husband. I begin to feel a little sorry
for Mr. Trevelyan.
Christian and Lance talk animatedly about a device
Christian’s company is developing, inspired by
Christian’s company is developing, inspired by
Schumacher’s principle Small is Beautiful. It’s hard to
keep up. Christian seems intent on empowering
impoverished communities all over the world with wind-up
technology—devices that need no electricity or batteries
and minimal maintenance.
Watching him in full flow is astonishing. He’s
passionate and committed to improving the lives of the less
fortunate. Through his telecommunications company, he’s
intent on being first to market with a wind-up mobile
phone.
Whoa. I had no idea. I mean I knew about his passion
about feeding the world, but this . . .
Lance seems unable to comprehend Christian’s plan to
give the technology away and not patent it. I wonder
vaguely how Christian made all his money if he’s so willing
to give it all away.
Throughout dinner a steady stream of men in smartly
tailored dinner jackets and dark masks stop by the table,
keen to meet Christian, shake his hand, and exchange
keen to meet Christian, shake his hand, and exchange
pleasantries. He introduces me to some but not others. I’m
intrigued to know how and why he makes the distinction.
During one such conversation, Mia leans across and
smiles.
“Ana, will you help in the auction?”
“Of course,” I respond only too willing.
By the time dessert is served, night has fallen, and I’m
really uncomfortable. I need to get rid of the balls. Before I
can excuse myself, the master of ceremonies appears at
our table, and with him—if I’m not mistaken—is Miss
European Pigtails.
What’s her name? Hansel, Gretel . . . Gretchen.
She’s masked of course, but I know it’s her when her
gaze doesn’t move beyond Christian. She blushes, and
selfishly I’m beyond pleased that Christian doesn’t
acknowledge her at all.
The MC asks for our envelope and with a very
practiced and eloquent flourish, asks Grace to pull out the
w
本章未完，点击下一页继续阅读。