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ALL IRREGULARITIES WILL BE HANDLED BY THE FORCES CONTROLLING EACH DIMENSIONTRANSURANIC HEAVY ELEMENTS MAY NOT BE USED WHERE THERE IS LIFE
MEDIUM ATOMIC WEIGHTS ARE AVAILABLE GOLD, LEAD, COPPER, JET, DIAMOND, RADIUM, SAPPHIRE, SILVER AND STEEL
SAPPHIRE AND STEEL HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED
1980 when it isn't 1930
Once upon a time there was a room scented with the weight of time. It was a clean room, pale and colored in light shades of yellow. The delicate petals of the pale roses complimented it perfectly.
There was a bearded man in round spectacles, a dignified tuxedo gracing his aged body. His hair was perfect, not a dark gray strand out of place. He stood by the window smoking a cigar and watching the elderly woman with barely veiled amusement.
She was graced with silvery-white hair, and as perfectly coifed. It was drawn back from a wide forehead, a long oval face that must have been astonishingly lovely in years past. She wore a black silken gown. A black choker rested delicately upon her neck, and below it was a strand of perfect, white pearls. She arranged the roses in a vase on the table in front of her, then spoke to the slim, elderly butler standing beside her with roses in his hands.
"Greville, isn't it a little late to send flowers?"
With gentle subservience he replied, "I think you shall have to use them, Miss Emma. They'd be very hurt if you didn't."
She answered him with silent exasperation as she added a pink rose to the ones already in the vase. The pale pinks, the red, the white and yellow and lavender, "Roses. The roses were always so much nicer, then."
Hearing her, the bearded, spectacled man stepped away from the window, revealing himself to be more than a head shorter than the butler. With his own exasperation he said, "Never mind the roses, Emma. The guests will be arriving shortly."
The butler, Greville, stood guard over his mistress' sensibility, bending slightly to the man at his side. "These have only just arrived, sir." He watched Miss Emma with an indulgent smile.
Still adjusting the bouquet, she said firmly, "I remember the house was always full of perfect roses." She placed another red rose as she saw fit.
Exasperated, the spectacled man came to the opposite side of her. "Oh please, come on Emma!"
She picked the last two roses, a pink and white, from Greville's hands and looked up at the other man with the sweet innocence of either a child, or a very elderly woman. "Everything seemed more perfect in those days, didn't it, dear?"
His eyebrows shot up and he shifted with outrage, bringing his cigar to his lips. "It should be perfect now! It's damned well cost me enough to make it that way!"
She turned to him, angered by his pomposity. "It was your idea, Arthur," she reminded him sternly before turning back to the roses.
"That's right," he said, and moved away across the room. "And now that I've gone to all this expense, we're going to go along with it." He turned on his heel and waggled the index finger of his right hand, the one with the cigar, at her. "And don't make any faux pas, Emma!"
"No, Arthur," she replied obediently as she finished the bouquet. "I'll try not to." She and Greville both gave him a quiet look that he did not quite trust. The butler was too solicitous of her, and it troubled him.
He continued sternly, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. "Remember the date, and remember the year!"
Folding a delicate white cloth Greville had handed to her, she responded, "Yes, dear. Such a lovely day, and such an exciting year!"
He turned away from her towards the decanters on the far table. "June the 21st, 1930!"
"Yes, dear," she replied cheerfully.
"Good! Greville, did you manage to get the g -- "
"Ah, yes sir," the butler replied firmly, though with no trace of annoyance as the master of the house turned towards him.
With a wry laugh, Arthur stuck his cigar in his mouth, then took it out as he came back to Emma's side. As he checked his pocket watch he said amusedly, "I should imagine that Wall Street and the stock exchange would say it was a little too damn exciting!" He put the watch back in his pocket, suddenly worried. "Stock exchange, damn!"
Emma looked up from the new thing she was doing, alerted. "What is it, Arthur?" Greville was folding the napkin for her as she settled her embroidered pocket-purse in her lap, running her fingers lovingly over the beautiful, intricate designs.
He swung about and started across the room. "I didn't get yesterday's closing prices on the Tokyo market."
Emma glanced up at Greville. "Oh dear."
Arthur marched to the padded green door in the wall on the other side of the room, brought out a small, silver box and depressed a button on it. There was a high-pitched whistle, along with a lower vibratory hum as the door opened.
Emma, distressed, pressed her fingertips against her cheekbones and said unhappily, "I don't care what he says, I can actually hear that thing."
Greville bent down to her and chided gently, "Ultrasonics, Miss Emma."
She looked up at him with mild outrage, the diamonds in her heavy, dangling earrings flashing in the light. "I don't care what they call it, Greville. I can hear it." She swatted his hands reprovingly.
Stepping through the green door was like stepping into another time. From rooms designed and then left in the 1930s to a room decorated in the late 70s, with far more practical bright lamps and lighting. Modern art hung upon the wall, black and white abstracts of geometrical shapes, glass and metal tables lined the short hall he hurried through.
His secretary Anne Shaw was busy typing away and said, "Good evening, sir."
Cheerily he answered her, "Good evening, Miss Shaw. Y'all right?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's good." He tore a page from the printout on the desk, glanced mildly at it, snorted and tossed it away. He crossed to the terminal and flicked it on, saying over his shoulder, "What did Tokyo close at?"
She was a red-head, pale with curled hair, and she paused in her typing to punch in the code that would relay the information to the screen Arthur sat in front of. Her pale green silk blouse complimented her dark green skirt beautifully. "Two point five up, my Lord, as you predicted."
Pleased, he said, "Good." She watched him alertly yet with patience as he puffed on his cigar. Nasty thing. "Hong Kong?"
She punched in that code to show him and answered firmly, "Recorded a point six percent rise on Mullrine International, and point four on Mullrine Engineering." She grinned in victory at him as the little man puffed up.
He was on his feet and away from the screen, a man who never stopped. "Splendid! You spoke to Fairfax in Washington?"
"Yes, sir. He managed to knock Lauderdale Arms and Caterpillars down to eight million dollars, U.S." She handed him the printout about the deal and he took it, laughing.
"I won't go to a cent more!" he said, practically crowing as he paced away and around to face her.
"I told him that, sir."
He was practically dancing on his feet. "Good." He shoved his free hand into his pocket and tilted his head in playful invitation. Obeying cheerfully, she came out from behind the desk, smiling, hands carefully behind her back. Like almost everyone, she towered above him. It did give him a certain satisfaction to have these giants at his beck and call.
Rolling back on his heels he asked cheerily, "And uh, what do you think of the outfit, eh?"
She shook her head admiringly. "Exactly right, sir."
Affecting indignation he said, "Damned well should be! The tailor charged me four-hundred quid to make it!" He paced around behind her and she turned to watch him admiringly. "Not a single trace of polyester or synthetic fiber in the whole suit!" He took her arm in his hand conspiratorially. "Got him to guarantee that."
She smiled warmly at him and began, "Authentic" he spoke with her "through and through!" They nodded together, voices intimate with laughter.
He spun away towards the white door, marching down the hall. "Yes, well, if it's worth doing at all, it's worth doing thoroughly."
"Indeed, yes."
His hand on the knob, he turned quickly. "Oh, by the way! You're not to come out of this door under any circumstances! You understand, Miss Shaw?" He came back to her urgently. "Under any circumstances, whatsoever! It would spoil the whole effect; I mean, your clothes, and y -- "
She bent determinedly, reassuring him. "I understand, sir!"
He stepped to the other door to emphasize his point, whirling back to her. "Good. If you want to go out, you'll have to use this door. I don't want anyone to see you!"
Long-suffering, but easily hiding it, she answered, "I intended to work through the weekend, anyway, sir!"
He cupped her cheek in his right hand, became aware of the dangers of indulgence and patted her condescendingly. "You're a very good girl. And you, uh... don't have to go through the house for your bedroom in the annex..?" he touched her hand conspiratorially.
She let an affectionate giggle into her voice. "Uh, no, sir."
He let it go, then, bowing his head to her. "All right, then. See you Monday." He began again the march towards the door to another time.
She said, "I hope you have a super party, sir."
"Well, it'll be different, anyway." He paused and turned to her, his hand outstretched to the handle of the door. "Have to mark our fiftieth year of operation, don't we? Seems a good a way as any." He glanced up at the plastic calendar on the wall, that they had already arranged to show the date they were pretending it to be. He read it with mild amusement. 21, June, Saturday, 18:30. "Twenty-first of June. The summer solstice. I remember noting it, then." He was bemused by the strangeness of memory. He stepped through the door.
An age long gone and forgotten by too many. The wooden floors, the couches with their fringes, the lamps equally fringed. Emma sat in the chair by the roses she had arranged so beautifully. Greville met his eyes and shook a metal decanter conspiratorially. Arthur grinned. "Ah, the cocktails. Good man, Greville. Splendid chap." As the butler left the room, Arthur turned about, giving the walls a once-over to make certain there was nothing posted to spoil the theme of his party. He found himself stopping to stare at a portrait of the darkly handsome, brooding young man he had been fifty years before. Where had the years gone?
Emma spoke behind him. "Yes, Arthur. You look very handsome." He nodded. At that moment, the ancient doorbell rang its jangling summons. Excited, Emma turned her head. "Ah, the first guests!"
Satisfied by his portrait, Arthur bounced back a bit on his heels. "Yes. Now it all begins."
Emma pulled out a pouch and began powdering her nose, her voice quavering. "How silly of me. I feel quite nervous."
Distracted by thoughts of the coming party, Arthur answered her absently. "Yes. How silly of you, Emma."
In the office, Anne Shaw locked the closet behind her desk and was about to get back to work when she saw the delicate, silver box on her desk. This was the tool that would open the door between the main house and these business offices. Oh dear! She snatched it up and hurried towards that door. About to open it, she stopped. He had said not to open it under any circumstances. She tossed the electronic key lightly in her palm, her lips pursed in frustration. She leaned against the door, trying to listen. She could not hear through the heavy, padded door. No, she should not. She sighed and headed back towards her desk. It was late, already 6:30 in the evening.
"Well, he could get back here if he wanted to, silly old devil." She sat back down, under the shining picture that showed the time zones of the world.
Excited, Greville did a quick check of the taller doorman's uniform. Satisfied with it, he hurried to open the door. The woman who waited outside was dressed in a deep purple gown, with white furs draped across her shoulders. The man far behind her in the hall said, "Good evening, Greville."
