A Girl Named Sandy

Chapter 1

The envelope

Doctor Carmichael, please tell me that this was an accident.

Paul Eric Carmichael, the man who was supposed to answer the question, was still blinking his eyes after the blinding flash that had come from the monitor. It was an accident, professor. I hope you are content with that.

I am certainly not. Are you in any way aware of the cost of the equipment that you just attempted to reduce to useless parts? the first man asked. This was Professor Doctor Sams, leading the astrophysics department of the University of Bristol.

Hardly attempted, a third voice joined the conversation from behind a moderate mountain of displays and measuring equipment, on which most lights had gone out. Sorry, professor, but it looks as if we actually managed it.

The professor turned his head. Managed what, Doctor Donahue? Do you mean that the experiment worked? A flicker of hope showed on the professor's face.

Don Donahue, who worked with Paul Carmichael on the project, looked around from the equipment to face the professor. No, sir. We actually managed to reduce all the equipment to useless parts, just as you said. Although, not all of it seems to have blown up yet. The power cable still looks usable, Don grinned. Care to go for the rest, P.E.? He loved angering the professor but because he excelled at his job no one dared to send him packing. His announcement etched another look of despair on Professor Sams's face.

We should wait for another time, Paul Eric Carmichael commented, leaning back in the chair where he had spent most of the afternoon and evening. He stretched his arms over his head and felt parts of his spine pop back into place. Perhaps after supper. Or tomorrow.

Don silently nodded as he made his fingers dance over the sea of buttons and switches on the grey control panel in front of him. Slowly the steady hum of the equipment they hadn't touched diminished as their power sources were cut off, until all that was audible in the experimental laboratory was the background sound of the air conditioning, the buzz of one of the ill-fitted lights overhead and the exaggerated breathing of Professor Sams.

Gentlemen, said Professor Sams, I had hoped for something more substantial and uplifting than your childish jests about destroying equipment that isn't yours.

I am very sorry, sir, Paul responded, but setting up a reliable model of the oscillating universe, while at the same time keeping track of the spectral changes regarding a significant number of irregular quasar clusters proves to be a bit more complex than we had assumed. Slowly, as he lowered his hands behind his head, he turned towards the balding professor. I think we made some progress today though.

Professor Sams pointed a hand holding an envelope towards the burnt-out monitor. That is progress, you mean?

Don flipped his glasses onto his millimetered hair. He shook his head, which made his glasses tumble down to his nose again. No, that was just bad luck and worse wiring, sir. He then caught his spectacles as they slipped off his nose. We discovered a few flaws in two of the algorithms we developed. Tomorrow we'll take them apart and see what went wrong. Supper sounds good, gibbon.

Paul glared at Don. "Gwyddon. Scientist in Welsh is gwyddon, not gibbon. Although I have to admit that you resemble a gibbon closer than a gwyddon now."

The two astrophysicists then rose from their chairs.

You will have to find another place to eat, Professor Sams said, a lot gentler in tone suddenly. The restaurant closed several hours ago. As usual, for you. And before I forget, this has been delivered for you. The professor handed the envelope to Paul. Its contents had clearly been checked.

Thank you, sir. The envelope disappeared into a pocket of the coat that Paul retrieved from a wobbly hook near the door.

Don switched off the last bits of equipment. Maybe we can go up to the scope first, tomorrow, he suggested, and see if we can get some fresh readings from there.

Professor Sams stared at the skinny man. Please, promise me you will not use that expensive radio telescope any more to send a morse-code message to your sister? He did not wait for an answer; he just turned and left the room.

Paul looked at his colleague. Morse-code? This was new even for him, and he was quite aware of many of the strange things Don thought of - and got away with.

Let's go and find a place to eat something, Don avoided the subject as he looked for his coat, which Paul already held up for him. Oh. Thank you.

After switching off the lights in their laboratory they walked down the long, silent corridors of the School of Physics, meanwhile theorising about the problem they had run into and how they might tackle it. They were still talking and arguing as they found a late night restaurant near the university where they ordered something, hardly interrupting their discussion. The waitress had listened to their rambling for a while before shaking her head and walking off to serve other late customers.

