How could one take seriously as an escort a woman with such a Victorian name as Alice Dalyrimple? “Miss Dalyrimple will be your escort.” Alice Dalyrimple, so snobbily intoned by a Miss Crick of the Smart Set escort service. Miss Crick had been entrusted with the appointment book. Melrose felt he had landed in the middle of a Jane Austen novel. “Now, Mr. Plant, a bit more information. What is your given name?” Why, wondered Melrose, had he used his last name? Men seeking the services of escort agencies gave out fictional names, surely. At least he could make up a first name: “Algernon. That’s my first name.” From Jane Austen to Oscar Wilde. “Algernon. Very good.” Did the name have to meet with her approval? “Now, we were to decide upon a meeting place.” His mind ranged over venues, from the Hole in the Wall underneath Waterloo Bridge to Buckingham Palace, where he fantasized presenting Miss Dalyrimple to the queen.