He replied as calmly as he could, "Good evening, Mr. Harborough!"
The elderly woman came in, stately as she could at her age. "Good evening, Greville," she said musically.
"Good evening, Mrs. McDee," he bade her.
The younger woman behind her, of the curled dark hair, also said, "Good evening, Greville." The maid stepped forward to take their wraps.
Greville replied cheerfully, "Good evening, Mrs. Harborough."
"Good evening, Greville," said Mr. McDee, who entered next.
"Good evening, sir."
The men wore black tuxedos, with long white scarves hanging about their necks. Howard McDee, a pale-haired man, looked down his nose at the butler but without rancor. "I like your monkey suit, Greville," he commented mockingly.
But Greville could not be disturbed by such pettiness. "Nineteen-thirties, sir. Absolutely authentic," he said with pride.
With mild amusement, McDee looked at Harborough. "Hm. I'll bet the theatrical costumees must be having a field day."
His eyes twinkling, Greville cocked his head closer to the man. "All specially made, sir. By Lord Mullrine's personal tailor."
Harborough swept his white scarf off of his neck and spun away. "It must have cost a fortune."
Mrs. McDee leaned towards Mrs. Harborough and stage-whispered, "Does that imply that the shareholders will have reduced dividends this year?"
Mrs. Harborough's lips twisted in wry amusement. "God, I hope not."
The two women seemed almost like mother and daughter. Mrs. McDee wore shades of violet and lavender, and a diamond necklace. Mrs. Harborough work a brick red gown, but her necklace was diamond, though not as shining as Mrs. McDee's. Though they looked very different, their expressions were very similar. They combined wry amusement with a kind of jaded cynicism so few people wished to have.
Mr. Harborough announced, "The bags are in the car, Greville."
"Thank you, sir." Carrying the male guest's top hat and coat, he quickly signaled to the doorman, mouthed, "bags are in the car" and the other man hurried outside. Greville watched him go, amused and delighted. He crossed the room and came up against the obstacle of Mr. Harborough, who always seemed to make a habit of getting in the way. "Sorry, sir."
Mr. Harborough leaned down to him quizzically, McDee listening from nearby. "How many guest have been invited?"
Unperturbed, Greville said, "Well I've no idea, sir. Miss Emma saw to the invitations placed, bless her."
Mr. McDee sneered. "Oh, Lord. That spells trouble. Batty old flapper, she'll probably have half the county down here."
Annoyed, Greville stepped away to hide his irritation. Mrs. Harborough was as bad as Mr. McDee. "While the other half tries to get away," she sneered. They laughed mockingly.
Yet her husband stiffened and moved closer to her. He said with a smile, low and cool, "Keep your opinions to yourself, Annabelle." When she turned to meet his eyes with her own haughtiness, he weighted his voice and smiled icily with teeth at her. "If Mullrine wants to indulge his fantasies, let him. Go along with it, will you."
She met his eyes coldly, and his smile flicked off at her words. "Of course, darling. I think it's fun! Honestly." And yet she was not amused, her eyes angry at her husband.
Greville led them into the receiving room with a flourish, opening the doors wide to greet his employers. "Mrs. Felicity McDee, my lord, and Mr. Howard McDee. Mr. and Mrs. Felix Harborough."
As her brother/son shook hands with Mullrine, Mrs. McDee was drawn across the room. She stared up, time forgotten, at a picture there of a young man with a mustache. He had been more handsome than any other man she ever met. The black curtains of mourning had been pulled back just for their visit. Oh, the memories here that she had abandoned.
Emma's voice sludged through the suddenly thick air like a parachute. "Oh, how beautiful! How lovely you all look!" The voices faded and blurred into the background. Oh, she remembered him. She still remembered.
And then another voice was at her ear, a hated voice. Emma. "Hello, Felicity. How well you look." Shaken out of her trance, Felicity McDee turned to look at the other woman. Even now, after all this time? Emma's gaze turned to the portrait, but it was her face Felicity watched. That eternal, false innocence. "I do so wish George could have been here. He would have enjoyed it, wouldn't he?"
Felicity could barely contain her anger. It seeped into her tone slowly as she spoke, a verbal poison. She forcibly swung her gaze back to her dead husband's portrait. "George would have hated it, Emma. He always left ostentatious nonsense to you and your brother."
Emma's eyes glittered, half in amusement, half in hostility. She moved around, the better to see Felicity's expression. "Yes. Yes, I suppose so." She turned away, her eyes sharp on the lovely, dark-haired young woman confronting Greville across the room. Emma called out, "Annabelle. That dress is quite stunning." In obediance to the implied summons, the young woman crossed the room, showing off her curves in sinuous movement. She reached out one black gloved hand to take Emma's and they walked away together.
Mr. Harborough was speaking, "Arthur, you've been to a tremendous amount of trouble," he said to the man whose head barefly came up to the middle of his chest.
Smug with self-satisfaction, Arthur answered him, "Yes I have, haven't I?"
McDee cut in with the bored tones of the idle rich. "It's dead right, isn't it?"
"Absolutely."
"Every detail."
Taking a puff of his cigar, Arthur confirmed, "Every detail."
McDee challenged, "Except for...."
Alert, Arthur turned to him sharply. "Except for what?"
McDee, his fingers deep in his pockets, moved away across the room towards the wall. "Except for the black mourning crepe over my grandfather's portrait. Surely on June the twenty-first, 1930, he was very much alive, wasn't he Grandmama?"
Harborough tried to cut him off. "Howard -- "
Her voice ghostly with remembered loss, she said, "Yes, dear."
Standing at her side, he continued blithely. "No, no, no! Mullrine and McDee, the two whiz-kids of the Depression. Both hell-bent on making a second fortune for the Mullrine family!"
Harborough had made his way next to them, standing between the pair and the two women sitting on the loveseat behind, watching the exchange with interest. Arthur also moved past as Harborough uttered a low, menacing, "Yes, all right, Howard."
Sensing himself being reproved, Howard looked away. "Sorry."
Arthur bit back a sigh and turned away. His eyes fell on his trusted manservant. "Greville, whiskey and soda for the menfolk will you, please." He turned on his heel towards the two women seated in the loveseat as Greville moved to follow his orders. "And the ladies can have champagne or any of those damned newfangled cocktail things."
Annabelle Harborough almost laughed. "Splendid," she said, her voice low and rich.
As the McDees sat across from them, Emma said cheerfully, "What do you have in mind, Annabelle?"
Her arm stretched across the loveseat's arm, she smiled wickedly but spoke with utmost dignity. "I shall have a Green Goddess. I believe they were the in thing in 1930."
The Mullrines shared a glance of amusement. Arthur turned. "Greville, a Green Goddess for Mademoiselle, please if you w -- "
Emma cut him off merrily, turning to Annabelle. "Oh, don't be silly, ducky. You weren't even around then."
"Well, I've been doing my research."
Arthur turned away from her in exasperation. She would have to ruin the mood by reminding them of reality. Other voices raised in protest, but young McDee's cut across the muttering in amazed surprise. "I don't believe it! Does this thing work?"
He was standing in front of the old Wurlitzer, indicating it with his hand and looking around quizzically at Arthur, who replied, "Everything works."
His hands deep in his pockets, McDee said almost sheepishly, "Well, I was following the test match. Wanted to see how Boycott was getting on."
Puffing smoke towards the young man's arrogant face, Arthur said, "Be my guest." They were all just determined to spoil the mood! McDee eyed him hesitantly, glanced uncertainly at the radio, and he felt better. He urged the youngster, "Go on, switch it on!" With a mild snort of exasperation, the youngster reached to do so. He hit the switch in the middle. There was silence and he glanced by at Arthur, who was again puffing up with pride. "Well, they have to warm up, you know."
The innocence of the statement cheered young McDee and brought a genuine smile to his face, just as the whine of the radio became loud enough to hear. "Oh, that's good. That's very good." Arthur chuckled.
The signal cleared and a deep, brassy voice commanded the line. "Well, here we are back at the first test. The weather is still glorious here at Twin Bridge as Bradrun takes his stance with his fourth ball of the over."
Puzzled, McDee raised his chin. "Bradrun?" Arthur frowned, not understanding the confusion in the other man's voice.
The radio announcer continued. "Now it starts his long run, Ames well back, crouches behind the wicket -- " Harborough lifted his gaze, puzzled and curious to hear what would happen next " -- now it bowls fast a good length, and Bradrun flicks it sweet into the outermost culture-stroke! But Wally Hammond is there and there's no run."
McDee blinked, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He spoke over the announcer. "Bradrun, Larwood, Ames, Wally Hammond? This is extraordinary!" He listened intently as the voice continued.
"Australia, still one-hundred and twenty-three for one wicket, as Hammond returns the ball to Larwood."
Arthur raised his voice above the radio. "Trent Bridge. First test of the 1930 season, England against Australia!" He took a smug puff of his cigar.
The radio speaker was still going on. "Incidentally, speaking of Hammond's feilding, there's a story about it which is uh , if not true, at least ben-trevado." Harborough got out of the seat and joined the other two men at the radio, listening with interest, while behind him Greville brought something for the Mrs. McDee to drink. "It seems it was about a year ago when, Larwood was bowling and it was Brittany, Bradrun batting just as it is today, and Hammond was in the slips. Larwood bowled, Bradrun made a stroke there was a snick... and Hammond dived full length, and threw the ball up in front!" As the commentator continued, Harborough finally reached out and turned the radio around. He gently took the backing off. Sure enough, inside was a small, white tape player, a cord connecting it to the on-off switch. "Only, unfortunately it wasn't a ball. It was a swallow, which Hammond had caught as it -- " Harborough held the player in his right hand and shut it off, while Arthur Mullrine watched him with a mixture of indignation and stoic annoyance.
Harborough said mildly, "All done by mirrors. Or tape recorders." He looked mildly down at Arthur.
McDee sneered, half angry because he had enjoyed the surprise of the illusion. "Well that's clever. I wish to God there was a bookie handy, I know who won that game!"
Arthur tilted his head slightly to glower up at him. "You can't possibly, it hasn't ended yet." These men were such spoil-sports!
