James Livingston walked quietly into the nearly deserted Recital Hall.   He thought it was such a shame that Americans had deserted their culture in the face of such a trial.   Being English, he'd never lost his perspective.  But then again, his countrymen tended to be more calm and rational in the face of crisis.   A very British view, he'd been told.<br/><br/>He'd actually been home, visiting his family when the disease ripped through that part of the world and had the pleasure of being the only member of his family capable of carrying on the family name.  Which meant that he was technically Sir James Livingston but another thing about Americans that he'd found was while they appeared enamored by Nobility, they tended to otherwise ignore it.  Fortunately, he had the wealth of a long family line and the accent to back up his mannerisms.   All the years of travel; he still sounded and acted English.<br/><br/>He made his way to the front of the Recital Hall, entering though a door marked for staff only.   He walked past security, as they'd been expecting him and entered the wings of the stage.   He politely tapped one of the assistants on the shoulder, inquiring where he'd might find one Miss Melissa Hall.   He requested that he see Miss Hall as soon as the concert was over, producing his badge from beneath his suit jacket long enough to show it to her.  "Do be a dear and go fetch her for me, would you, dear lady?"<br/><br/>With the rather odd request left hanging in the air, he repocketed the badge then stood quietly awaiting the return of the assistant with the woman he'd requested the presence of.