Amaryllis

"He had very high standards," Amaryllis said quietly.

"His standards, as you call them, drove the rest of us nuts. Gifford Osterley left the faculty because of him, you know."

"No, I didn't realize that."

"Landreth and Gifford got into a major row over changes in the curriculum." Effie shook her head. Her beautifully cut hair swung in a perfect wave. "Gifford never stood a chance, of course. Landreth outranked him. When the smoke cleared, Gifford handed in his resignation."

"I see."

"It may have been for the best. Gifford has his own firm, probably making double what he used to make here. He always was ambitious."

"The pay is definitely better in the commercial world," Amaryllis agreed. She got to her feet. "Good-bye, Effie. It was great to see you again. Good luck with the new position."

"Thanks." Effie surveyed her office with satisfaction. "I can tell you one thing, things are going to be a different around here."

"I believe you." Amaryllis turned and walked into the outer office.

Irene looked up as she went past the desk. "Oh, Miss Lark, there's something I wanted to tell you."

"What was that?"

Irene cleared her throat discretely and lowered her voice. "Professor Landreth was always so proud of you. He used to tell me that you were the most talented prism he had ever trained."

Amaryllis took a step closer to the desk, aware of a little twinge of warmth deep inside. "Did he really say that?"

"Yes." Irene's eyes abruptly glistened with unshed tears. "Everyone around here seems to be glad that he's gone. They all talk about how things are going to change now that the old coot, as they call him, is out of the picture. But I miss him, Amaryllis."

"Oh, Irene." Amaryllis went behind the desk and put her arms around the older woman. "I miss him, too."

Irene turned reverent eyes toward the portrait of Jonathan Landreth that hung on the far wall. "I went to work for him after my husband died, and I was with him for twenty-five years. He was good to me. Miss Lark. He was a little gruff on the outside, but he contributed so much to this department. And he always told me that I was invaluable to him. Invaluable. That was his exact word. He needed me, Miss Lark."

Amaryllis hugged the older woman's broad shoulders for a few seconds. She felt tears well in her own eyes. "I think we may be the only people who miss him."

Irene stared at the portrait. "I'm afraid so."

The phone call came late that afternoon. Byron had already left the office for the day, and Amaryllis was almost out the door. She glanced at the shrilly ringing instrument and debated the wisdom of answering it. It couldn't be Lucas. She was crazy to think that he might call. He had made his opinion of her very clear last night. He wasn't the sort of man who would be attracted to a prissy little prig.

The phone rang again. It was no doubt a business call. Amaryllis's sense of responsibility overcame her odd reluctance to pick up the receiver. She reached for it.

"Psynergy, Inc. Amaryllis Lark speaking."

There was silence on the other end of the line, but Amaryllis could hear someone breathing.

"Hello? You've reached the offices of Psynergy, Inc. Can I help you?"

"You were a friend of Landreth's." The words sounded muffled, as though the caller spoke through a thick cloth. It was impossible to tell if the voice belonged to a man or a woman.

"Who is this?" Amaryllis asked sharply.

"If you want to learn the truth about Jonathan Landreth, talk to the woman called Vivien of the Veils."

Amaryllis gripped the phone very tightly. "Tell me who you are."

"She's a syn-sex stripper. Works at a nightclub called SynCity. Ask her about Jonathan Landreth if you want to know the truth."

"Wait. Please, tell me what this is all about."

The line went dead. The caller had cut the connection.

Chapter 6

"Good morning, Mr. Trent. Hobart Batt from Synergistic Connections here. Just thought I'd check in to see if you were having any trouble filling out the registration forms. We had rather expected to have it back by now."

Lucas tightened his fingers around the phone. He told himself not to lose his temper with the syn-psych counselor. It was unfortunate that Batt's chiding tone set his teeth on edge, but it did not take much to do that this morning.

It was Monday, three whole days since the fiasco in Amaryllis's bedroom. Lucas knew that he ought to be glad that Hobart Batt had called. It was definitely time to get moving on the task of finding a suitable wife. But for some reason it was the last subject he wanted to discuss.

"I haven't had a chance to finish the questionnaire," Lucas tied.

"No problem," Hobart assured him. "A lot of clients get bogged down in the middle of the questionnaire. It's somewhat lengthy, but that's only because we here at Synergistic Connections pride ourselves on being thorough."

"Yeah, sure. Thorough." Lucas opened a drawer and slowly withdrew the thick questionnaire. He gazed at it with a sense of deep foreboding.

"A properly filled out questionnaire gives us a good basis to begin the matchmaking process," Hobart continued briskly. "The results will, of course, be supplemented by the extensive personal interview. At that time we'll also administer a revised MPPI."

"MPPI?"

"The Multipsychic Paranormal Personality Inventory. The standard syn-psych test used with high-class talents such as yourself."

"Do you use it with strong prisms, too?"

"Certainly," Hobart said. "We're all accustomed to thinking of prisms and talents as being quite different from each other, but technically speaking, the ability to focus a talent through a psychically generated prism is itself a talent."

Lucas cleared his throat. "Do you ever match full-spectrum prisms and high-class talents? I mean, I know it must be a very rare occurrence, but I just wondered if it happens once in a while."

"Almost never. Everyone knows that full spectrums are rarely compatible with very strong talents," Hobart said.

"Because the prisms are so damn picky?"

Hobart chuckled. "Well, yes, in a sense. They prefer to think of themselves as extremely selective. But, then, so are powerful talents. Once in a great while we get a match, though. As I recall, the last one that we did at this firm was some five years ago. Why?"

"Just asking."

"How far into the questionnaire are you, Mr. Trent?"

Lucas flipped open the first page and gazed moodily at the array of questions. "I'm still on the first section."

"Preferred physical characteristics?" Hobart made a tut-tutting sound. Distinct disapproval this time. "My, we aren't making much progress, are we?"

"We?"

Hobart coughed slightly. "Say, what if I drop by your office this morning and give you a hand."

"Never mind, I can do this myself."

"Exactly which question are you stuck on, Mr. Trent?" Hobart asked suspiciously.

Lucas scanned the list. "Eye color. I'm doing eye color even as we speak."

"You haven't gotten past eye color?"

"I had to do some thinking on the subject, but I've reached a conclusion. Whoever she is, she'll have to have green eyes." Lucas picked up a pen and circled the word green on the questionnaire.

"Green eyes? I thought you told me when you came to the office that you weren't too particular about physical characteristics. You said you wanted to emphasize compatibility, intelligence, and temperament."

"Call me shallow, but I've decided I want a woman who is compatible, intelligent, good-tempered, and who also has green eyes. Is there a problem with that, Batt? Because if so, I can always go to another agency."

"No, no, it's not a problem, Mr. Trent," Hobart assured him quickly. "I just hadn't realized that you were so particular about that sort of thing. Now, then, if you need any help with the questionnaire, please remember that, as your personal syn-psych counselor. I'm available for consultation at any time."