McDee continued, rocking slightly on his toes, studying the ceiling. "Now let me see, it was... well, I know every test score going back to Nineteen-eighteen. England/Australia, first test..." he trailed off as his mind went blank. After a moment he said, frowning, "That's funny. My memory's normally rather good. How strange, I can't remember"
Mrs. Harborough watched him expressionlessly, the white flower pinned in her hair startling in contrast against the rich brown of it. Her mind went blank and then cold ice crossed her senses. She gasped mildly and automatically clutched herself, only her left hand on her right arm, as he right hand rested on her left knee, crossed over her right.
Emma turned in concern. "Annabelle, are you all right?"
Puzzled, but holding her dignity, her rich voice rolling slightly, she rubbed her arm. "Yes, I think so. I just felt as if someone had -- "
Mrs. McDee cut in, her eyes twinkling. She was already slightly buzzed from the drink Greville had given her. "Walked over your grave?"
The old cliche brought a real laugh to Annabelle Harborough, who smiled warmly at the older woman. "Yes."
Mrs. McDee pushed herself to her feet under the watchful eyes of the other two woman and walked mostly steadily towards the portrait on the wall, her hands in their white gloves clasped together. Emma watched her alertly, setting her own glass on the coffee table. "This house has that effect on a lot of people. George used to loathe it."
Arthur came to her, looking up at her with barely controlled indignation. "On the contrary, as Emma will tell you, my late lamented partner did not loathe this house, Felicity. As a matter of fact he did some of his most creative work here, and my sister always made him feel most welcome."
Emma blinked back tears that threatened. She said with soft reproof, "Arthur, please."
Sensitive to the pained mood, Mr. Harborough crossed the room behind the two as Felicity spoke again. "He said it was an evil house."
Her voice trembling slightly, Emma held her hands on her knees. "Oh, no Felicity. Surely not."
Feeling oddly disoriented, Arthur spoke to the portrait. "Nothing ever changes, George."
Mr. Harborough had intended to pour another drink, but he looked in surprise at the label of the green wine bottle. "Allender Nineteen-twenty-seven?"
Shaken from his contemplation of the portrait, Arthur moved to Harborough, leaving Felicity McDee contemplating her grief. "Well of course."
Young McDee crossed the room, as usual his hands deep in his pockets, to join them, saying arrogantly, "It's a fallacy to assume that champagne matures with age! Now that bottle is -- "
Arthur said firmly, "Is only three years old and Nineteen twenty-seven was a very good year."
Annabelle Harborough had left the loveseat and came towards them. She had decided she enjoyed the game, and said firmly, "Yes it was. We had some only last week and it was simply divine."
Her husband frowned at her. "We've never had Allender Twenty-seven."
She stared at him, her mind feeling vaguely fogged preventing her from answering with the ice she might have. "Haven't we? I seem to remember..." she trailed off.
He frowned at her, while Arthur smiled in delight. "What?"
But it was Greville who spoke next. "May I, sir?" he asked, solicitously reaching for the champagne bottle. Harborough gave it to him and he began to pour.
Young McDee took Annabelle's left elbow in his hand, his eyes twinkling. He, too, was enjoying the game. "I thought everyone, but everyone, drank Allender Twenty-seven! I say, have you noticed it's getting quite dark outside?" His head fogged and he frowned, releasing Annabelle's arm in puzzlement.
Harborough stiffened in surprise. "That's impossible. It's not seven yet."
And yet it was true. Outside the windows the sky had turned a deep blue, and the corners of the room were shrouded in shadows where just a few moments earlier they had been warm with the light of day. Greville brought champagne to Mrs. McDee, who smiled and accepted the glass as her grandson continued.
Howard McDee said, "And the weather's glorious at Trent Bridge!"
"Yes?"
"You heard the wireless."
Mrs. McDee turned and stared at a white door in the wall. "No!" she said reflexively. The door became green and its nob vanished as she watched it. The green door that exited into more modern rooms. Disoriented, she trembled and stared at it. "No, that's impossible!"
Annabelle came to her side. "What's the matter?"
"That green door!" Her grandson came up behind her with concern, and Arthur too stood at her side.
He said in confusion, "What about it?"
She stuttered a bit. "Well I -- I could swear it -- it seemed to disappear!"
Her grandson chuckled. "Oh, come on grandmama. You've only just started your first glass of champagne!"
Actually, it was her second drink. But she had more pressing concerns. "I tell you it disappeared."
Emma said firmly, "Nonsense." She was watching Felicity expressionlessly, and yet her eyes were sharp on the other woman's face.
Felicity McDee met her look and said huffily, "Only for a second or two."
Emma responded with her own arrogance. "Doors don't disappear, Felicity."
The other woman rolled her eyes and looked back at the green door. "This one did." Strange, that however impossible it was she felt absolutely sure of what she had seen.
Arthur looked up at her. "That's the door to my office, Felicity."
She shrugged, looking down at him in frustration. "I know, Arthur. But it wasn't there in Nineteen thirty, was it." The room had lightened visibly around them. Outside the windows was again the bright light of afternoon. They all felt a faint sense of disorientation.
Arthur shook it off as embarrassment. She was right. It spoiled the whole illusion! "Damn." He walked to the door and stared at it indignantly. Whirling back to them he muttered to himself, "I forgot about that."
Young McDee chuckled and tried to soothe the ruffled feathers. "Well, I wouldn't have known anyway. I wasn't born then." He and Annabelle exchanged merry glances and walked away towards the loveseat to sit and talk together.
Emma stood, her pocket-purse between her fingers and said softly, "You built that office in Nineteen thirty-eight, Arthur. I remember thinking how out of place that door looked in this room." She eyed it as if it offended her.
Arthur took a puff, then waved his cigar indignantly. "Yes, all right, Emma."
At that moment the doorbell went off. Emma chuckled merrily. "That's probably young Tony Purnell and his pretty little girlfriend!"
Arthur stared at her in dismay. "Probably?"
Flustered, she turned to Greville, who had just come up beside her. "Oh dear, I can't remember her name." In the background, Mrs. McDee and Mr. Harborough were sitting down together on the other divan.
Arthur shook his head at her. "You didn't invite anyone else, did you?" he asked, pained.
She stared at him, annoyed. "I don't know, Arthur. I thought you made out the list of invitations."
Greville broke in smoothly, waving a hand towards the door. "Should I, sir?"
Arthur shook his head and looked at his sister. "No. You'd better go and receive them," he told her.
She shook her head at him. "Oh, very well." She moved away to answer the door.
Arthur took his manservant's arm, leading the man aside. "Greville, you will serve some drinks for me, please."
Emma walked out into the bright white hall towards the door. The house was a wonder of taste and beauty. She had lived here all of her life, it seemed. She ignored the fixings today and went towards the door. Stopping short of it, she hesitated and said, "Hello?"
A man answered her, his voice calm and young. "Good evening."
She did not know this voice. Surprised and puzzled, she asked, "Who is it?"
"Miles and Virginia Cavendish," came the confident answer.
The names were unfamiliar. She frowned. "Who?"
The man sounded slightly bewildered as he asked, "This is Lord Mullrine's party? We were invited."
Nervously, Emma clasped her pocket-purse between the fingers of both hands. She did not know those names at all. She turned back towards the other room, wondering if she should check with Arthur. But how would total strangers know of the party? She turned back, still unsure. "Oh. It should be all right then." She opened the doors and stared in surprise at the woman who stood in front of her.
She was a vision in a long-sleeved, bright blue dress, golden hair brushing the nape of her neck. She smiled warmly and handed the invitation to Emma. "I hope we're not too late." Her voice was incredibly gentle and disarming.
Emma stared first at the invitation, then in some shock at the man who carried the luggage in. He was dressed in a dark gray business suit, a light gray tie and white shirt. Blond, like the woman, and handsome in a severe way. The two heavy brown cases in his hands looked heavy. He met her stunned gaze steadily and said, "The invitation was most specific."
"Allow me, sir!" came an urgent male voice behind her.
Emma turned with considerable relief. "Oh, Greville! Thank you!" She looked up into the warm, kind eyes of the young woman and felt adrift.
They were the anachronisms in the room, their clothing modern and flowing as they looked about at the antiques surrounding them. The woman exuded warmth, while the man seemed more standoffish. Greville said to them, "This way, sir," as he took the suitcases and started up the stairs. They walked gracefully after him.
Emma followed a few steps and forced a smile to her face. These two were utter strangers, beautiful as they were. She managed to say, "Don't be too long!" before turning her attention to study the invitation intently.
Arthur stared at the card in confusion. "The Honorable Miles and Mrs. Cavendish?" he read.
Emma said firmly, "Yes. Miles and Virginia. I didn't send that card." She eyed him intently.
He could see she was suspicious of the two strangers. He knew that in truth her mind was often like a steel trap and if she said she had not sent this invitation, it was true. He tapped the invitation against his palm, trying to think where he had heard that name before. "Cavendish, Cavendi -- " It came to him suddenly and he looked into Emma's suspicious eyes with relief and excitement. "Oh, yes. He must be that chap who deals in futures."
"Would he mean all our futures?" she asked him grimly.
Young McDee got to his feet suddenly from where he had been sitting with Annabelle. "Would anybody mind if we had some music?" He marched to the radio and flicked the switch, amused.
Harborough rolled his eyes. "You're going to get that blasted test match again. It's a tape, remember?"
The radio whistled behind him as it warmed up. And then, to all of their surprise, they could hear a waltz clearly. Annabelle broke into a smile, pleased to be surprised again in this game. "Oh, how nice! Jack Fane and his orchestra!" She got to her feet to head towards the radio.
Her husband sprang up as well and hurried forward, Arthur fast behind him. "What's that?"
She sneered slightly, "Dance music, darling."
Young McDee was happy to go along. "Well I'd thought everyone had heard of Jack Fane. He's all the rage at the moment!"
Harborough had turned the radio around and pulled off the backing. There was nothing. Where the tape had been was only an empty spot. In shock he said, "Good heavens!"
Annabelle asked quickly, "What's the matter?"
"What's happened to the tape?"
Genuinely confused, Arthur asked, "What tape, Felix?"
Sapphire was listening. She wore this time delicate silver balls for earrings, a pale lipstick and her golden hair hid her eyebrows where it was not pulled back by a barrett . Light violet eyeshadow made her eyes seem even larger than they were as she looked about. She said, "The whole place seems very odd to me." She stepped forward and glanced down at the white covers, folded her hands together at her waist and twinkled merrily at Steel beside her. "Which side of the bed would you prefer?"