The high-level, academic and mostly theoretical discussion dwindled only when their orders were brought to the table. As they sat and ate, Don suddenly pointed a fork at his colleague. So what's in there?

In where? Paul looked surprised. In me? You should know that. Blood and bones.

No, no, the envelope that shining Sams gave you. Don loved calling the honoured professor 'shining', because of the man's bald head that always looked as if it had been polished to a shine.

Oh. No. I wouldn't have an idea... Paul laid down his fork and knife, and extracted the crumpled envelope from his pocket. He pulled out a few sheets of neatly folded paper and started to read.

Don Donahue took the time to liberally add pepper to his co-worker's food, as his plate was obscured from view by the paper. So what is it? Your dismissal?

No. Paul looked at Don. Quite a surprise, really. Remember that invitation Sams told us about, for you and me to go to that conference in Maryland? He cleared his throat, pushed his glasses up and then read out: Confirmation of attendance. The Joint Space Science Institute, the UMd Department of Astronomy and NASA-Goddard are hosting a three day scientific meeting. Topics covered will include black holes, active galactic nuclei, the high-energy astrophysics of galaxies, galaxy clusters, and cosmology. The meeting will conclude with a discussion of high-energy astrophysics missions and a strategic discussion of future missions. And all this will happen in Annapolis, Maryland. In the rebel colonies. That last part was a little joke Paul always entertained with a select group of people.

Don almost felt sorry for the amount of pepper he had distributed. He stared at his colleague, then at the letter, and snatched the latter from the former's fingers to read all that himself. When he lowered the letter, his eyes were large behind the thick glasses. We're going to Maryland next month, was all he could say.

Paul nodded. Yes. And I am glad you did not use sugar.

Sugar? Don was now on the surprised end of the talk.

Instead of the pepper.

I see. How on earth did we get invited to that conference in the first place? Don then wondered. I have thought about it, but never assumed that to be something attainable for us. And suddenly we get this invitation, Sams does some of his dark magic, and off we go.

Paul shrugged. I don't know either. At least we're out of his hair for a while. They both grinned at that.

***

The two astrophysics researchers had been absorbed by their work and the classes they taught so much, that they almost got caught by surprise by the fact that their trip to the United States was less than one week away.

Don? Paul asked his telephone, as his sister was running around in his apartment, to make sure that he would take clean clothes. Wilma sends you her best and demands that I inform you that you have to pack clean clothes.

Wilma was not his real sister; he had been adopted into her family at a very young age. His father had died before he was born and his mother had not survived a car accident when he was only two years old.

Tell her not to worry, said Don. I have some. And yes, they are in my suitcase.

Paul relayed the information to Wilma, his sister. He says he could fit some clothes into his suitcase, next to the books and dissertations.

And don't forget the theories, Don reminded him. Theories are most important.

And theories, Paul duly conveyed.

Wilma rolled her eyes as she took the telephone out of Paul's hand. Listen, Don. I am not impressed by the titles you two have around your names and god knows I am never impressed with the way you dress. But please make sure you look at least presentable. With that she handed back the mobile phone. Here, good luck talking sense into him.

P.E., tell her to stop worrying. I am a grown man and I can take care of myself. The voice from the telephone was accompanied, almost drowned out, by the sound of something fragile falling and ending its existence in its current shape. Paul did not bother to convey that part of the conversation. Don should live in a house made of rubber, with furniture made solely of rubber and durable plastics.

Tell him not to forget his suitcase! Wilma yelled, loud enough for Don to hear her.

As if I would forget the paperwork, Don snorted. I'll see you tomorrow, P.E.

Doubtful, Paul replied, I have three classes scheduled for tomorrow and that's it. It is Friday tomorrow, after all. Remember, we have the day off after the weekend and we have to be at the airport on Tuesday. Very early.

I know, I know, and you will come and pick me up with the taxi and I had better be ready. Don sounded slightly annoyed, but with reason. He had forgotten to wake up for journeys before.

And see that you find someone to look after your plants, Paul said.

There was a long and meaningful silence from Don's end, after which he said: I don't think that is necessary any more.

