, she gave no thought to the city around her, but was totally focused on the forty-five seconds of tape that was to come.
    “Come in on me,” she instructed the cameraman. “After the intro, I’m going to turn