As the dry, hot London summer blazed on, I’d rejoined a colleague for drinks in the early evening cool of the theatrical scarlet saloon. I was delighted to see my old friend and we laughed about old times as we paid cautious respect to the oversized martinis that are the trademark of the bar. My friend regaled me with tales of international entrepreneurship, and an unwittingly hilarious story about the failure of a palm oil plantation in Polynesia. Both the story and the business concluded with 42 Polynesian plant workers coasting out of the factory on a wave of palm oil. Through my laughter, my eye was drawn to a young woman as she entered the bar. A dusky little thing—all of about five foot—she’d already purchased a drink and had begun to look around nervously. She sipped quickly from her glass, all the while her eyes scanning the room. Her discomfort was evident and she looked as though she might, at any moment, bolt for the door. When suddenly her eyes fell upon my friend, her relief was palpable and the broadest smile unfurled across her face.