Very well. Just be on time. I shall call you when I wake up on Tuesday and pray that you will hear and answer your telephone.

Lost cause, Wilma commented, who was still going through Paul's closets and drawers.

Paul saw what she had done while he was on the phone. "Wilma, what is all that? I'll be gone for about a week, I am not moving there!" He heard Don's laughter coming through the phone.

At least you have me to look after you, Wilma shot back, you are not so convinced that you can manage on your own, like a certain Donahue! She had come close enough to make Don yelp on his side of the line, so loud had she yelled into the phone.

Paul heard Don disconnect and grinned. In fact, I am quite certain that after forty-eight years I can manage just fine by myself, he told Wilma. It proved impossible to convince his sister of that.

You haven't been my brother during all that time, Wilma pointed out as she pulled yet another pair of trousers into the light of day, "so I am not taking chances. And in what century did you acquire this?" She shook the innocent garment.

***

Chapter 2

The journey

The phone rang and rang. Paul Eric Carmichael was in the taxi, en route to the house of Don Donahue, whom he was trying to pull from slumber since he had been up himself. Come on, Don. Don't do this to me. Not again, I beg of you.

Your mate's a heavy sleeper, is he? the taxi-driver enquired as he steered the typical blue taxi through the mostly empty streets. I can slap the horn when we're there, if you like.

Thank you for your offer. I should try ringing the door bell first, Paul responded, as to stay relatively friendly with the other people who live near there.

You're the customer, sir, just tryin' to help.

The taxi stopped in front of Don's house. The street was littered with cars so there was no option but to double-park for the driver. Paul left the taxi with the telephone still at his ear. He rang the doorbell several times in rapid succession. After the fifth attempt a light came on in the hall and then Don, apparently sleep-walking, opened the door.

P.E. I am sorry. In his defence Don held up his telephone. It was on the pillow, I swear. Just on the wrong bed, in the wrong room. Give me a few minutes, I'll be ready before you know it.

It would take Don a while longer and Paul knew that, but a half hour later they were in the taxi and on their way to the airport.

***

Once at the airport the stress of finding counters, getting rid of suitcases and passing through what seemed a hundred security checks started. Both scientists hated that part of travelling and the bad news was that this was only the first check as their first flight took them to Heathrow near London, where they had to wait for a number of hours, after which their flight to Detroit caused another round of checks and safety procedures.

Finally they were in the aeroplane and praising the upgrade to business class travel (at their own expenses). After the wait for departure and finally climbing into the skies, they brought out laptops and a tablet to continue their work. Grudgingly they agreed to accept the in-flight food and there also was a moment of tension when they were asked to lower their voices as most people wanted to sleep, but Don agreed that getting some sleep was probably best.

Don switched off his overhead light and was out like that light himself. Paul stared into the darkness, his thoughts revolving around some of the questions they were still trying to tackle. It took him hours to drift off. It was quite a shock when Don woke him up: P.E., wake up. We're almost in Detroit, you already slept through breakfast, or whatever it was that they served. But not to worry, I saved it for you. Don held up a small package in cellophane which seemed to hold some airline goodies.

Paul stretched his arms, yawned in an undignified manner and once again felt his spine pop into place. You are a true friend, Don, he then shared with his friend and work-partner. Gods, I hate flying.

Next time you might try swimming, Don suggested, but it's a bit late for that now. Or you might try another god.

Paul sighed. Don always had something like that up the proverbial sleeve. Plus he wasn't very fond of swimming.

Once they were allowed to leave the aeroplane in Detroit they had to rush to make it to their connecting flight to Baltimore, from where they were meant to proceed to Annapolis by taxi. Rushing while having to go through customs and more security was a challenge but they made it.

This went so fast, Paul uttered, very surprised, that I wonder if the suitcases made it.

We have the backpacks with the laptops and the notes, Don shrugged. That's the important thing. I can wear these socks a few more days.

Paul looked at his colleague. Doctor Donahue, has anyone ever pointed out to you that you're a swine?

Don frowned. No. Not that I can remember anyway. But you know my memory. They both laughed.