Disgruntled, he looked at her. Today she wore low heels, and they could look each other directly in the eye. He said heavily, "There's no other way?"
She glanced away, amusement tugging at her lips. "Not now, no."
He grumbled, "Miles Cavendish, who chose that?"
She looked at him in surprise. "You did."
His lips tightened indignantly. "I didn't."
"Yes you did."
She was right, of course. He looked away in annoyance. "The host must have started this as a game."
She turned her attention towards the bed. "Well, now it's become reality." She drew in a breath and walked around him. "You know, I think I'd rather be nearer the door." He watched her as she moved around and sat on the other side of the bed. Not looking at him she said thoughtfully, "It's funny, since I arrived I haven't seen or touched anything that was made later than Nineteen thirty. Nothing."
He frowned slightly. "What about the materials?"
She gave a slight shake of her head, blinking. "No synthetic fibers. No plastics. No nylon."
He said grimly, "It's as though we stepped back fifty years when we walked through the front door. I wonder if the people downstairs realize that?" He glanced about the room.
Sapphire shrugged to herself and lay down on the bed with a sigh. "How long will it take you to get ready?" she asked, resting her left palm on her stomach.
Downstairs the radio played another dance piece, and Annabelle danced with Howard. She commented suddenly, "I say it really is getting awfully dark in here."
Young McDee said, "Longest day of the English summer, what do you expect?"
Emma raised her eyebrows where she sat and said, "I do hope it's not going to rain."
Arthur was standing behind her. She listened as he said, "Let's have some lights on, shall we, and draw the curtains, shut it all out. Never had summers like this in the Thirties," he grumbled.
Emma lifted her chin, a small smile at the edges of her lips and said thoughtfully, "I was looking forward to a lovely, sunny weekend. Tea on the lawn tomorrow, with strawberries."
Her brother walked away in disgust. Outside the window in the gathering gloom, a church could be dimly seen through the trees. A clock struck.
Annabelle commented, "Well it started out all right."
It was Harborough who shut the curtains abruptly. He could not say what was alarming him about the outside scene. But beside him young McDee said suddenly, "Now I never noticed that before."
Startled, he asked, "What?"
"You can see the church tower from here. It's almost as though there were a path through the trees to it." McDee was puzzled, but not alarmed as he stared at the curtained window.
Emma said calmly, "I'm afraid you're mistaken, Howard." She watched him over her shoulder.
He turned to her curiously, "Oh, why?"
She looked away from him towards the opposite wall. "Must be a trick of the light. The church tower was V-two'ed, or was it doodle-bombed... one or the other in uh... Nineteen forty-four, or Nineteen forty-five."
Surprised, Harborough asked, "Are you sure, Emma?"
She looked up at him where he stood beside her seat. "Positive. Terribly sad."
He moved away from her uncertainly and looked down at his wife, where she sat beside Mrs. McDee. "It did look like a church tower."
Felicity McDee blinked up at him blearily. "And it would have been there in Nineteen thirty, wouldn't it?"
Annabelle beside her smiled indulgently at the way these people were behaving. She said reasonably, "Listen, this is just a game, it isn't for real. This is Nineteen -- " she broke off in sudden confusion and blinked uncertainly.
Mrs. McDee asked, "Nineteen what, Annabelle?"
Confusion increasing, her fine brows drawing together over dark eyes, Annabelle moved her lips uncertainly. "Nineteen...."
Arthur said with authority, "Nineteen thirty. June the twenty-first, Nineteen thirty!"
Harborough grumbled, "Oh come on, Arthur."
Arthur gazed up at him, unperturbed. "King George the Fifth is on the throne, Ryan's moved on as Prime Minister, and eight months ago on October the twenty-fourth, Nineteen twenty-nine, the American stock market collapsed. And we are in the midst of a depression." He paused for breath, then waved his hand up at the portrait on the wall with great indignation. "But McDee and I, we form Mullrine International right here in this house! We built it with our own hands and we believed in it! And it was a massive achievement!" He glared up at Harborough.
Harborough answered firmly, startled by the man's intensity, "Quite right."
Arthur turned away and strode towards the curtained windows and young McDee saying firmly, with victory. "Yes. Therefore you can see that church tower from that window, and you can't possibly know who won that test match at Trent Bridge!" He turned with finality towards Emma, who clutched her purse tight in her hands and kept her gaze forward as he walked around the back of the loveseat she sat in. "The champagne we've been drinking is definitely Nineteen twenty-seven vintage, and only three years old. And what's more..." he turned with furious indignation and wagged his finger at the door to his office, "that damned green door shouldn't be there!"
Amused, Harborough said, "It's a paradox, Arthur!"
He spun around indignantly. "What do you mean?"
Harborough answered, standing next to Mrs. McDee and his wife, who sat on the other sofa. "You can't make it Nineteen thirty, you can only pretend! Logically if it was Nineteen thirty only you and Emma and Mrs. McDee could be in this room. The rest of us wouldn't have been born yet." Arthur puffed indignantly on his cigar and Harborough shook his head. "You're an amazing man, Arthur. Powerful, rich beyond most people's dreams and very, very clever. A bit of a genius!" He came over to Arthur, admiringly. "But even you can't turn back the clock."
Annabelle frowned and then shivered as cold ice seemed to crawl through her bones, worse than earlier. She crossed her arms and rubbed at her shoulders as Mrs. McDee spoke up. "If you could, Arthur, would you bring George back to life?"
Annabelle could not keep silent any more as she rubbed her shoulders. "My God, there's still a draft in here even with the curtains drawn."
Felicity McDee ignored her and eyed Arthur intently. "Would you?"
Arthur looked up at the portrait of George McDee and said firmly, "Yes."
Howard McDee watched Arthur intently. "That's interesting."
"What's interesting about it?" Arthur asked defensively.
"I was wondering."
"Wondering what?"
McDee crossed the room, his gaze flickering from Arthur to the portrait far above. "I was wondering why the black mourning crepe has gone."
There was a moment before it registered, and the women all murmured in astonishment for it was true. The blue-grey eyes of Howard's grandfather stared out, unshadowed by the crepe. It was nowhere to be seen.
Felix Harborough straightened up angrily. "Someone's playing some clownish trick!"
His wife came to his side, her voice low and puzzled. "They couldn't have done, Felix, we haven't left the room. We couldn't have missed seeing someone reach up for that crepe." Her husband looked at her to argue, but closed his lips as he realized she was right.
Howard McDee shuddered and looked down towards Arthur, though he spoke to the woman behind him. "You're right about that chill, Annabelle. It seems to cut right through the center of this room." They all frowned and turned, their eyes drawn to Emma, who was watching them with great puzzlement.
Sapphire held a small, silver-handled mirror up so that she could see as she carefully adjusted her makeup to match what would have been worn in Nineteen thirty. Steel was watching her preparations with curiosity. She asked him softly, "Why'd it choose this house?"
His brows drew down, his worry revealed there rather than in the steady set of his lips. "It's definitely here?"
"Yes," she confirmed, setting the mirror down and meeting his eyes.
"But where?" When she only looked at him, he got to his feet nervously and strode into the closet. "Maybe it's taken over someone downstairs. We have to find out which one."
She said mildly, "That won't be easy. It could be any one of them."
He stepped back out of the closet, having shifted in an instant into the clothing they were to wear for the party. He looked incredible in the black suit, bow tie and bright white shirt, his hair stood out bright golden against the black. As ever, he did not know or care what he looked like. He adjusted the cuffs of the jacket and said grimly, "Or all of them." He moved towards her.
She said simply, "No." As he had done, she changed. "It wouldn't make sense." She stared into the little mirror, adjusting her now tightly-curled hair, the flowing black gown that covered her body shone with sequins here and there, and lined with silver.
Steel sighed and stood beside her. "No, of course it wouldn't. There has to be a victim."
Sapphire set the mirror down. "Or victims." She looked steadily up at him.
The twinkle of amusement was so subtle, no one but his long-term partner could have recognized it. "Anything you say, Virginia. Shall we go down?"
She smiled at him, her eyes dancing. "Haven't you forgotten something... Miles?" She stood then, her back to him, once again in shoes that kept her head far above his. Puzzled, he looked at her as she moved away. Then he sat in front of the mirror and stared at his image. Oh, yes. That was missing.
Arthur lifted two glasses cheerfully, deciding between them. He glanced back and up, mischief clouding his voice. "Yes, very frustrating for you, Felix. It must be. Old bugger like me refusing to retire." He handed Felix one glass and drank out of his own.
Felix said mildly, "You'll have to, sooner or later. I can wait." He toasted Arthur.
Glaring, the older man said, "The only way you'll ever become chairman of Mullrine International is by burying me!"
Felix muttered, "Don't tempt me, Arthur," and took a drink.
Emma opened a small, wooden box to offer its cigarettes to the beautiful Annabelle. She said cheerfully, "Oh, yes! I used to love going to the flower show!" As Annabelle took a cigarette, Emma continued cheerily. "Did you know Queen Mary's opening it this year? But I never get to London, these days!" She shrugged and set the box down again.
Bemused, Annabelle smiled. "Queen Mary?"
Emma continued, waving her hands in small gestures. "Formidable lady, but so regal!"
In the other sofa, Felicity McDee slapped a panic stricken hand down on her grandson's knee and clutched it. They were speaking in low voices, not to be overheard. "Howard!"
He was trying to calm her. "Yes, all right! We'll have to make some excuse and leave first thing in the morning -- "
Her face twisted in anquish. "I want to go! I hate them all -- "
"Felix and Annabelle will have to get a lift from somebody else, perhaps the other couple will -- "
On the stairs, 'Virginia' heard the sound of 'Miles' changing and turned. She let her mouth drop in surprised admiration. "Wow!" She grinned as he joined her and together they continued down the stairs.
The manservant waited for them and asked, "All well, sir?"
Miles replied with dignity, "Good evening, Greville."
Sapphire's voice reached into Steel's head. {Fifty-two years old. Totally repressed personality.}
The man was tilting towards them, sincere in his groveling. "I hope the room is to your liking, sir."
Miles answered him calmly, "It's absolutely marvelous, thank you Greville."
{He's devoted to the Mullrines.}
Steel puzzled over her statement. [Devoted to the family, or to the house?] Greville reached and adjusted Miles' kerchief as Virginia smiled indulgently.
{To Lord Mullrine. He's very fond of the old man.} Virginia smiled at the man. "Thank you, Greville."
