“I hope so.” Our dinners arrived. Fried chicken for him, meat loaf for me. “I should be back in a week or two.”
When we’d finished and returned to the country house, he asked me to let him know if Angela called. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow, but you have my code.”
“Absolutely,” I said.
“I hope we get something on the trophy.” He went to his quarters, supposedly to retire, but he was gone only a few minutes when I heard the piano. I checked on Wayfield’s lamp. It still hadn’t moved. I informed him and suggested we might want to lower the asking price. He wasn’t happy.
I called it a night and returned to the cottage. In the morning, when I arrived at the country house, Gabe was gone.
V.
,
,
,
,
.
I’d been working in the country house almost thirteen years, most of it under Alex’s direction. He spent a lot of time on the road, and I suspect I was alone in the building as often as not. Nobody lives close to us. No other human habitation is visible through any of the windows. Nevertheless, I never felt a sense of solitude. Maybe that was because of Jacob; maybe it was because Alex was forever calling in with assignments, asking me to run over to the Bannerman Artifact Center to get an estimate on the value of a ninth-century car, or to visit someone who was interested in details about a three-thousand-year-old tablet that had once belonged to a dictator on Toxicon. But that morning, with Gabe and Alex both away on their projects, I could feel the emptiness of the place.
We’d been having disruptive weather off and on for several days. It was growing increasingly turbulent, so much so that I’d decided if it didn’t ease off, I’d pass on going home that night. Thunder and lightning were so severe I was almost ready to hide under a table. Rain pounded the building. There wasn’t much work to be done. I finished it before noon and was playing chess with Jacob when he told me we had a call. he said.
From April? Uh-oh. “Put her through, Jacob.”
He made the connection. “Hello, April? This is Chase. I’m sorry, but Gabe isn’t here.”
She appeared in the center of the room, wearing a light blue jacket and gray slacks. She was standing on a lawn under threatening skies. she said. Thunder shook the building and the image faded for a few moments. Then she was back.
“No, not at all. What can I do for you?”
“Yes, he’s fine. Why do you ask?”
She hesitated.
“No, April. He’s off on an interstellar mission. We don’t expect to see him for a week or two.”
She sounded simultaneously disappointed and relieved.
I got out of my chair, came around in front of the desk so we were within arm’s reach of each other. “He’s good,” I said. “I can transfer you to him if you want. He’s probably at the terminal waiting for a flight to the space station.” She looked uncomfortable. “Are okay, April?”
“I’ll tell him.”
And she was gone.
I looked out at the storm. Thunder rumbled overhead.
April hadn’t gotten over either.
I’ve never really loved anyone. love, that is. I’ve gone through occasional flings, but I’ve never been in a relationship that would have been capable, had things gone wrong, of tearing me apart.
To be honest, I’ve never been convinced serious love affairs actually happen. The ones I’ve observed from a distance inevitably seem to wear out over time. They suggest a kind of quantum entanglement in which the participants talk themselves into a condition that exists only on a temporary basis. Maybe I’m wrong. I don’t know.
Maybe I’ve just never met the right guy. There’ve been a couple in my life that got my chemistry going. Alex was one of them. But I just haven’t seen anyone yet who could have the kind of effect that shows up in romantic movies. I was surprised back in the old days when Gabe told me about his engagement with April. Odd. I’d always thought he was too smart to fall in love.
The storm eased off that afternoon. Alex called shortly before dinnertime to make sure everything was okay. The media were describing it as one of the severest storms the area had seen in living memory.
The skies cleared in the early evening and gave us a bright full moon. I was in the conference room watching and getting ready to go home when Angela called.
She stepped out of a glimmering light, smiled, and said, “Hi, Chase.”
Nice effect. “Hello, Angela.” It had been about five years and I’d forgotten what she looked like.
she said. Lush red hair enveloped her shoulders, and she had a body that might have belonged to an athlete. It made me wonder if, like her brother, she’d been, or still was, a mountain-climbing enthusiast.
“I guess, first, I should tell you that Dr. Benedict isn’t here just now. He’s off on an expedition of some sort. He’d want me to assure you he’ll get back to you, but it’ll be a while.”
“When he got home, your trophy was one of the first things he asked about.”
That past tense did not sound good. “I hope nothing happened to it.”
“Angela, it wouldn’t have been ethical for me to keep it.”
An embarrassed look swept across her features.
“I know.” I took a deep breath. “Dr. Benedict will be interested in what you have to say about it. Do you mind if I record the conversation?”
She reached out, brought a chair into the picture, and sat down. was
“We don’t know. It might have been. That’s the reason Dr. Benedict wanted to get another look at it. What did you do with it?”