Fall in love in a weekwe get by

– Elsa Gill. She and Dougal had dated since high school and then lived together. But in the end they decided that they were better off being friends.

I suppressed a twinge of envy. Someone knows how to part like a human being… I cut myself off: I’m not thinking about that. It's time to leave the past in the past and another world in another world. Much more important is that this Elsa is not at all like Charlotte. Never a Barbie, although she also clearly pays attention to her appearance. Business style suits you, and not just suits you, but is clearly familiar.

– Who is she? – I asked.

“Dougal’s colleague in some ways,” Sabella smiled. – She has her own laboratory, small production and several salons. Therapeutic cosmetics, skin, hair, nail care products are something that interests almost all women and many men.

“And therefore it’s always valuable,” I nodded mentally. Dr. Norwood's social circle consisted of successful, self-sufficient, enthusiastic and socially significant people. Perhaps, quite capable of causing Maskelyne a lot of trouble – if there was a desire. Does she really not think about it at all?

We sat in front of the screen with photographs until almost midnight. And, like yesterday, when I returned home, I was only thinking about how to get my head to the pillow as quickly as possible. On the living room table, among the business cards and bonus cards that I never collected back into my wallet, there was an oblong white envelope.

Miss Blair

I'll be waiting for you tomorrow at noon at the main entrance. You don’t have to show up at the department at the start of the working day. Thank a well-known lady for this on occasion. I think that at the opening of the Hope in Children charity fund with the support of the Mayor of Edinburgh and at the banquet after it, I need your company.

D.N.

For several minutes I stared blankly at the flying black lines of a short letter. What charity? Which well-known lady? Oh yes, probably Maskelyne. But she didn't say anything today about any fund or banquet.

“I’ll deal with this tomorrow,” I decided in the spirit of Scarlett. – After all, there is plenty of time before noon. And now – sleep.

CHAPTER 3. Day three: Thursday

The morning began with home-brewed coffee, ordered delicious pizza and a conversation with TV. Out of ingrained professional habit, I wanted to look through the available information about the fund to the opening of which I was suddenly invited.

Nothing particularly interesting – the charity of the authorities in any world is probably similar. If I had gone there as a journalist, I would have written an article in advance, and on the spot I would have concentrated on finding funny details about what was happening and about the guests. I had no idea what Charlotte should do there. But I understood very clearly what I needed to do. Almost all day with Dr. Norwood, not at the Academy, without correspondence, scientific work and students taking up his time and attention. At the most boring event for him, and for me too. Surrounded by people who, one hopes, are even less interesting to him than Charlotte.

It's time to move from viewing photos to personal contact.

I finished my pizza and asked the sociable TV the following request:

– Clothes for girls, social events.

Pages of advertising catalogs flashed on the screen. I had a rough idea of Dr. Norwood’s tastes in women’s clothing, and, in principle, my new black trousers with any of the white blouses more or less corresponded to both them and today’s occasion. Although a jacket or vest would be desirable with the trousers. But, as far as I understood, trousers were more appropriate for a journalist reporting, and it was more appropriate for a companion of a high-status guest to appear in a dress.

But none of Charlotte's dresses fit.

“It’s time to break the pattern,” I sighed and went along the beaten path – to Grisella’s salon. Considering that there are two hours left… all hope is for magic!

Grisella and magic did not disappoint. It was five minutes to twelve when I opened the portal and stepped towards the Academy, wondering if the professor would recognize his assistant at first sight. Strict updo, extremely neat, not a single stray hair. A closed dress below the knee made of patriotic tartan suited to the occasion, in a business style, but perfectly outlining the figure. Shoes with small heels, stockings a tone darker than the skin. A clutch taken for lipstick and a handkerchief. The notepad and pen I had stuffed into it out of habit, I realized, took it out and left it at home: they didn’t match the image.

I have never looked so perfect in my life, neither this nor the last.