He smiled widely at her and bowed with a flourish. "This way madam, sir."
They followed him into the main room, where Mrs. Harborough was crossing the room, drinking from a glass of champagne. Greville introduced them grandly. "The Honorable Miles and Mrs. Cavendish."
Emma got to her feet and greeted them excitedly, ignoring how Mrs. McDee sat on the other sofa, hands clenched together in her lap. "Oh, there you are, you lovely people. We were beginning to think you'd quite deserted us!" She studied their clothes intently.
Virginia said gently, "We were just changing."
Looking her up and down admiringly, Emma said, "My dear, what a delightful dress. So elegant! I wish I was still young enough to wear fashionable things like that."
Startled, Virginia asked, "You mean they're back in fashion?"
Emma glanced at Miles with bright interest and raised her brows intently, "But when you're sixty, it's too late!" There was something about him, about his face. Why, he bore a faint resemblance to George McDee! How sweet!
Virginia smiled, utterly charmed by the old woman, but as Sapphire she spoke to Steel. {She's seventy-four.} "Thank you, Miss Mullrine," she said aloud, blushing. {A lonely old woman, carrying a torch for a lost love.}
[For how long?] he asked sternly.
{For fifty years.}
Miles, wearing the mustache Steel had affected as part of the ancient fashion, straightened as the woman's attention focused on him. "Mr. Cavendish, you look grand."
He stepped close to her, his mind clicking. A victim... she was a likely candidate. "How nice of you to say so, you're very kind."
He came too close, and she lifted her hands, setting one against his chest to keep him at a distance, gazing beyond him at the manservant. "Greville, our two new guests have no drinks."
Miles met her gaze. There was something about her... but he pulled his attention in and said softly, "I'm sorry, Miss Emma. But I'm afraid I don't drink."
She shifted away from him, her cheeks flushing slightly. "Oh, what a good idea, so sensible." She led them farther into the room. "Come and meet everybody. This is Mrs. McDee." She gestured down at the other older woman, who seemed fragile where she sat.
Mrs. McDee gamely said, "How do you do."
Virginia first and then Miles with smiles said, "How do you do."
"And Howard McDee," Emma gestured at the young man with a flourish.
"How do you do," Howard said with a nod.
Virginia smiled across at him, "How do you do."
Miles stepped forward, getting into the game. "Delighted."
The two men clasped hands and then Howard McDee pulled Miles away with him, muttering, "The champagne's awfully good."
Virginia turned her attention to Emma Mullrine, who began to say, "And this is -- oh, dear." She was gesturing towards the young woman in a dark red gown, dark hair lovely, who was standing near the wall looking very uneasy and not paying attention to the new guests. She kept shivering. Emma turned to Virginia. "Poor Annabelle isn't well. I do hope she hasn't caught a chill."
Feeling compassionate, Virginia asked, "Is there anything I can do?"
Bemused by the gentle offer, Emma accepted it and led her towards Annabelle. "I don't really know, shall we go and see? Annabelle, are you still feeling cold?" Virginia kept her hands clasped at her waist and followed the older woman.
Annabelle's voice was deep and rich as she said, "Yes, don't you feel it?"
Virginia watched her carefully as Emma answered, "No, I don't believe I do. This is Virginia Cavendish and Annabelle Harborough." She gestured in introduction, and the two women gazed at each other, Virginia warmly and Annabelle gauging the newcomer.
Dutifully, Virginia shook hands. "How do you do?"
Steel's voice filled Sapphire's thoughts, dividing her attention. He was standing by the curtained windows, holding a drink in his hands and turned to look at her. [Has she a temperature loss?]
{Yes.}
[Then she could be affected by time.]
{It's possible.}
Annabelle was responding to her. "How do you do. You haven't been here before?"
Virginia was for once having difficulty with the division of her thoughts. She shook herself slightly. "I'm sorry?"
"Here, to this house," Annabelle clarified, amused.
"No, no I haven't. Have you?"
Annabelle smiled warmly. "Oh good heavens, yes. My husband's Arthur Mullrine's deputy. Impressed, Virginia stared at her. "They're in the library at the moment, talking business."
Emma was watching the two young women. She interjected, "Perhaps Greville could bring you something. Something to warm you."
Enjoying their solicitousness, Annabelle dismissed the idea. "Oh, no thank you. I think it's passing."
Emma said with relief, "Good."
Drawn to the circle of women, especially since it included two lovely young women, Howard McDee joined them, glass in hand. "Something wrong?" he asked Annabelle.
Emma jumped back slightly and looked at him. "Ah, Howard."
Annabelle shook her head. "No, no, not really."
Emma said sourly, "You're here." She met Annabelle's glance and moved away from the little circle. Let him deal with these niceties.
Virginia said gently, "Annabelle was just complaining of the cold."
Startled, Howard moved closer to her. "On a mid-summer's day? Oh my dear."
Virginia turned away, and as Sapphire sent to her partner, filled with silent laughter. {Steel?}
[Yes?]
{They're rather more than friends.}
He moved away from the curtains, more towards Emma who had settled beside Felicity. She said innocently, "Howard's very attentive, isn't he?"
Felicity McDee drew in a breath and said sourly, "He's always been a considerate boy."
Emma shifted slightly, her tone quite innocent. "I wonder if Felix has noticed how considerate he is."
Felicity rolled her eyes. "Felix wouldn't notice anything unless it was connected with business."
At that moment, Felix and Arthur came through a white door and shut it behind them. Arthur was saying, "Let's not argue about it, Felix. We'll leave the whole thing to Fairfax in Washington."
Felix shut the door hard behind them, looking about. Felicity leaned forward and said to Emma conspiratorially, "Look at him, now."
Huffily, Felix was saying, "If that's what you want, Arthur."
Arthur took a puff of his cigar. "I won't discuss it anymore this weekend."
Felix bent down slightly to him angrily. "I never thought I'd live to see the day when you'd let sentiment interfere with business!"
Forced to tilt his chin up, Arthur glared. "Well you have, now."
Felix scowled. "Are you by any chance losing your grip?"
Arthur snorted a laugh. "That'll be the day. If you ever live to see it. You know what your trouble is, Felix?" he asked, grinning.
"Tell me," Felix managed to say mildly.
"You don't enjoy business enough, and that's what keeps me young. That's what'll keep me going when men like you have packed it in and turned your toes up. Have a cigar." He plopped the new cigar between Felix's lips, ignoring the frustration on the other man's face, and turned away. He caught sight behind him of the blond stranger. Caught off balance he stepped forward to greet him, "Ah!"
The young man moved forward smoothly and clasped hands. "Lord Mullrine, how nice of you to invite us."
Snatching at the first name that came to mind, Arthur said, "Grovernaugh."
"Cavendish," the man corrected calmly.
"Oh, yes, of course."
"Miles Cavendish."
They released hands and Arthur racked his brains trying to remember the man. He twiddled with his own cigar as he spoke. The man kept a proper distance, not forcing Arthur to tilt his head painfully. He liked that. "Eh, glad you could come."
Felix had pulled himself together and stepped in, not to be ignored. "I'm Felix Harborough," he said, shaking the man's hand, pushing Arthur a little to the side.
Miles accepted his handshake and met his gaze steadily. "Deputy chairman of Mullrine International."
Surprised and grateful for the instant recognition, Felix straightened up, ignoring Arthur's pleased grin. "Full marks! I believe you're in the future's market?"
Miles settled his hands behind his back and lowered his eyes humbly. "In a way. I'm a... futurologist." He met Felix's bewildered gaze innocently.
Felix looked down at Arthur and chuckled. "Well, sounds like a fortune teller."
Arthur raised his brows. "Fortunes... yes, I like that. Fortunes." Arthur walked across the room, leaving Miles to Felix's talented hands.
Miles moved with Felix after Arthur. "Well, my predictions are rather more scientific than that. They're based on logical projections using the advanced physical sciences."
Curious, Felix asked, "As it were speculative cybernetics?"
Arthur had snatched up a drink for them both and said playfully, "Hey, break it up, you two! You're here to enjoy yourselves, not talk shop!"
Miles accepted the drink with a frown, but Felix huffed indignantly, "You told me just now you enjoy...." He broke off, his mouth hanging open. Snapping it shut forcefully his eyes gleamed with delight and he said accusingly, "You old ruffian! What are you trying to hide?"
Arthur went completely innocent. "Me, hide?"
Delighted at having caught something, Felix waved his fingers and glanced at Miles, who had decided to wait out the conversation until it became understandable again. "You're up to something, I know the signs." He looked at Miles with dancing eyes. "Is he planning to use you to make his killing?"
Arthur interrupted him sternly, "Felix, if I were you I'd keep an eye on your wife. Young McDee takes after his grandfather, you know. In more ways than one."
Startled, Felix turned his head. There was Annabelle, standing and laughing with Howard McDee. She met his gaze with a smile. Discomfitted, he swallowed.
Seeing his expression she said to Howard, "I think I'd better go and talk to my husband, if you'll excuse me." With a playful swing of her hips, she moved to join him. "Felix," she called gently. He stepped away from the other two men, feeling faintly light-headed. Damn Mullrine for having that effect on him!
Miles watched the byplay with some bewilderment. Left alone with Arthur, whose eyes were dancing, he turned to the shorter man, who nudged him conspiratorially with an elbow.
Deprived of Annabelle, Howard crossed the room to the vision of golden loveliness. "My dear Virginia, you haven't got a drink."
She smiled graciously at him, her eyes twinkling. "Well, that's perfectly all r -- "
He interrupted her smoothly. "No no no. Leave it to me." Eyes dancing, he moved away to get her one.
She turned and said softly, "There is a time break. And someone in this house is causing it."
Steel was at her side, hearing all she said to him. "What about this room?" he said, low.
"It's the same as the bedroom." She felt the distortion and it troubled her greatly.
He moved around to better see her face. "Nothing later than Nineteen thirty?"
She nodded slightly ahead of them. "Except that door."
He looked at the green, padded door and murmured "And that's -- "
Howard McDee returned at that moment and cut in. "Out of place, would you say?"
They jumped and turned to face him, Virginia plastering a warm smile to her face. "It is, rather, thank you," she answered him and took the glass he offered her.
He held out another glass to Miles. "Champagne?"
"No, thank you," Miles said stiffly.
Raising his eyebrows, Howard said, "Chin chin."
