but it was my bargain. I proposed it, and I ful y intended to live with it, and stil do.”
“Very courageous of you.”
“It was my duty.”
“Why?”
“I wil explain it to you, Paul,” Fiona assures me earnestly, “another time. Actual y, we were thinking of coming over to your place in Valflaunès to beard you in your lair. I can explain then. Are we invited?”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Virtual y everybody. Would you and Mike mind?”
“We might have to tidy up first. Give us a couple of days.”
“What if it were the day after tomorrow?”
“No probs. We’l do a barbeque. Lunchtime or dinner?”
“If we strol ed over in the afternoon?”
“Fine by me.”
“Do you want to consult with Mike?”
“No, it wil be fine with him too.”
“Sarah wil be there. He might appreciate that.”
“I am sure he would.”
“You know that he doesn’t stand a chance with her, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Does he?”
“In his head, yes - in his heart, no.”
“You and Mike seem incredibly close, almost like Peter and John. Virtual y inseparable.”
“Mike is a wonderful brother. He is my best friend. Always has been.”
“So you have got a heart after al , Paul.”
“That was my head speaking.”
Fiona laughs. “You are impossible. Perhaps I wil pass your comment on to Sarah. It may encourage her.”
“I don’t suppose that she is looking for a brother.”
“No,” Fiona replies. “That is what I did. I always wished that I had been furnished with one, sort of two or three years younger than me. Something to dress up, that sort of thing. Give him a few orders. Confide in him during my teen years.
Use him to recruit potential boyfriends.” She pul s a face. “I ended up with John instead. He is a wonderful brother too, although Sarah doesn’t think so.”
I continue to concentrate on the tennis, al owing Fiona to believe that she is performing a soliloquy.
“So you didn’t find any ghosts at Inspector John’s and no more body parts?”
“Nairy a one,” I confirm.
“Have you seen any ghosts here at the Château?”
“It would be very surprising if there wasn’t an outraged phantom or two complaining about British aristocracy occupying their sacred land.”
“Have you seen one, then?”
“No, but I haven’t been looking and, if I had, I probably would not have recognised it anyway. I am real y not into ghosts.”
“Mike said you were. Apparently it is wel known in your family that you commune with spirits from other dimensions, or so Mike said.”
“My mother thinks so.”
“And you deny it.”
“Sometimes my mother is a strange spirit from another dimension. I wouldn’t go by what she says about me. I am not into ghosts, or angels, or any kind of astral travel er. The most I ever do is to sense a chil in the air in some places, like at Inspector John’s the other day. That is my lot.”
“So why does Mike say otherwise?”
“Sometimes he is a wonderful brother. At other times he is a fantastic one. He makes things up about me. It’s a game we play between us. I do the same thing for him sometimes. Did you know that he has been ordained as a Buddhist monk, for instance?”
“Is that something you have just made up?”
“Ask him about it. You may be surprised. Good shot, Peter,” I add, final y engaging with the tennis in front of me.
“You haven’t applauded any of my shots,” John Jr. protests, “and I am winning.”
“Sorry, John,” I cal back, “but you not only have to make a great shot, but you also have to do so during a lul in the conversation.”
John grins rueful y. “Ah, that is where I was going wrong. Silence, please, among the spectators!” but his next five shots are dreadful.
Chapter 5
I leave the Valflaunès house at 9:15. Mike wil not be up until at least midday as we have nothing planned. I haven’t explained where I am going, but we often abandon each other at the house, so there is nothing for him to suspect.
The
“Very courageous of you.”
“It was my duty.”
“Why?”
“I wil explain it to you, Paul,” Fiona assures me earnestly, “another time. Actual y, we were thinking of coming over to your place in Valflaunès to beard you in your lair. I can explain then. Are we invited?”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Virtual y everybody. Would you and Mike mind?”
“We might have to tidy up first. Give us a couple of days.”
“What if it were the day after tomorrow?”
“No probs. We’l do a barbeque. Lunchtime or dinner?”
“If we strol ed over in the afternoon?”
“Fine by me.”
“Do you want to consult with Mike?”
“No, it wil be fine with him too.”
“Sarah wil be there. He might appreciate that.”
“I am sure he would.”
“You know that he doesn’t stand a chance with her, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Does he?”
“In his head, yes - in his heart, no.”
“You and Mike seem incredibly close, almost like Peter and John. Virtual y inseparable.”
“Mike is a wonderful brother. He is my best friend. Always has been.”
“So you have got a heart after al , Paul.”
“That was my head speaking.”
Fiona laughs. “You are impossible. Perhaps I wil pass your comment on to Sarah. It may encourage her.”
“I don’t suppose that she is looking for a brother.”
“No,” Fiona replies. “That is what I did. I always wished that I had been furnished with one, sort of two or three years younger than me. Something to dress up, that sort of thing. Give him a few orders. Confide in him during my teen years.
Use him to recruit potential boyfriends.” She pul s a face. “I ended up with John instead. He is a wonderful brother too, although Sarah doesn’t think so.”
I continue to concentrate on the tennis, al owing Fiona to believe that she is performing a soliloquy.
“So you didn’t find any ghosts at Inspector John’s and no more body parts?”
“Nairy a one,” I confirm.
“Have you seen any ghosts here at the Château?”
“It would be very surprising if there wasn’t an outraged phantom or two complaining about British aristocracy occupying their sacred land.”
“Have you seen one, then?”
“No, but I haven’t been looking and, if I had, I probably would not have recognised it anyway. I am real y not into ghosts.”
“Mike said you were. Apparently it is wel known in your family that you commune with spirits from other dimensions, or so Mike said.”
“My mother thinks so.”
“And you deny it.”
“Sometimes my mother is a strange spirit from another dimension. I wouldn’t go by what she says about me. I am not into ghosts, or angels, or any kind of astral travel er. The most I ever do is to sense a chil in the air in some places, like at Inspector John’s the other day. That is my lot.”
“So why does Mike say otherwise?”
“Sometimes he is a wonderful brother. At other times he is a fantastic one. He makes things up about me. It’s a game we play between us. I do the same thing for him sometimes. Did you know that he has been ordained as a Buddhist monk, for instance?”
“Is that something you have just made up?”
“Ask him about it. You may be surprised. Good shot, Peter,” I add, final y engaging with the tennis in front of me.
“You haven’t applauded any of my shots,” John Jr. protests, “and I am winning.”
“Sorry, John,” I cal back, “but you not only have to make a great shot, but you also have to do so during a lul in the conversation.”
John grins rueful y. “Ah, that is where I was going wrong. Silence, please, among the spectators!” but his next five shots are dreadful.
Chapter 5
I leave the Valflaunès house at 9:15. Mike wil not be up until at least midday as we have nothing planned. I haven’t explained where I am going, but we often abandon each other at the house, so there is nothing for him to suspect.
The
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