I went over and stood in front of his desk."I'm sorry, Mr. Locke." I said, holding my notebook and pen. "My pen ran out. Would you give me those page ...umbers again?"Mr. Locke nodded obligingly and opened the folder on his desk and started to read the assignments. I put my spiral notebook on his desk and bent over to write down the numbers as he read them. As soon as my pen touched the pad, he stopped reading. I looked at his face without moving my head or straightening up. He was staring. He thought a zack was a bargain for entrance though he didn't approve of the money going to a useless church. He'd lost all religious convictions after the first six months in Changi and became militantly so on the Burma Railway.Half way through the family table conversation, Clare, who sort of zones out at these times as they were all below being worthy of her attention, suddenly understood the gist of what her idiot sister had organised for Friday night. She felt sick to her stomach. She. ”“Then don’t let them in the front door. There are servent doors for a reason.”She blushed, embarrassed that she didn’t think of that herself.“I’ll get right on it, Sir.”We ate a splendid meal, and I got to meet all of them personally. I was their main reason for being there, so it wasn’t like any of them were avoiding me.This was much better than the frat meet and greet. These people were useful and connected. There was one gentleman there that refused to introduce himself and every comment of. James and I took great pleasure in competing with each other as to who had grown the best of this and that, and our daily banter although friendly, undeniably had meaning to it – way beyond anything we had grown on our plots. It was almost as if we were nudging one another into to make the first move. It was the end of a long working day. A still coolness in the air had taken me by surprise – and I had dressed inappropriately for the weather, only in small shorts and vest top, I was cold. James.
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