Bewildered, Steel reached for his partner. [What's he talking about?]
Biting back a laugh she told him, {Say 'chin chin,'}
[What?]
Practically giggling in his mind, she said, {He can't drink until you say 'chin chin.'}
It made a bizarre kind of sense, as so many things on this world did. He blinked and said cheerfully, "Chin chin!"
Sapphire said playfully, {See?} as Howard promptly raised his glass and took a drink.
Howard lowered the drink and pointed out, "It has no lock and no handle."
Bewildered, Miles asked, "What's the point of a door if you can't open it?"
"Ah, exactly. You've got it."
"Have I?"
Sapphire watched as the door blurred and then began to glow an eerie, pale blue. All features were soon erased to her sight and she reached to Steel. {There's an aura. A barrier.}
Puzzled, Steel turned to look at it. [Barrier?]
As though answering Steel's thoughts, Howard still addressed Miles, who turned back to him. "Yes, of course, my dear fellow. There's a certain man in this house who thinks that door is the door to end all doors."
Sapphire continued, watching the door. {It's a light. A blue light.}
And Howard said, "Why don't you ask him what the point is?"
Steel met Sapphire's gaze. [Temperature?]
She blinked and lifted her head slightly. {Much lower. Possibly the location of a ley-line. There should be evidence of it through that window.} The barrier changed appearance, spurting flames and allowing her to see the green door again.
Howard McDee bent down, seeing the bright alert understanding in the shorter man's gray eyes. "You have guessed, haven't you?"
Puzzled, Miles turned his gaze to the man. "What?"
"The door! Whose idea it was." He was grinning like a child with a secret.
Miles smiled slightly. "No, you tell me."
"Well, our host. His Lordship, of course."
Steel reached out to Sapphire again. [What's behind that door?]
Howard was continuing inanely, "He's got a special device. Must have something to hide. He's the only person who knows how to use it."
Sapphire engaged her power, smiling outwardly as Virginia at the foibles of men. She split away from her body, going to touch the door. {There's something moving.}
Steel's lips thinned, he was hard pressed to be Miles for Howard and himself for Sapphire. [Tell me.]
Her voice reflected her strain. {It's... twisting. Turning, and writhing. It's -- } she gasped, and her projection vanished among flames.
Steel clenched his fist as he felt her go out. The inane human beside him looked at Virginia and said, "More champagne?"
Steel ignored him and broadcast an alarmed plea. [Come back, Sapphire.] There was no response. Panicked, he called, [Sapphire!]
Her physical form stood still and blinked at him. He whirled towards the door, ignoring the humans. [Do you hear me, come back!]
Arthur Mullrine came up behind Sapphire, just in time to divert Howard from noticing anything wrong. He said, "The door interests you?"
Howard startled slightly and looked down at him. "Ah, Arthur! The very man!" He shifted his attention to Miles, who was looking at them again. "He'll explain all. Excuse me." He walked away.
Arthur stepped closer as Miles said stuttered in embarrassment, "Yes, I see it has no handle. No lock."
Arthur shrugged slightly and stepped between the two young people until he could get a good view of the door.. "Nothing mysterious, I'm afraid. It's just a security door, that's all. Leads to my office."
Miles said, "The heart of Mullrine International."
Amused, Arthur turned away from him towards Virginia. "The... nerve center, you might say."
It was just that moment that Sapphire returned to her body. She blinked and smiled down at him. "How fascinating!"
Disarmed by the sweetness of her smile, Arthur blustered shyly. "Not really, it's just something I -- " He was cut off by the ringing of a doorbell. They all turned in surprise.
From where she sat beside Felicity McDee, Emma said firmly, "This time it must be Tony Purnell and his girlfriend."
Arthur smiled and turned to the young couple apologetically. "You, uh, will excuse me, won't you?" He went off to answer the door.
Virginia smiled and turned back to Miles. But it was as Sapphire she spoke to him quietly. "It's in there, behind the door. A feeling of euphoria."
He brought his head close to hers. "What do you mean?"
"A sense of success. Of achievement."
Bewildered, his tone sharpened. "B -- nothing evil?"
She hissed, "No. Something wonderful happened in there." She turned away, still dizzy with the pleasure that had come from behind that door. He moved away from her, trying to sort out the information they had learned.
He went to Felix, as the weak link, trying to find out more information. "I say, who's Tony Purnell?"
Gratified by Mile's attention, Felix leaned his arm on the rest and looked up at him, explaining, "The Purnells are our merchant bankers."
"Ah, thank you."
"Not at all." As Miles moved away from him, behind the couch, Felix realized he had been remiss. He stood up quickly to greet the lovely Mrs. Cavendish and took her hand. "I'm Felix Harborough."
Her smile was incredibly beautiful as she said, "Deputy chairman of Mullrine International."
Heavens, such recognition could go to a man's head. Delighted, he said, "Hole in one."
The doorman opened the door, but before he could get a word out the young man there bustled in. "Hello, Jenkins, how are you? Look after these for me, will you?" he pressed a red and a black suitcase into Jenkins' hands. A sweet girl with long, dark brown hair came through the door behind him as he continued. "How's the back, better?" Jenkins barely managed to say thank you before the youngster had put his arm around the girl's back. "Come on, dear!" He pulled her into the hall and saw the next man there. "Greville! How are you?"
Greville began to say, "Good evening sir," when the boy whirled away.
"Where's himself? Ah, hello, sir. Look, I'm awfully sorry if we're a bit late."
At last the boy stopped talking. Mullrine came off the steps and circles around them, looked at the girl's pale blue blouse and dark vest, dark pants. Then he looked at the boy's brown jacket and white pants. With mild exasperation he said, "Oh, dear. Your clothes!"
The boy swung his hands behind his back and smiled engagingly. "Oh, we've got all the gear, there. It won't take us a second to change."
The girl said eagerly, "Oh, yes sir. I can do it in a jiffy!"
The boy interjected, "Oh, this is Veronica Blamey. Veronica, Lord Mullrine."
Eager to please, Veronica held out her hand to shake his. "How do you do?"
Barely had they clasped hands when the boy reached out and took her shoulder, propelling her with him towards the living room. "Maybe if we just had a quick drink...."
"Oh, yes," Veronica agreed, moving with him.
Frustrated, Arthur snapped sternly, "You can't go in there like that!" They stopped and turned to gaze at him in surprise. Up on the steps he said gruffly, "I mean it's all wrong, I mean damn it, Tony! The instructions were detailed in the invitation." He glared fiercely at the boy.
Tony had put his hands behind his back like a child caught in the cookie jar. "Yes, I know. I'm sorry."
With a sigh, Mullrine said, "Greville, take them up to their rooms." Greville moved obediently forward to indicated to Veronica where she was to go. Mullrine continued sternly, "And don't let them come down until they've changed!"
Veronica followed behind Greville, looking shyly at Lord Mullrine. "Oh, look sir, I'm awfully sorry."
Greville called, "This way if you please, Miss, Sir!" as Tony caught her arm and came with her.
Tony could only tolerate being treated like a child for so long. He turned as he passed Mullrine. "Look, I don't know if you're expecting anyone else, but it's getting rather dark outside."
Veronica said earnestly, "Oh, yes! And there's a thick fog coming up."
Mullrine was startled. "In the middle of June?"
She nodded eagerly and looked up at Greville with a bright smile. "Funny, isn't it? Rather spooky, actually!"
In Tony's room, Greville was helping by unpacking his case as the young man changed. They were singing together. "Oh, Oh, Oh my gal, there's none so classy, as my fair lassy. Oh, Oh -- "
Tony broke off and complained, "Greville! There's no power poin for my electric razor!"
Surprised, Greville closed the drawer and asked, "Power poin, sir?"
The youngster stepped through the door in his Thirties-style white shirt and black pats, glancing at his watch. "Oh, incidentally I've gotta call London." He crossed to the ancient phone by the bedside. "Does that thing work?"
"Yes, sir!" Greville answered cheerfully.
"But there's no dial on it."
Bewildered, Greville answered him, voice slurred slightly. "Dial, sir? It's a country exchange. If you lift the receiver, the operator will get you your number!" How bewildering that the child should not know how to use a phone.
He smiled indulgently as Tony lifted the receiver in amazement. The boy chuckled and said, "I didn't think there were any of them left. I ought to have a shave before dinner."
Confidently, Greville said, "I'll lay out your safety razor and shaving brush, sir."
"Safety razor?" Tony repeated in confusion.
At that moment a woman's voice sounded tinnily through the phone. "Number please."
Startled, Tony spoke into the earpiece. "Oh, hello?" He realized suddenly he was doing it wrong and spun about to speak into the microphone, holding the earpiece right so he could hear. "Oh, yes. Look, oh, uh, can you get me a London number? Yes, it's oh one, two four six, eight oh two one." Greville smiled indulgently and continued to lay out equipment for the hapless young man. He ignored the continued conversation. "What do you mean, which exchange? London. That's the number."
In the bathroom, Greville continued the song they had been singing earlier.
At last understanding the woman speaking to him, Tony said, "Oh! Oh, the exchange! Yes, now what was dad's old number at the bank..." he wracked his brain. "Temple Bar, Chancery, London Wall. No, it's gone. Anyway, just get it for me, will you?" he asked her charmingly. At her bewildered reply, he felt frustration welling. "Oh no, come on. Don't milk the joke, luv, I've gotta make this call!" There was silence when she hung up and he set his phone down in confusion. He looked down at the small phone book on the table. It said, "London, March 1929." He was not going to be able to get through. Frustrated, he marched into the bathroom, passing the older man. He grumbled, "I think his Lordship's taking the joke a bit too far, don't you, Greville?"
Puzzled, the manservant anwered, "I beg your pardon, sir?"
"What the hell's this?" Tony came out of the room, flicking a silvery instrument in confusion. "Where's my electric razor?"
Greville was sorting out some straps and looked up, completely bewildered. "Electric, sir? Rather dangerous, I would have thought."
But Tony dropped the razor on the bed and snatched the garter clips Greville was holding in surprise. "These aren't mine! I mean, I just hired the tails!"
Greville looked down in embarrassment. The boy was rather strange to be associating with the Mullrines. He looked back up. "They came out of your suitcase, sir. If you need anything else, perhaps you will ring. The remainder of the guests are in the lounge." He walked to the door, hoping the boy did not need his hand held through everything. He looked back at the bewildered young man and said gravely, "Dinner will be at nine."