During the short trip from Detroit to Baltimore, they tried to decide who they should hold responsible for this insane trip. Both researchers were convinced that this could have been done much faster but this was probably the least expensive way. After arriving in Baltimore and going through yet another security checkpoint the two were reunited with their luggage which had miraculously made it to the airport as well. Paul was quite relieved to find his suitcase in order. Don and he then made their way to the exit.

Outside the terminal evening was already making itself comfortable. In the semi-darkness they found a taxi that took them to their hotel in Annapolis, where an hour later they were checking in. The two astrophysicists personally took their luggage to the ninth floor as there was no way in the known universe they would allow someone to take even temporary possession of their work items.

With the doors to the rooms securely locked and the two men not tired at all they went to the hotel bar and engaged in a battle of wits, over a few glasses of wine for Paul and scotch for Don, until they felt the alcohol taking a grasp on their mental capacities.

We should try to sleep, Don, the first day of the conference is tomorrow, Paul suggested. We have the disadvantage of the jet-lag on our side, no need to make it worse.

Don agreed. As he got up he said You have another disadvantage, P.E.

Oh really? Which is? Paul wondered what his friend would bring up.

You're from Wales.

Paul sighed. Your view of advantage and disadvantage, my dear man, is entirely muddled up because of the sorry excuse for scotch you have been drinking, he declared as they made their way to the lift. They would never agree on that point of course and wished each other a good night once they reached their rooms.

As he lay in the strange bed, in a dark room with unfamiliar smells and muffled sounds from outside, Paul stared at the ceiling where the little red light of a smoke detector was blinking hypnotically. It took a while before he drifted into a light slumber that would never qualify as sleep.

***

Waking up wasn't easy either. The telephone, which was just out of reach, kept ringing. Paul stumbled out of bed, grabbed the telephone and was informed that this was his wake-up call. The clock told him that it was 6:10am. He slammed the phone down a bit harder than needed to give air to his feeling. It did not improve the situation.

What idiot arranged this? he wondered. Going back to bed was no option, though. He knew he'd not wake up before late afternoon if he did, so he staggered through the room, collected some things he would need and headed towards the shower. At least that would wake him up for the hours to come.

Just as he came back into the room, someone was impatiently knocking on the door. Dammit, what's next... Through the spy-hole Paul saw that Don was waiting in the hallway, all dressed and apparently very awake. He opened the door. What happened to you?

Don looked at his colleague. You look as if you had no sleep.

Thank you. Come in, so I can finish getting dressed. How is it that you are so awake and cheerful? Paul asked as Don entered.

Don shrugged and dropped himself in a chair. I wouldn't know, except perhaps for my good-humoured disposition and dazzling looks?

Paul closed the door and turned to look at his puny fellow researcher. The short hair, the immense glasses, and ears two sizes too large. Yes. You look dazzling. He finished dressing and collected what things he wanted to take with him to the conference.

We can come back for that, Don pointed out.

I'm taking them with me, Paul insisted, so they left the hotel room and went to look for a place that could supply them with breakfast. Paul carried two bags while Don carried his dazzling looks.

After breakfast Don went back to his room to fetch his conference material, while Paul remained seated to enjoy some more tea. They had taken their time, and it was around nine in the morning when they went in search of a taxi that would take them to the conference hall.

I hope I can stay awake all day, Paul grinned as the taxi turned into the parking lot in front of the Loews Hotel where the conference was being held.

Don't worry, P.E., Don said. I am here, I shall keep you awake.

"That statement just thoroughly undermined the don't worry you started with, Doctor Donahue." They paid the taxi-driver and went into the hotel.

Crikey. Don stopped and stared. Paul knew what the man meant - the Loews hotel was several steps higher up the quality ladder than their hotel.

Hello, gentlemen. A young lady, her brown hair in a bun on her head and charming blue-rimmed glasses on her nose, came up to them. She had a computer tablet and a plastic bag with her. She shook their hands, looked up their names on the tablet and then dug out a few badges which they were supposed to wear during the conference. My name is Megan Reynolds, I am with the Annapolis University and if there is anything you need assistance with, just ask me.

