Perturbation method

y the end of the second week in October 2004, the violent hurricane season in Florida had tailed off and plans once again resumed with the liaison for the group in Jacksonville with respect to arranging a meeting as soon as possible.

Having no social contact with anyone in this area for the prior year or more and with no particular interest in celebrating my semicentennial birthday (yes, 50 years, egads!) I decided that a week in Tallahassee after my meetings would be a suitable and pleasant way in which to embark on the next and hopefully more delightful chapter in my life.

I chose to drive, rather than fly, to give myself more flexibility and have the opportunity to leave my schedule as open-ended as possible. I knew that my surprise visit might find Doug unable to break away, immediately, from work requirements, but hoped that we could at least meet and then see what might be arranged. In fact, if necessary, should he need a couple of days to clear his schedule, I could always head down to Boca Grande to spend a few days in my family vacation home in the meantime, until he could arrange some time off.

I piled the suitcases in my vehicle and scanned the map to review my planned route. My plan was to divide the trip to Florida into a little over two days, if at all practical. The trip of more than 1,200 miles flashed by, most likely due to my excitement to finally meet Doug in person. I tied up my consultations with the investors within three days upon arrival in Jacksonville, and on Sunday evening set out for the couple of hours drive across the state to the panhandle.

I pulled into the hotel in Tallahassee just before 9:00PM and checked into the suite. I knew I wouldn't rest that night, and drew a hot bubble bath and enjoyed a glass of my favourite shiraz. Surprisingly, I slept well and awoke fully rested the next morning. I rustled through the mixture of business and casual attire that I had toted with me on the 1200 mile trek and opted to wear a white blouse and a black miniskirt with a pair of strappy black high-heeled sandals. That would be ideal!

Just after 10:00AM, I set out for the short drive over to the Reynolds Smith & Hills office on Raymond Diehl Road. Upon pulling up to the main entrance, for a moment I reflected on whether it would have been a good idea to have at least called before coming. On the other hand, when called to the lobby by his secretary, I wanted to see the look on his face to see me standing there. I tucked both photographs he'd sent me into my purse before entering the building and proceeded to ask for Doug.

Doug?" she asked. "Yes, Doug. May I see him? I won't take too much of his time" I replied. "I'm sorry there's no Doug here. Are you sure you have the correct name?" she replied. "I'm sorry, I should have been a little clearer, may I see Mr. Reynolds. That would be Mr. Reynolds, the son of the founder of the company. I have photographs". I smiled as I realised that he had given me the wrong first name, little bugger, I thought and proceeded to pull out the photographs to pass to her. With that she excused herself and whistled through the door to the right of the room.

About twenty minutes passed before she returned. "We have no Mr. Reynolds here. Mr. Reynolds was a founder of the business many, many years ago, prior to the first merger in the 1960s, but there is no relative of Mr. John F. Reynolds that is working for RS&H at this time or ever as far as I know. None of us knows who this person is. I checked with our corporate headquarters in Jacksonville, but there's no one by that name in the organisation in Florida. There must be some mistake, I'm sorry" she replied. I struggled to conceal the shock and noticed my hands were trembling as I reached out to take the photographs from her. "Thank you so much for your trouble. I beg your pardon; you've been most helpful ". I wanted to run towards to door to exit but didn't wish to draw attention to the aching and paralysing feeling that was welling up inside.

Once safely out of sight and in my car, the first tears began to erupt and stream down my face. I raced back to the hotel; tossed my belongings in the suitcase and dashed to the foyer to check out. The few minutes that the desk attendant took to pull up my folio and process the charges to my account seemed like an age. She asked if all had been to my liking, most likely because I had reserved the room for a week and was checking out after one night. I replied that there was an emergency and that I was being called out of town and hustled out of the hotel and towards my vehicle parked in the loading zone. I launched the suitcase into the back and plopped behind the steering wheel, trembling. I was still wearing the clothes I'd carefully selected for my first encounter, and slipped off my heels and placed them on the seat next to me. I didn't even stop for coffee, a staple of my daily diet, before navigating the streets to the highway that would take me for the 1200 mile trip back home. Home? What home? I knew I belonged nowhere.

The sign for the Georgia border loomed and whistled past me as I raced north-bound on the highway, clenching the steering wheel in the hope that it would control what appeared to be involuntary shaking. Tears streamed down my face like an endless waterfall. I decided that before crossing the Florida border in Georgia, I should attempt to make a call. I had no idea how cell phone reception would be for the next couple of hours of the trip. I pulled over under an overpass, dried my eyes and proceeded to remove a crumpled piece of yellow paper from my purse that I'd torn from the phonebook in the hotel suite. Besides, I knew I had to make the call now or else I would not be able to stumble through the information. The font was small and my contact lenses were tear smeared and made reading the fine print difficult. I selected one of the bolder entries and began to dial. The phone rang three times before a woman answered "Good Morning, Executive Investigations of Tallahassee. May I help you?"

I'd travelled across the entire state of Georgia and was approaching the northern border later that day before Scott Hunt returned my call.