Washington is breathlessly waiting to see if Pat Traymore can penetrate the beautiful Senator’s icy reserve. According to Luther Pelham, news director and anchorman of Potomac Cable, the program will include highlights of the Senator’s private and public life. Her first subject will be Abigail Jennings, the very private senior Senator from Virginia. Pat has the magical gift of getting people to reveal themselves with remarkable candor. Her profiles of celebrities on Boston Cable have twice been nominated for Emmys. The Washington Tribune had carried the most detailed story: Auburn-haired Patricia Traymore, with her husky voice and sympathetic brown eyes, will be an attractive addition to Potomac Cable Network.

She had read all of them to see if there was any mention of the address where she would live, but there had been none. The announcement of her move to Potomac Cable Network to do a series called Women in Government had appeared in many television-news columns. Pat had tried to dismiss the event as one of the many crank calls received at television stations, but it was impossible not to be troubled. I am an angel of mercy, of deliverance-and of vengeance. The answer, delivered in the same syrupy murmur, made her hands unpleasantly moist. She had heard the audible gasp of the operator. You must not produce a program glorifying Senator Jennings. She had picked up the receiver, identified herself and listened as a soft but distinctly masculine voice murmured, 'Patricia Traymore, you must not come to Washington.

Some kind of weirdo insists on talking to you. I’ve let it get to me.Ī few days before she’d left her job at the cable station in Boston, the switchboard operator had buzzed her. The long front windows were half-hidden by shrubbery that had been allowed to grow.Īfter the nine-hour drive from Concord her body ached every time she moved, but she found herself putting off the moment when she opened the front door and went inside. It was the only one on the street that was unlighted, and its graceful lines were barely discernible. She sat for a while at the curb, studying the house. That must be it, she thought-the corner house. She turned onto N Street, drove one more block, still searching for house numbers, and crossed the intersection. The effect was one of Early American tranquillity. The cloud-filled sky was dark streetlights blended with the carriage lamps that flanked doorways Christmas decorations gleamed against ice-crusted snow. Pat drove slowly, her eyes scanning the narrow Georgetown streets.

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