To The Stars

It was the following Wednesday morning when his brother-in-law phoned him in the laboratory. “Morning, Jan. Elizabeth asked me to call you.”

The silence stretched as Jan waited. Thurgood-Smythe was silent as well, watching; It was obvious that nothing more was going to be said about Security.

“How is Liz?” Jan finally answered. “What’s up?”

“Dinner tonight. She was afraid you would forget.”

“I didn’t forget. But I just won’t be able to make it. I was going to call with my apologies…”

“Too late. There’s someone else coming and it would be impossible to cancel now. Too embarrassing for her.”

“Oh, God. She did say something about another of her girls! You couldn’t…”

“Not easily. Better take your medicine. From the way she talks this one is really something different. From Ireland, Dublin, all the charm of the Gael and the beauty and so forth.”

“Stop — I’ve heard it often enough in the past. See you at eight.”

Jan broke the connection first, a feeble gesture that made him feel better. He had forgotten the damn dinner. If he had called earlier he could have gotten out of it — but not on the same day. Liz would be too unbearable. In fact it might be a good idea to go. Get a decent meal for a change — the food in the bar was giving him indigestion. And it wouldn’t hurt Security to be reminded whom he was related to. And the girl might be presentable, though Liz’s choices usually weren’t. Social connections were more important to her than grace of form, and she had trotted out some diabolical women.

He left work early in the afternoon and mixed a drink for himself at home, soaking some of the tension out in a hot bath, then changing into a good suit. Liz would be looking daggers through him all night if he wore the shabby jacket he used for the office. She might even burn his food. It was best to stay on Liz’s best side for peace of life.

The Thurgood-Smythes had a Georgian house in Barnet and the drive made Jan feel better. The countryside was attractive under the waning moon, silver and black and hard. Though it was already March, the winter showed no sign of loosening its grip. All of the lights in the front of the house appeared to be on, but there was only one car in the drive. Well, he would smile and be polite. And at least the food would be good. And he ought to play a few games of snooker with his brother-in-law, whether he wanted to be with him or not. The past was gone. The present and the future had to be innocent.

There was the sound of female laughter from the drawing room and Thurgood-Smythe rolled his eyes as he took Jan’s coat. “Elizabeth has made a mistake this time,” he said. “This one is actually bearable to look at.”

“Thank God for small blessings. I can hardly wait.”

“Is it going to be whiskey?”

“Please. Malt.”

He put his gloves inside his fur hat and dropped them onto the table, then gave his hair a quick comb in the mirror. There was more laughter and the clink of glasses and he followed the sound. Thurgood-Smythe was bent over the drinks trolley. Elizabeth waved to him and the other woman on the sofa turned toward him and smiled.

It was Sara.

Sixteen

It took all of Jan’s will, all of his years of practice at school in not showing emotion, to stop himself from letting his jaw hang or from popping his eyes. “Hello, Liz,” he said, in what was definitely not his normal voice, and walked around the couch to kiss her on the cheek. She hugged him to her.

“Darling, so wonderful to see you. I’ve even made you a special meal, you’ll see.”

Thurgood-Smythe passed him a drink in a natural way, then refreshed his own. Didn’t they know? Was this a farce — or a trap? He finally let himself look at Sara who was sitting demurely, knees together, sipping a small sherry. Her dress was long and dark green, with an old-fashioned look, a gold brooch at her throat the only jewelry.

“Jan, I want you to meet Orla Mountcharles. From Dublin. We went to the same school, not at the same time of course. Now we belong to the same bridge club and I couldn’t resist bringing her home so we could chat some more. I knew you wouldn’t mind, isn’t that right?”

“My pleasure. You’ve a treat in store, Miss Mountcharles, if you’ve never tasted Liz’s cooking before.”

“Orla, please, we’re not too formal at home.” There was a touch of Irish accent to her voice. She smiled at him warmly, then sipped delicately at her sherry. He desperately drank half the whiskey in a gulp and started coughing.

“Sorry, not enough water?” Thurgood-Smythe asked, hurrying over with the jug.

“Please,” Jan gasped. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re just out of training. Have another one and I’ll show you the new cloth on the snooker table.”

“Finally replaced. It would have had value as an antique in a few more years.

“Indeed. But you can roll into the top pocket now, you don’t need to pot with force to get over that ripple.”

It was easy to chat like that, to turn away and follow to the billiard room. What was she doing here? What was this madness?