The slender brunette maid puts down the soup course-turtle soup, which Clara absolutely despises-and walks back through the butler's pantry.

"I wish to speak with you about my new driver, Mr. Sleater," Nucky says to his daughter. He watches Clara absentmindedly pretending to take polite sips of the soup. As per usual these days, her mind seems a million miles away. "Clara?"

"I'm sorry, your new driver?" Clara repeats, trying to remember if she's met anyone new working for her father. A few days ago, she thinks, she was struggling with a box from the stationary store as she entered the suite and a younger man helped her. He had an accent, she remembers vaguely. She was in a hurry because she had an article due the next day and Richard had just managed to get a note to her asking if they could meet on the Boardwalk that evening. "The Irishman?"

Margaret stares at Nucky's daughter, the young woman who politely plays with the children when she comes around, sends flowers whenever Margaret has done her the slightest favor (Clara will doubtlessly send a thank you note and a bunch of tulips as thank you for the dinner she's barely touching), and who never seems quite real. Usually, Clara feels less like an actual person and more like an actress with a script listing the part 'daughter of Enoch Thompson: Atlantic City Treasurer' and she performs the role when called upon. Still, Margaret finds it hard to believe that any warm-blooded young woman could be immune to Owen Sleater's appeal.

"The Irishman has all the maids and two of the neighbor-women all a twitter," Margaret replies. She refuses to think of her own reaction.

"Is he particularly charming?" Clara asks, still trying to remember something about him. Blandly handsome, accent, tried to joke with her, she thinks.

"Yes, he is," Nucky answered. "We've been down this path before, Clara. Please fight the urge to turn him into one of your rescued strays, your new best friend, or whatever it is you typically do. He's not some lost little soul for you to adopt; he's a skilled man with a job to do."

I don't even think I could pick this man out of a crowd, Clara thinks with annoyance. "Okay."

Margaret stares at her. She wouldn't describe Clara as friendly. Margaret thought when she and the children left the old house last year she doubted Clara spared many thoughts for them. She was typically pleasant and always polite, but again Margaret thinks back to the old house. The Clara who spent most of her time talking to the bodyguard, The Tin Man, wasn't playing a part. She wasn't being pleasant. That girl seemed real-friendly, interested, flawed-in a way that the mannered miss sitting at the table never did.

"Is it James, then?" Her father asks. Annoyance begins to spread through Clara. She was sick to the death of this stupid, stupid war, and worst of all she knew it was still in the opening skirmishes.

"Is what Jimmy?" She answered in her brightest social voice but with venom in her eyes.

"Are you in love with James?"

Clara wonders where this unexpected turn in the conversation came from. She chooses her words with intent. "Father, whatever issue you and Jimmy are having, he's like my brother. I will always love James. Always. As a brother. Also, he's married?"

"Yes, I appreciate how neither of you thought to tell me what the purpose of that little trip was until after you returned."

Only a lifetime of being expected to perform well in public kept her from rolling her eyes. Father and Jimmy were like two children fighting over hurt feelings, she thought, except the toys they were throwing at each other could cause real damage.

"I still wonder if something isn't going on with you," Nucky said, trying to determine what about his daughter seems different. She's been different since those fucking d'Alessios attacked her and she foolishly blew up her life by ending her engagement with Darcy. But since the night he was arrested she had seen even more different. Softer, dreamier, distracted, and yet always on edge. Was James trying to manipulate her?

Clara found the idea that her love for Richard is written all over her unsettling since she does not enjoy people knowing her thoughts or feelings unless she expressly and purposefully shares them. She did not need her father heading down this path. "It's been a trying year. But, just so we are clear, I'm not in love with Jimmy, Tommy, the Irishman, Eddie, Father Brennan, Uncle Eli, the Commodore, any of the alderman, any of your ward bosses or assistant ward bosses, any government official that comes to the Ritz, any staff member at the Ritz, Mr. Stratemeyer, Mr. White, your associates from New York, that horrid little troll from Chicago, Eddie Cantor, Babette, Mr. Whitlock, Mr. Neary, the men at the Chop Suey shop, President Harding, or Mayor Bador." Clara pauses, then smiles. "Well, perhaps I'm a little in love with Tommy."

How very odd, Margaret thought, that Clara didn't simply declare she wasn't in love with anyone, and that the man she's actually seen Clara seem like a real, warm young woman with isn't on the list.

"And what of the Tin Man, dear?" Margaret asks, thinking of the time she looked back on the stairs as Emily screamed and saw Clara's hands were on top of the bodyguard's, Clara still in her pajamas, Mr. Harrow in his undershirt.

Clara smiled her best social smile, but said in a serious voice and with real feeling in her eyes, "I'm madly in love with Richard Harrow. The moment he asks, I'm his."

Margaret was struck by how alike Clara and Enoch's eyes are, and how Enoch doesn't look up to see what's in the eyes of his only living child. Margaret sees it, though. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that Clara's blood ran hot.

"Very funny, Clara," Nucky said as the maid came to clear the soup course away.

***********************

It's the Irishman who drives Clara back to the Ritz since her father is staying (as usual) with Margaret. She makes an effort to be nice, partly because she's rather ashamed that this man has apparently been around her without her notice, and partly because her father's high handed commands annoyed her. Mr. Sleater is attractive, she thinks, but his charm is far too obvious for her taste. Part of her realizes his job is to assist her father in fighting Jimmy-and by extension Richard-and she feels like she's going to choke. This man will never be her friend.

Owen Sleater notices her obvious attempts at being friendliness. She's a right little madam, this one, he thinks. He's known many a rich girl, and this one seems little different. Spoiled, careless, and considered servants and employees beneath her notice.

Still, though, this is Thompson's beloved princess and knowledge is power. He can see her subtle excitement and desperation to get back to the Ritz. She must have some evening plans, he thinks. He drops her by the lobby door, and then leaves the car and follows her into the lobby. Instead of waiting by the elevators, Clara is walking out the door to the Boardwalk. He follows her.

Clara walks towards the Steel Pier before turning down an alley. Sleater dashes behind a potted tree. As she walks down the alley a tall, slim figure emerges from the shadows and takes her gloved hands in his before she leans up to kiss him. The man turns his face slightly and light hits it oddly.

Metal.

Sleater almost laughs out loud. He'd seen-hell, he'd had- rich girls slumming, but Clara Thompson slumming it with the half-faced hitman was an unexpected turn of events. After a few minutes of talking and kissing, they walk hand in hand towards Connecticut Avenue. Sleater stays far back, but he realizes the girl must have Harrow's complete attention because Harrow never even looked back. A far cry from the man who immediately had the jump on him, Sleater thinks. On the street, they spend about five minutes looking at a Model T that looked like every other Model T he'd ever seen. Clara was quite obviously excited, though, and Harrow looked some mixture of proud and happy. Finally, Harrow helps her up into the car, but they stand there kissing for a few minutes before Harrow finally gets the driver's seat and drives away.

When he goes back to his room he thinks long and hard about how to use this knowledge to his advantage. Finally, he decides he'd do nothing. Right now, he was firmly in Thompson's good graces as it was; telling him his daughter was seeing his enemy's disfigured point man would be burning a potential advantage for no reason. But later, later that information might pay off with nice results. After all, it wasn't just Thompson but Harrow whom he now had power over. Harrow might yet regret leaving him alive.