Don grinned. He's from Wales, he'll be asking you a lot, the man said as he pointed at Paul.

Paul thought it below his dignity to give his friend a slap on the head. After all, they were here on official university business. Megan Reynolds pointed out the important areas for the next three days, told them where they were expected to sit at the beginning of the conference and then handed them over to another woman who guided them to a restaurant for coffee, tea and cake. As they walked along, Don and Paul noticed that there was more than this one conference going on in the hotel. Everywhere they saw people with badges, and most of those people did not look like they were into astrophysics. Once they were in the restaurant, stocked up on tea, the waiting began.

***

Chapter 3

Where is Don?

Paul and Don were very quiet after the first day of the conference. They absolutely stood their ground in their field but the sheer amount of information, the challenging discussions and intriguing panel talks had taken every ounce of energy from them that they had remaining after their flight.

Too tired to look for a restaurant they had decided to stay in the Loews Hotel for dinner, even though it was obvious they could dine elsewhere for far less. The hotel's restaurant was remarkably full so a waiter came to their table and asked if it was okay with them if two other people joined them for lack of tables. The researchers had no problem with that so they soon shared their table. One of the newcomers was someone who was at the hotel for the conference as well and there was a man who was present for something that never became entirely clear but still proved a very nice person to talk to.

Back in his hotel room, now thoroughly tired and ready for a proper night of sleep, Paul chuckled to himself as he slipped into the bed. The friendly non-scientist at the table had probably not understood ninety percent of what had been talked about. Paul closed his eyes. He was prepared for formulas and slides to appear before his mind's eye but it never got that far. He was out like a light.

He was so much out like a light that it took Don quite a lot of banging on the door to wake Paul up. He had slept through the wake-up call and would have slept through the torture of the door had the phone not rung again.

Christ! he cursed as he jumped out of the bed and almost tripped over his shoes. Don, stop trying to break down the door, I'm up!

About time too! Don yelled from the other side. I have near beaten my hands raw on the bloody door! You have exactly twenty-nine minutes before we have to leave!

Twenty-nine minutes later the two were walking to the taxi Don had called, while Paul hoped that the sandwich he was still eating was not a problem. It wasn't.

The second day of the conference was less exciting than the first day, much to Don's disappointment. The emphasis lay on theoretical astronomy, something Paul found amazingly interesting, but the man doing the introduction - he was from NASA - lingered far too long on the origins of the matter, and seemed far too fond of Johannes Kepler, the alleged founder of this branch of astrophysics. It was only in the afternoon that astronomical navigation through celestial, moving bodies was discussed, which had Paul's full attention. He was so engrossed in it that he only noticed that Don had left when there was a break for tea, coffee, and sanitary deviations.

Paul wondered where Don would have gone; it wasn't like him at all to just disappear in such a manner. He quickly looked over the programme for the afternoon and found another lecture, on space science. That was probably where the thin man had gone to, as that connected to Don's not so well-kept secret dream: to go into space and play in zero gravity. Paul grinned as he took his seat again after a break, and enjoyed the rest of the afternoon by himself. After all, he was in the good company of over fifty other interested people.

After the closing words Paul left the small auditorium and went in search of his colleague. Don however wasn't to be found, so Paul resorted to the expensive option and took out his British mobile phone. After three attempts that told him the party he was trying to reach wasn't responding, he shrugged and tucked the phone away. On a table near the hotel's reception was a sign 'Information and assistance' so he went there and explained to the man sitting there that Doctor Don Donahue had somehow gone missing.

I can assure you that no one is missing, sir, the man behind the table smiled. Doctor Donahue... he traced a finger along a list yes, here it is. He left two hours ago, in the company of Miss Megan Reynolds.

If someone had thrown a bucket with fish entrails over Paul's head he could not have been more surprised. He what?

The man patiently repeated what he had said. And there is a note for you, if you are P.E. Carmichael.

Don was the only person calling him P.E. and he probably did so only because Paul hated that. It also was the ultimate proof that this message was indeed from Don. Doctor Paul Eric Carmichael, indeed. Paul showed his conference badge.

