EVEN as a teenager Trevor had been conservative, playing it safe with Billy Joel, polo shirts and light beer. In his twenty-eighth year, however, he saw a trilby in a shop window and his desire to have it astonished him. It was a classic hat, common in its time, but now terribly fashionable. Could he wear it? What would it say about him? Would it change the way people viewed him, the way he saw himself? Five months later, butterflies careering about his stomach, he left the shop, the hat in a bag and the world at his feet.