By late afternoon, the committee had selected the ten vehicles from the remainder of the applicants. They thanked and apologized to those who didn't make the cut, settled on the rental details for those who did, and collapsed exhausted in rag tag groups on the stage.

 A complimentary snack supplied by Hartley Meloncore, the town's exclusive caterer, was enjoyed by all. Hartley's benevolence derived from the fact that his niece, Elma McGinty, passed muster with a remarkable, cobalt blue and gold, phaeton from the late nineteen hundreds. It was frequently used for annual horse show events at the surrounding, small town fairs.

"So help me, if I ever hear about the merits of elliptic springs over longitudinal wood poles again, I'll scream." Tiffany moaned aloud.

"Seemed like the cast from Friendly Persuasion." Melaine remarked.

"Yeah, but a lot of them didn't listen too closely," Growled Allen. "We're talking, Saturday Night Fever!"

"Well I think we did very well," the ever upbeat Susan, chimed in, "we have a very good mix of vehicles for the parade. And I think we all owe Nigel a round of applause for taking charge."

"Hear, hear." Ti cheered.

"Commendable endeavour, Stainway. Congratulations." Milo sniffed, tugging at his jacket.

"Are there any more of those little puff pastry things?" Daryl asked, wiping his mouth and pointing at the large tray on the table.

Nigel stood and stretched, nodding to Milo, and announced that he was heading home for dinner. The move galvanized the group, and they all began an untidy migration from the stage, leaving Harvey to clean up after them. Susan caught up with him in the lobby, taking his arm and scrunching her shoulders.

"You were wonderful, Nigel. We wouldn't have known how to begin."

"It was just a question of focus," he said, trying to extract himself from her grip.

"Yes, but it was the- the... leadership. None of the others could have been so- so..."

"How's Victor?" He freed his arm, only to find his shoulders her new resting place.

"He's fine. Can I give you a lift home?"

"Aah, I don't think- I'd kind of like to walk. Thanks anyway."

"Eeeeew! A walk would be nice. I'll join you." She squeezed his neck, leaning close.

Nigel shrank inside as the scent of her perfume assailed his nostrils, and he licked his lips nervously. What was it with this woman? They pushed through the theatre doors and out into the late afternoon sun. A light breeze stirred some litter left by the army of audition seekers, and as they headed down the street, Nigel moved to the outside, deftly escaping her clutch while performing the chivalrous manoeuvre.

"Eeeeeew! That's what I love so much about you, Nigel. You're so- so... English!" She squealed, reclaiming his arm. He groaned.

"Listen, Susan," he worked at keeping his tone reasonable, "I know we had a- you thought that I... Susan, you're engaged to Victor. You've got to stop throwing yourself at me." He felt her eyes burning the side of his face. "Susan?"

"We're never going to marry." The statement was sadly flat.

"Huh? What do you mean? Why not?"

She leaned into him, shaking her head. "It's complicated."

"Why? I mean... how?"

"Victor is very old world. I mean, very old world. His whole life revolves around honouring his ancestors. Everything, and I really mean every thing, has to appease these stupid old ghosts. Victor doesn't change his underwear without mentally checking for their approval." Her voice had hardened, and the initial sadness grew a sharp edge.

They stepped off the sidewalk and performed a little quickstep across the road ahead of the oncoming traffic. Nigel changed sides again as they changed direction, accepting her arm around his without a thought.

"Do you mean he won't- he hasn't had permission to marry you?" The idea struck him as funny, and he smiled, losing it immediately when she turned to face him.

"He hasn't even asked, and it isn't funny, Nigel."

"But- but it's just... imaginary, I mean, how could a grown man—"

She barked a short laugh. "Don't even try to figure it out. I've been stirring that particular wok for a long time now and believe me, there is no sane answer."

Nigel stopped and faced her, his hands on her arms. "Then explain to me why you hang on. Why stay engaged to a man that- whose life is ruled by ghosts? Do you love him that much?" Something in her voice pulled at his emotions; this was a Susan he'd rarely glimpsed.

She stepped closer, holding the front of his shirt, forcing an embrace. "I'll tell you Nigel. But not here, not now."