Tony stared after him in frustration. At last he tossed the snaps into his suitcase. "Damned cheek. So what've they done with all my gear?" He began digging around to see if he could find his things. There was a nock on the door while he was searching under the bed. "Come," he called out.
Veronica entered, closing the door swiftly behind her. She looked lovely in the pale pink dress with its red ruffles following her neckline. When she did not see him, she stopped in confusion. "Tony?"
He popped up, not even looking at her in his exasperation. "What?"
"Well, look!" She held her arms wide, the better for him to see.
Oh, she was absolutely lovely. He had forgotten how sexy some of those old styles could be. He scrambled to his feet. "Oh, yes!"
She was amazed by all that had happened. "They swapped all my clothes, and my makeup. Everything's really old!" As he ignored her, searching the drawers of the dresser next to the door, she tried to provoke his attention. "You should see my nighty. It's peach-colored crepe du-sheen." When he turned at last to her she held out the delicate, light gray material for him to see. "And look at these."
He chuckled appreciatively, running his hands over the silk. "Pure silk, fully fashioned! All the rage." Something clicked in his head, puzzling him. "In Nineteen thirty."
They came into the lounge and Arthur came forward to greet them with Emma on his heels. "Come in, you two! Now that's better, I must say."
Emma greeted him cheerfully. "Tony, my dear boy!"
He took her hand gratefully, "Miss Emma."
She scolded him playfully, "You really are naughty! It's ages since we saw you last!" She turned her attention to the lovely girl at his side. The child had an almost angelic smile. "And who is this charming young woman?"
He answered proudly, "This is Veronica Blamey."
The girl stopped just short of giggling, her eyes incredibly bright. Emma said, "Hello. Adorable child. Come and meet people!" She turned and found the Cavendishs closest. "Ah, you two. This is, uh, Tony Purnell, Veronica Blamey and uh...."
The tall, blond woman cut in smoothly. "Virginia Cavendish."
Emma nodded slightly and shifted her indicating hand to the man. "And?"
"Miles," he said calmly.
Relieved, Emma said, "Exactly."
Tony inclined his head. "How do you do."
Emma nodded and left them together. "Greville, some drinks over here, please!"
Virginia turned her attention to Tony. "I understand you're a banker."
"Born and bred, I'm afraid," he answered her.
While Virginia focused on him, asking, "Don't you find all that money awfully tedious?" Miles focused on the girl.
Tony answered her, "Oh, it has its uses."
Sapphire took a drink and broadcast to Steel, who stalked the girl. {He's a year older than she is, born in Maidenhead, rich family.}
Veronica could not have said why she turned to follow the older man who seemed intent on looking her over. There was something utterly appealing about him, yet he was nothing like Tony. He studied her and said, "We've met before, haven't we?"
Stunned, she nearly bounced and said, "Really? I wonder where it was!" For surely she would have remembered... whatever it was that made him so extraordinary.
Behind her, Sapphire listened with genuine delight in the young, clean spirit. Steel as Miles pushed gently. "Last season, somewhere?"
Thinking hard, Veronica tried intently to focus on memories that seemed suddenly fluid. "Ooh, well then it must have been...."
Sapphire dipped into the shifting focus. {She's twenty-four. Very much in love. Not very bright. Born in Barnes.}
Veronica asked tentatively, "Calles?"
Miles shook his head slightly. "No."
The girl gave up the attempt, embarrassed. "Oh." She turned her head to see in dismay that Tony seemed smitten with the tall, golden-haired woman.
He had been listening, though. "Henley, perhaps," he suggested.
Trying to hide her hurt, Veronica turned back to Miles. Sapphire continued mildly, looking down with soft compassion to the girl. {He doesn't feel the same way. He has someone else.}
Steel felt the same compassion, and so what he said to her lifted the onus he had caused. "No, it wasn't Henley. Well give me time, I'll remember." Relieved and charmed, she smiled at him.
Mr. Harborough joined them then, finding the girl's sweet smile charming. "Hello," he said kindly. She looked up at him and smiled shyly. He said, "I'm Felix Harborough. Would you care to dance?"
She was startled by the invitation and did not know what she should say. "Oh, well. If Tony doesn't mind." She looked nervously back at him.
He tore his eyes from Virginia Cavendish long enough to smile condescendingly and say, "No, of course not!" That was not the answer she would have preferred to hear when a beautiful woman was nearby. Now she had no choice as the older man led her off. Tony turned his attention to Virginia. "Shall we?" he held out his arm for her to take.
"Thank you!" She handed her glass to Miles. "What's it to be? The Charleston? The Black Bottom?"
"Old hat, my dear! This is Nineteen thirty, you know. The Foxtrot!"
"Of course."
Miles set his wife's glass on the small round table with its vase of roses and found himself without a partner. Freed to wander and study the room, he walked around and noticed a door in the far wall with mild interest. Howard danced with Annabelle next to the other two couples. Miles' eye was drawn to the odd, green door.
Anne Shaw sat in front of her typewriter, trying to calm the man on the line. The clock on the wall read six thirty-one. Had she noticed that the second hand was moving counter-clockwise? "Yes, yes I know it's urgent, Mr. Fairfax! But my orders from Lord Mullrine were most specific, he is not to be disturbed. No, no I'm sorry. His party isn't to be interrupted under any circumstances. Oh, yes. He was in the office oh... just about three minutes ago." The man on the phone babbled urgently. She sighed. "All right. All right, look. Let me look into the drawing room, and if his guests haven't arrive yet, I'll talk to him. All right, hold the line a moment." She set the phone down carefully, getting to her feet. She tried to open the door, but the handle would not budge. Surprised, she went back to the desk where she had set the electronic key. She tried it twice, but the door remained locked. Uncertain, she shook and tried twice again. Still no response. Heading back towards her desk she murmured, "How very odd." She picked up the phone fretfully and plastered a smile on her face. "Mr. Fairfax? Look, I'm awfully sorry but the, uh, security device that opens the door doesn't seem to be working." She sat down. At his words she hid her exasperation. "No I've no idea how to mend it. It's probably just the batteries. But I'm afraid we'll have to leave it for now. I'll certainly give Lord Mullrine your message as soon as I see him. All right. Goodbye." She set the phone on its hook, troubled. Fifty red candles lined the edges of a great, square cake covered in red frosting. On it was written in red letters, 50th ANNIVERSERY, the symbol of the M over an I, and 1930 at the bottom. Arthur lit all the candles and his guests applauded.
Emma said, "Lovely, so lovely!"
Sapphire's attention snapped and she sent to her partner, {It's here, Steel.}
He stiffened. [In this room?]
{Yes. No! All around us!} The two agents stiffened and shivered.
Lord Mullrine was puffing on his cigar and held up both hands. "Your attention please, ladies and gentlemen! No birthday party is complete without a birthday cake! And as this is a very special birthday party, Mullrine International provides a very special cake, commemorating fifty years of achievement, and splendid growth!"
Sapphire pressed closer to Steel, studying the room around them. {Pressure. Can you feel it?}
[No,] he answered grimly. And yet it was there, a rumble increasing at the back of their senses.
Lord Mullrine continued cheerfully. "And I think it would be very nice, if we invited the youngest here tonight to cut the cake!" He lifted the knife and handed it to Veronica. Behind her, Felix grinned.
Shy and embarrassed yet delighted, she said, "Oh, I think that must be me!"
Turning smugly away from her, Arthur said teasingly, "Well it certainly isn't Miss Emma, is it?"
His sister smiled affectionately at him. "It certainly is not, Arthur."
Veronica was blushing tremendously, her fingers trembling she said, "Oh, I don't think I can." Tony smiled down at her until the next man spoke.
"Well pretend it's your wedding cake, Veronica," suggested Howard.
She looked up at Tony's face. He was watching the other man expressionlessly, but turned to look down at her. Felix added, "Who's the lucky man, Veronica?"
Tony looked at her and signaled with his eyes. The color high in her cheeks, she readied herself. She looked quickly at Emma and said, "Jolly good, then. When do we eat it?"
Emma answered, "After dinner, with the coffee."
Arthur leaned towards the cake to snatch his glass where he had left it. "But first, I would like you all to raise your glasses in a toast." He looked around to be certain they were obeying.
They all said, "To Mullrine International."
He shook his head. "No, no, no, no! Not to Mullrine International! But to the memory of one, who as my sister has pointed out on more than one occasion tonight, has gone from us." He stepped forward gravely and stared up at the portrait of George McDee. "To my old partner -- no. My old friend. To George McDee!"
The rumble became a heavy drone in her sense. Sapphire reached out. {Steel..!} The candles on the cake blew out and then vanished, leaving only white frosting. The words 50th ANNIVERSERY were also gone.
It took the youngest there to realize it first. "Oh, the cake!" Veronica exclaimed. They all stared and gasped in surprise at its clean surface.
A wry voice spoke, echoing and strangely out of synch. "Good evening everyone." They all turned towards the door. He was dreadfully handsome in person, the portrait a perfect image of him. Seeing the shock on all of their faces he remarked mildly, "I hope I'm not late."
Arthur gaped between Emma's and Felicity's shoulders. "George!!"
Out in the hall, mist seeped in under the front door. In the lounge, Sapphire moved forward to get a better look, standing beside Felicity McDee. The elderly woman was staring at her husband in warm delight, yet the fact of his presence did not seem to astonish her as much as it should. "George. About time, too," she reproved him.
He frowned at her and looked her briefly up and down. "What are you talking about, woman?"
She stepped closer to him. "You! You're late, as usual! Let's have a look at you."
Sapphire moved back to Steel's side. They watched Arthur Mullrine, who was not as taken as the old woman. The small man was shaking his head, trembling. "It can't be. It can't be!"
Felix Harborough had already decided on a rational explanation and whispered to Miles, "Old Arthur really pulled one off this time."
Annabelle had sat on one loveseat, and Arthur sat on the arm beside her. Emma sat in the next loveseat, Howard stood behind her and nearby was Greville. All gazed at the scene in astonishment.
Felicity was adjusting George's lapel and he pulled away from her in confusion. "Just what do you think you're doing?" he protested.
She followed him. "What I always have to do. You can never tie a bow properly!"
He huffed half in amusement and set his hands in his pockets. "How dare you!"
Steel's confusion was rife. [Who is he?]