Ah, yes. The man handed over a neatly folded piece of paper.

Paul thanked him and looked at the message.

P.E., I left. You probably noticed. Miss Reynolds offered to show me around. I may not be in the hotel tonight but we'll be here in time for the last day. Don 'D.L.'

Paul frowned at the 'D.L.' for a moment. Then he grinned. 'Dazzling Looks'. He wondered for a moment how that skinny geek had been able to capture the attention of a woman. History showed solid proof that Don Donahue possessed a built-in female-repellent, so Paul would like to know what had changed. As he folded up the paper to tuck it into his pocket, he turned and bumped into someone. Oh, excuse me.

The man he had run into was one of was men who had joined their table the first day, the non-researcher. He smiled politely. No harm done, don't worry. I've been hit harder in my life. The man, who wore a light blue shirt and jeans, looked Paul up and down. Where is your malnourished friend? he asked as he ran a hand over his short brown hair.

Paul snorted, as he noticed that the speaker's short beard was a different shade of brown than his hair. The man was correct, Don looked malnourished at the best of times. I think my colleague has discovered a rebellious streak, sir. During this afternoon's session he disappeared and left me to enjoy my dinner in the company of only a note.

That doesn't sound very entertaining. The forehead of the man in jeans showed a slight frown for a moment. Then he looked at Paul with an inviting expression. Perhaps you would like to join me and my family for dinner. Consider it a thank you for allowing me to sit at your table two days ago, when the restaurant was so overloaded.

The astrophysicist was taken aback by this invitation. Oh... that is very generous of you, mister...?

Royce. Timothy Royce, the man said, holding out his hand.

A pleasure, Mister Royce, said Paul. Paul Eric Carmichael, from the UK. They shook hands.

Timothy Royce grinned. I had already caught that you're not from the States. And please call me Timothy, or Tim. We're not so big on titles here.

In that case, please call me Paul.

Timothy guided Paul out of the building. My car is just around the corner. I'll tell my wife that we're having a visitor for dinner. She'll like that, and the kids will be surprised. I hope you are not intimidated by a large family, Paul, you don't strike me as a family man yourself. Oh, I hope you don't mind dogs and cats, we have some of those too. Before Paul could answer or say a word, Timothy already had his mobile phone in hand and speed-dialled a number. By the time they had arrived at a battered, brown car it was all arranged.

Adele is looking forward to meeting you, Timothy said as he directed the car through the streets. Relax and enjoy the view, we're in a nice little town here. We live just outside of it, we'll be there in about half an hour.

Paul was surprised about the flow of words from the man who had just invited him for dinner at his house. They had hardly met and already he was talking about many personal things as if they were best friends.

You are correct, Paul managed to say as Timothy took a breath, I am not much of a family man. I assume it is something that comes with the occupation. He looked out of the window and tried to ignore the fact that he was sitting in what he knew to be the driver's seat with the steering wheel missing. Annapolis was indeed a nice town with several older buildings and a marina with many expensive-looking boats. In the back of his head there was a small voice of concern, warning him that he was doing something very out of the ordinary. Paul Eric Carmichael was usually not the kind of person to accept any invitation without knowing the inviting party, but for once he decided that the small voice should better be quiet. Don had an adventure so he was entitled to something similar, and Timothy struck him as an amiable person. Although dinner with a strange family was probably very different from what Don was going to encounter. His inner musings made that he missed a question asked by Timothy. I am so sorry, what did you say? His cheeks flushed red.

I asked what your line of work is. You are with the astronomy conference so you must do something complicated, Timothy grinned. I'm into agriculture. Let's just say farming.

Paul explained a few things about the work he and Don did in Bristol as he tried to keep away from the details that the general public regarded as difficult or even incomprehensible. This always meant that he had very little to say, but Timothy surprised him by asking a few questions that went beyond what people not in the field would know. Soon he was explaining the theories that were written on deep space navigation, taking into account that light only travelled at a limited speed, making determining where a craft was and had to go very complex.

Timothy nodded, although Paul was certain the man did not follow everything he had said. I am sure Sandy will love to talk with you about that.

