We set off on the Friday morning, packed up with clothes, food and other necessities (though Dad persuaded me to leave my emergency sewing kit at Frasier's when I realised there was no way to keep it in the pocket of my new jeans without impaling myself). I managed the tricky reversal out of the parking lot with the minimum of difficulty, much to Daphne's admiration. Once we were out on the road, we headed across towards the marina to pick Maggie up.

I felt a little strange, decked out in my new togs, but Daphne seemed to approve, fussing with my charcoal-coloured overshirt, that it was worn just so. She looked ravishing, herself. Those new jeans hugged the curve of her hips beautifully, the seams just begging to be traced with a reverent finger, and her tight-fitting t-shirt underlined how perfectly in proportion the rest of her curves were. I'm afraid those moments of clandestine appreciation taught me a valuable lesson about the roominess of straight-cut denim.

Daphne settled into the passenger seat. To distract myself, I thought about her friend, Maggie. She was small, dark and striking, without the softness to her features that made Daphne so breathtakingly beautiful. She was certainly friendly. The meeting at the pub had gone well enough; Maggie seemed to get along fine with me, which was the main thing. I'd been a little overwhelmed by the attention Daphne's friend had lavished on me, and Daphne had seemed a little uncomfortable with it herself. I had wondered about speaking to her privately to tell her that I wasn't interested in taking advantage of Maggie's thinly-veiled flirtations, but to do so might have made me seem a little arrogant, so I kept my mouth shut. Knowing my track record, I'd probably been misreading the signals anyway.

Daphne herself was another matter entirely. I'd noticed a change in her, over the recent months. If I had to pin it down, I'd say that this shifting in attitude had happened after my divorce had been finalised. Then again, each time I convinced myself that Daphne was looking at me through new eyes, something would happen to decry that theory. It was a real case of mixed messages. If I'm completely honest, it was driving me crazy. I was, at one and the same time, both desperate to declare my feelings and convinced that to do so would be the biggest mistake I could ever make. Such was the knife-edge I was treading.

I pulled up at the pre-arranged meeting place and Maggie jumped on board with a large bag. She was obviously really excited about the trip. She sported a t-shirt with Daphne's brother's band logo across it, and fished in her khaki shorts, which Daphne told me later were 'combat cut-offs', for a tape, that she waved at me. "Just to get us in the mood!" she called, and then leaned behind the driver's seat as I pulled away from the apartment building and headed off to join the interstate. Every so often I could sense Maggie's breath on my ear. It was very disconcerting. When I looked at Daphne, she was frowning. I wondered whether she was frowning about Maggie.

It has to be said that Indigo Haze aren't half bad. I suppose I was counting myself lucky that the band we were heading out to see wasn't the punk crew Daphne's oldest brother Simon sang with, back in the seventies ... apparently he'd modelled himself on some gentleman by the name of Johnny Rotten and had never quite lost the abrasive London dialect he'd imitated on stage, which was why his accent over the telephone was so different from the musical tones of Daphne Moon. As we listened to the cassette, my goddess observed enthusiastically that she thought Michael's drumming was the best thing about the music. She's his sister, after all. I smiled indulgently and agreed. I don't often disagree with Daphne.

The miles rolled by and we passed the time in casual conversation. I was quite pleased when Maggie offered to make some sandwiches in the back, for our lunch. It was nice to have Daphne to myself, even for just a few minutes. I grinned over at her as I piloted the Winnebago down the highway, and she smiled back and asked me, "Are we having fun yet?"

"Most fun I've had since my last visit to the mall," I quipped. I turned my attention back to the road and confessed, "which, incidentally, was my first visit to the mall."

Daphne snorted with laughter. "Well, let me know if you feel the urge to go slumming it again."

How does one 'slum-it' with a goddess?

"If slumming it means curly fries, then the urge is there right now," I fired back.

"Curly fries? What do you think this is, Denny's?" Maggie called from the rear of the Winnebago.

Who on earth was Denny?

"Never mind!" we both shouted over our shoulders, then laughed at our perfect synchronisation.

I was having a wonderful time.

We pulled off the road and into a service station when the sandwiches were ready, then we crowded around the table in the back of the Winnebago to eat, washing our lunch down with freshly brewed coffee. When we were done, Daphne excused herself and squeezed into the powder room.

In Daphne's absence, Maggie shuffled closer to me on the bench and asked coyly, "So Niles, how long have you known Daphne?"

"Umm ...six and a half years, now," I replied, unnerved by the fairly unmissable overtures as Maggie fluttered her lashes and leaned forward to show off her cleavage. Perhaps I'd read the original signals correctly, after all.

"Really? I shall have to ask Daphne what she's been doing, keeping you all to herself for that long!"

The implication was pretty unmistakable, even for me, and the words she had chosen were almost taunting, though Maggie can't have realised that. If only Daphne really did want me all to herself. "Umm ..." I said, aware immediately that I wasn't exactly being eloquent

Fortunately at that moment, the restroom door popped open and Daphne interrupted the conversation. "Loo roll!" she exclaimed. "We forgot to stock up on loo roll!"

"Oh, well ... I'll go see if the convenience store here has some," I offered. I shot her a grateful look and was out of the Winnebago faster than you could say 'What about the six roll pack we stowed under the bench this morning?'.

And at around the same time, I made a mental note not to discuss anything private in the Winnebago, when someone else was in the bathroom.