Aidan O’Hanlon turned up the collar of his coat as he walked out of the Washington Convention Center and up Seventh Street, avoiding a group of elderly Japanese tourists alighting from a bus. He’d been there a month, but the changeability of the weather from one day to the next still took him by surprise. Yesterday had been like Paris in the spring, the majestic buildings, boulevards and parks bathed in sunshine, the sidewalks a jostle of tourists and locals. Today the sky was slate gray, the wind like a blade, the mood on the streets brisk, not relaxed. His head was aching, as much from the cold as from a long day of concentration. His new job in one of the city’s largest translation agencies was well paid, but the hours were long. Since he’d arrived, he’d had to switch between French, Spanish, Italian and German, interpreting for clients in conferences, trade meetings and media interviews, on subjects as diverse as cultural exchanges, import trade agreements and international road safety.