Who's Sandy? Paul asked.

Timothy told him that Sandy was his daughter. Officially her name is Sandra but nobody uses that as she refuses to respond to that. She's into astronomy and stars and so on as well.

Paul smiled. Many people were 'into astronomy and stars', but that was entirely different from the professional approach. Of course, he did not mention that as Timothy seemed very proud of his daughter in that respect.

They passed a lake, which Timothy said was Lake Claire and soon they drove down a street that was lined with large trees left and right. Paul mentioned that he appreciated the many trees as they reminded him of his old home in Wales.

I already thought you talked a bit funny, Timothy said with a wink. Adele will love that. Do people in Wales have their own dialect?

Paul sat up. Welsh is a language, not a dialect.

Oh. Touchy. Sorry, I didn't mean to- Timothy did not finish his words as he turned the wheel of the car and pulled into a driveway. The car stopped just short of a replica of an antique lamp post, probably put there to indicate the end of the parking spot.

Paul unbuckled and got out of the car. He looked at the house which was made of wood and painted grey, with white rims around the windows. Over each window was an extra half round window with thin wooden spokes coming from the bottom centre like the rays of the sun. Somehow the designer of the home had managed to make every side of the house end in a pointed roof, making the top appear as if it were a pyramid's twin. It confused Paul to look at it, trying to decide how the optical illusion had been created.

Very nice house, he then commented to Timothy. Paul picked his large bag from the back-seat of the car and followed Timothy to the front door, which had an oval window of matted glass in it.

Welcome to the Royce residence, Timothy said as he opened the door and let Paul step in.

***

Chapter 4

Dinner at the Royce's

As soon as he stepped into the hall, an avalanche of music jumped at Paul. Obviously his face betrayed his amazement, because Timothy grinned. The hall was simple, decorated with a few small paintings, and in a corner stood a table impersonating a barstool on which stood a red, porcelain vase with two red roses in it.

Don't worry about the noise, Paul's host said as he took Paul's jacket and put it on a hook. We're here! he then called out, in an attempt to outvoice the music. Miraculously, he succeeded. Only seconds later there was peace in the house. From an open door, which probably led into a living room, came a woman, slightly shorter than Timothy. She had a pleasant smile, black eyes, and black hair flowing over her shoulders. It struck Paul that she wore exactly the same type of shirt and jeans as her husband.

Mister Carmichael, she said, taking his hand with both of hers. Welcome. I am Adele Royce, please call me Adele.

Paul chuckled at the particular way she pronounced his name. A pleasure to meet you... Adele. He had to get used to the quick familiarity in this family. If you would please call me Paul...

Before Adele could respond, a young boy of perhaps fourteen years old came down the stairs and sat on a step halfway down. Who's he? He took Paul in through his black eyes from under a wild mop of black hair. He clearly had inherited eyes and hair from his mother.

Timothy sighed. Travis. Where are your manners?

Flushed them down the crapper, like always, the boy shrugged. He then persisted in staring until his father explained who Paul was.

I tried to tell you after Timothy had called, Adele said, but you didn't hear that.

Of course, a female voice from somewhere said. He was trying to destroy the house again with the sound waves from his boombox.

Travis did not twitch at that. Shut up, Angela.

Adele took Paul by the arm. Sorry about that, Paul. Please come in and don't mind the children. Travis is the youngest and too protective. The invisible one you heard is Angela, our oldest daughter.

Big fail, Travis, Angela's voice chimed down the stairs. That made Travis jump to his feet and bolt up the stairs.

No fighting! Timothy called after him, and we're having dinner together!

As they entered the living room, Paul heard a door slam on the upper floor.

I am so sorry about this, Paul, said Adele as she pointed to a large settee near the window. Please, have a seat. Can I get you a drink?

Paul asked for a glass of white wine, hoping they had that, and glanced at the large painting that hung over the fireplace. The wooden floor creaked softly under his shoes and for some reason it made him feel good. The sound was in a way welcoming him. It reminded him of the wooden floors in the old house in Wales of which he still had some faint memories.

Adele made that, said Timothy,