I thought it was advisable to let Dr Crane and Maggie meet up before we headed off to the festival. We'd be living in close proximity for a couple of days, after all. I really hoped they'd hit it off. A clash of personalities was all we'd need to turn a pleasant trip into a nightmare, and Maggie could be a little on the wild side compared to the social circle Dr Crane was used to.

Mind you, the same could probably be said about the Queen Mother ...

I arranged a meeting at the Fox and Whistle, the Wednesday before we were due to set off. Maggie wasn't there when Dr Crane and I arrived, so we sequestered ourselves in a nice cosy corner with our drinks. We began reviewing the plans. The tickets had arrived. I had Michael's cell phone number and had spoken to him after he'd arrived in the U.S. the previous week. We were booked in to the RV facilities at the festival site, so there would be no problem hooking up the utilities. My gourmet companion had even cancelled appointments in order to assist with food shopping for the trip earlier that day. Watching him navigate around a hypermarket in an Armani suit, trying to push a trolley with one errant wheel and a distinctive, crowd-drawing squeak, was an enduring image. I'd almost wished I'd brought a video camera.

Dr Crane seemed as excited about the trip as I was. "You know, the weather forecast says it's going to be a beautiful, sunny weekend," he said. "I was thinking I should bring a baseball cap or something, in case we're out in the sun for a long time."

"Good idea," I agreed, thinking I should pack my own sun hat. "And we'll invest in some sun screen. I remember one time at Donington Monsters of Rock, it was such a scorcher all day and I had absolutely no protection from the sun ... I ended up the colour of a beetroot and suffering badly with sunstroke. I missed half of the headliner's set, because all I could do by that time was lie on the ground, looking into the night sky, trying not to be sick."

"Definitely sun screen, then," Dr Crane said, comically serious. "Dad will never forgive me if I whisk his physical therapist away on a fun-packed weekend and return a beetroot to him." He smiled vaguely at me. "Though I'd have thought, with your complexion, you wouldn't burn up in the sun like I do."

"Oh, I burn like the next Brit," I grinned. "Not as much as some, but enough." I nudged Dr Crane's shoulder. "At least I know that if I get poorly this time, I'll have a handsome doctor on hand to take care of me!"

All right, I don't really know why I was flirting so blatantly, not to mention amateurishly. Suddenly all I could think of was the curve of that pert little bottom encased in figure-hugging denim. I looked away, blushing, hoping that I hadn't embarrassed poor Dr Crane with such overt innuendo and wondering what on earth was wrong with me.

"Well, I don't know about that," a soft voice replied, close to my ear, "but I'll be there, anyway."

The moment was diffused and I felt the blushes pass. I turned around and swatted him across the chest as we laughed, and everything was safe once again.

"Daphne," he said, after we'd finished giggling. "How do you feel about calling me 'Niles'?"

I hadn't really given it any thought, but as he made the casual request, I realised that he might have a point, at least for that weekend. It wouldn't exactly put Maggie in a party mood, to be sharing a Winnebago with someone she had to refer to using a formal title, and I knew she would take her cue from me, in that respect. And if we needed to call to each other across the crowded festival field, using titles seemed a bit misplaced. Clearly it made sense, just for the weekend.

"If you're comfortable with that?" I asked, unwilling to renounce the formalities without proper ceremony.

He frowned earnestly and nodded his head, even as his blue eyes were twinkling. "I think I could cope."

"All right," I agreed. "'Niles' it is."

"Daphne!" I glanced over to the bar and saw Maggie waving. She finished paying for her drink and then picked her way through tables and patrons, over to join us. When she sat down, I made the introductions.

"Maggie, this is ... Niles. Dr Niles Crane. Niles ... Maggie Trent."

They shook hands. Maggie, a fun if sometimes overly exuberant friend of mine who originally hailed from Leeds, smiled charmingly at Niles and immediately began to ask him about himself. "A doctor, no less!" she said approvingly, and launched into a whole seres of questions. What did he do, where did he live, had he heard any Indigo Haze? Niles answered with his usual charm and attentiveness, and before long Maggie was casually touching his thigh with each new comment she made.

I wondered why the hell I was suddenly feeling a little bit jealous.