Sapphire answered him quickly and suredly. {George McDee. He's Mullrine's partner.}
Startled, he asked, [Don't you mean was Mullrine's part -- ]
She gave a slight shake of her head. {No, he's not a ghost.}
Emma reached out despairingly and took her brother's hand. "Arthur? Arthur, is this your idea of a joke?"
But of course it was not. This man was so real. Shakily he answered her. "No. No I don't -- I don't understand. It's him!"
Emma shook her head and would not look at him. "Oh nonsense, but it's a remarkable likeness."
Unable to restrain her curiosity, Annabelle got to her feet and approached the portrait. "Fascinating," she said, standing near Tony.
"What?" he asked.
Annabelle turned her head and looked intently at the drama going on next to them. Felicity was putting the finishing touches as George accepted it, not knowing what else to do. Felicity said, "George, what's the matter? I always have to straighten your tie!"
His Irish accent had become more pronounced in his confusion. "I've never set eyes on you in my life," he protested.
Bewildered, she leaned closer to him, her hands splayed on his chest. "But George it's me, Felicity, your wife!"
Sapphire said calmly, {He's very much alive. He's due to die on the twenty-second of June, Nineteen thirty.}
Howard McDee decided this was enough and came forward. He interjected gently, "Grandmama."
George was very confused. He did not want to hurt the strange old woman, but she was too familiar with him. "Whisht, woman. Stop your ramblings. You're fifty years too old to be my wife!" She gasped painfully and he added, "Aye, fifty years at the very least." What sort of game was this?
She turned painfully from him. "Oh Arthur, tell him!"
Steel watched in amazement and the significance of Sapphire's words sank in. [Twenty-second of June. That's tomorrow!] He turned to his partner questioningly.
{Yes,} she confirmed.
Howard held his grandmother to comfort her. Arthur had finally shaken himself out of his shock and he strode over to the tableau. He snapped, "I don't know what you think you're playing at, but I think you should apologize to Felicity!"
Felicity McDee uttered an anguished "Oh!" as her grandson urged her to sit, whispering softly, "Come on, now. Come and sit down."
George watched this in utter confusion. He frowned and looked down at Arthur. "Is everybody mad around here? What's going on?"
"That's what I want to know!" Arthur snapped back.
George followed the little man. "Is she a loony, or what?"
Greville was watching them and looked pained. When Mullrine called, "Greville, bring a whiskey for Mrs. McDee, quickly!"
George watched the man rush to the decanters in confusion. "Mrs. McDee, is it?" He leaned in close to the butler. "You can bring me a large dram while you're at it, man. I've a feeling I'm going to have need of it."
Greville barely constrained his own anger and gritted his teeth. "Excuse me, sir," he said, sliding past on his way to the weeping woman.
Howard McDee had forgotten all his egotism as he saw his grandmother weeping beside Emma. A heavy hand settled on his shoulder, and the man who looked just like his grandfather pulled him aside asking, "Malcolm, can you explain what's going on here?"
Startled, he asked, "Malcolm?"
Amazed, George McDee exclaimed, "Yes you, boy! Do you not know your own name, now?"
Greville was making his way around to stare at the man, but Howard turned in confusion. "Grandmama, what is he talking about?"
"Grandmama, is it?" George McDee questioned.
"Yes," his grandson confirmed, watching him alertly.
"I tell you she's no grandmama of yours." He looked Howard up and down with a grave frown.
Howard stiffened. "Well how would you know?"
Stunned, George stiffened and glowered. "I? I'll thank you to have more respect, young man! Remember who it is you're addressing."
Howard straightened up and set his hands in his pockets with an engaging smile. "Well I'd be delighted, if I knew who you were."
George McDee's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Do you not know your own father?"
All amusement left Howard and he snapped, "My father's dead."
Steel watched all this with bemused amazement. [He must be the image of his father at the same age.]
But Felicity suddenly woke to the realization of what was being said behind her. "Malcolm! What are you saying?"
Totally confused, Howard turned to her. "Malcolm? I'm not Malcolm, that was my father's name! I'm Howard!"
Sapphire licked her lips and turned her gaze on Steel. {Well, what do we do?} The situation, horrible though it was, also was quite amusing.
[Nothing yet. Not until we find out which one of them is being used.]
George glared about in frustration. "Where is Arthur? This has all the marks of one of his wee stunts. Where is Mr. Mullrine?"
Greville approached him cautiously and corrected, "Lord Mullrine is there, sir." He pointed.
George looked at the small, elderly man seated near the old woman. His brow furrowed in frustration and he glared at Greville. "Lord Mullrine, is it? Well, whoever you may be and whatever your name is, I've no time for party games tonight. I've important work to see to. You can bring me that dram in my laboratory." He stalked across the room and passed between Sapphire and Steel to the white door of his laboratory. Pulling out his key, he glanced at them and scowled. "Flappers. No wonder we've a slump coming!" He opened the door and went inside, leaving it hanging open. Sapphire and Steel watched as the door swung shut.
The others began to applaud as Arthur walked towards the door. Felix said, "Congratulations, Arthur! Quite splendid!" they sough to congratulate him, marveling at the realism of the joke.
Howard snapped angrily, "Well I thought it was in very bad taste."
Arthur stopped in front of the white door and stared at it in slow astonishment. He said weakly, "The door. There's s -- something odd. There's some kind of... there's something I ought to remember." He moved away from the disturbing door in confusion. Felicity's weeping caught his attention and he looked up in surprise. "Is something wrong, Felicity?"
Emma was trying to soothe the other woman. "There, there, Felicity. These men, they'll never change."
The sobbing woman dropped her head into her hand as Greville came around, Howard fast on his heel. The two men helped her to her feet and Greville said, "I think Mrs. McDee might benefit from a little rest."
Howard said swiftly, "Come along. You've had rather a nasty shock. We'll get you up to your bedroom and then you'll be fine."
Sapphire and Steel had moved far from the strange door and she was sitting in a chair, he behind her. They watched the people leave the room and turned their bright attention to Arthur and Emma.
Emma whirled on her brother and scolded him sternly. "No consideration! You mark my words, Arthur! He'll shut himself away in that laboratory again, and we shan't see him for the rest of the evening! Poor Felicity," she added as an afterthought.
Shaken out of his confusion, Arthur stared at her. "Poor Felicity indeed. Don't be such a hypocrite, Emma. It doesn't become you." He shook his head at her and walked away from her, raising his voice. "Come on everybody, fill up your glasses and drink up. This is supposed to be a party!" Emma looked up at the portrait of George.
They gathered around him as Greville returned and began mixing the drinks. The champagne was poured, everyone needing some. Voices stood out from the babble, Annabelle saying, "Thank you, I'd love some," and Arthur's "Nice fresh champagne, just been poured out. Thank you Greville."
Frustrated, Steel simply spoke. "Well, which one?"
Sapphire answered him aloud, "I don't know. I've been trying to analyze them but there's something stopping me."
He said grimly, "That means it probably knows about us."
She looked up at him in surprise. "It always does."
Upstairs in the room set aside for Mrs. McDee, Howard was helping his mother dress down. He laid her lovely bracelet on the white glove she had been wearing on her left hand. "There you are, Grandmama."
"Thank you my dear. And would you please undo this one? I shall be quite all right, now."
He undid the clasp of her other bracelet and looked down at her. "Are you sure? I mean you've had a nasty shock."
"Shock?" She looked up at him innocently. "Oh, no dear. I was just a little tired, that's all. Long journeys always tire me."
Startled, he looked down at her. "Long journeys?"
She finished removing her other glove and handed it to him. "Yes, yes. Now please don't fuss." She smiled at him
Bewildered, he accepted the glove and took it to set aside with the other one. "No. No I won't. I'm certain something happened. I'm sure there was s -- "
Yet his grandmama seemed very relaxed and said to him cheerfully as she undid her earrings, "I shall come down to dinner in half an hour, so off you go and rejoin the others. We don't want to spoil Arthur's little party, do we?"
He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. "No, no we don't."
Her face aglow, she smiled at him. "That's right. Now run along, Malcolm." She serenely continued to take off her wrap as he vanished out the door.
In the hall, Howard stopped in confusion. There was still something very wrong. He stopped to the edge of the bannister and looked down. The hallway below seemed fuzzy, as though he was looking down through some kind of glass. He hesitated, then moved through the hall. He came to Purnelle's room and cautiously opened the door to sneak inside.
Down in the lounge, Annabelle Harborough was playing the piano under the admiring eye of her husband. Tony was trying to chat up Sapphire, who was only half paying attention to him. Every once in a while, the young man's eyes would slide to Veronica. She would look up at him and try to smile, though it was getting more difficult as time passed.
Felix came up behind her and bent to her ear. "Your Tony deserting you, my dear?" She laughed weakly and tried to look less abandoned. He reached down his hand and offered it gently. "We can't have that can we, a pretty girl like you."
"Thank you," she managed and accepted his invitation, allowing him to pull her up towards the piano. She held her glass in her hand sadly.
Felix smiled kindly down at her. "You mustn't let this house get you down. Old Arthur acts fierce, but he's pretty soft, really."
She smiled and nodded bravely at him, trying to put on a cheerful front. "I'll try to remember that."
Felix's gaze went past her, to where young Tony held the woman Virginia's wrist in a clear courting gesture. Felix asked softly, "You, um... known Tony long?"
She followed his look. "No, I -- "
"How long?" he asked quickly.
"Can't remember," she said weakly. Her smile now was entirely forced. "I don't know I... oh dear."
He leaned patiently down. "Takes after his father, I'm afraid. Have you met Malcolm yet?" Confused, the girl looked up at him. He continued, "I've known him since I was in nappies."
Something flicked wrong again. He stared at the boy across the room and blinked in confusion. "Malcolm...?" he murmured.
Veronica took a deep breath. "Tony says I'd make a good actress. I think I'd like that."
Shaken out of his bewilderment, Felix smiled down at her. "Oh, and what have your long-suffering parents to say about that?"
"I... I don't know." She shivered and felt like crying.
The man beside her chuckled. "Rather irregular sort of existence. I prefer to know where the next range rover is coming from."
She grasped for reasons for the pain in her heart, in her throat, as she saw Tony put his arm around the golden-haired woman's waist. "Tony says... Tony s -- says...." It was lost in confusion and she dissolved into tears.
Startled, Emma crossed the room towards them. Arthur and Miles came out of the shadows o
