A Summer in Amber

by C. Litka

  Chapter 10: Sunday 30 June

  01

  The screen door rattled and there was a banging knock at the door. I looked up from my work but before I could get up, the door opened with a gush of brightness and warm air, and the square presence of Learmonte. A grim and rather weary looking Learmonte. I glimpsed his big black pre-storm motor car parked in the lane. His driver remained at the wheel.

  'Afternoon, Lord Learmonte,' I said as he strode in. 'Come in.'

  'Say,' he said, pausing to let his eyes adjust to the dimness of the cottage. 'I was around earlier, you weren't about.'

  'Sorry, I was over to Little Lonon putting my time in weeding the co-op garden.'

  He grunted and then said, 'I looked over your material. It would seem you only typed up what was already printed. It shouldn't have taken you a week to do that. And you haven't even started on his handwritten notes.'

  'And I'm in no hurry either. The better I understand the larger context, the easier it will be to accurately decipher them. I finished typing the printed pages on Wednesday. Thursday I picked up the clear sleeves at Bellwood and I've been putting the handwritten half of the manuscript, or rather the pieces of the manuscript, into the sleeves since then,' I replied with all the patience I could muster. Little enough, I'll admit.

  'How far are you on that?'

  'Not far. Slow going, I'm afraid,' I replied. 'Slow going...'

  'Why?'

  'Here, let me show you,' I replied, indicating the pile of material on the kitchen table. I continued, 'As you can see, the pages are usually in three pieces. Each page is stuck to the others, mostly along the edge and has to be carefully pried loose, which takes time.

  'For the pages to be readily understood, I have to make sure the proper lines are aligned across the three pieces and the gaps approximately the same size so you can estimate how much is missing. I've drawn a template for the page which I place the sleeve over, and then I align the pieces to the template once I've put them in the plastic leaf and tape them in. All this takes time, but I want to do it once and do it right.'

  Learmonte stared down at the remains of the box and the stack of papers still in it, the pile of plastic leaves with the fragments taped in place between the clear covers, and my various, assorted and mostly makeshift tools I'd assembled to get the job done. He shook his head.

  'I'm frustrated too,' I said. 'But doing it systematically right from the beginning will save time later.'

  'How long?'

  'I'll have these pages in their sleeves by mid-week, hopefully photographed by the weekend, and enhanced by the following weekend. After that, well, there's writing on both sides, so it will take time to tease out everything I can. The longer it takes your people to make sense of these papers once they're in your lab, the wider the window is open for you rivals to get wind of what you're up to.'

  'And for the whole project?'

  'I'd like to wrap things up in four weeks but it might take longer. I intend to do a job I can be proud of. (The job Blake would expect of me.) If you want it done half-assed, find someone else.'

  I waited in silence, watching him weigh his options. He took his time. I wonder what Professor Blake said to him that makes it so hard to sack me when it appears that's exactly what he wants to do.

  'I'm stuck with you,' he growled at last.

  'If you say so.'

  He spoke again, carefully choosing his words, 'We had an understanding, Say, that you were to stay in your cottage when guests are on the grounds.'

  'Not exactly. I agreed to stay out of sight. I never agreed to be the prisoner of Glen Lonon. I've stayed in and worked long hours, but I need to occasionally get out for some fresh air. I'm careful not to do so when anyone is likely to be around. Last night I was out in the far paddock, far away from your guests and party. I can hardly be blamed if your daughter skips out and slips in the river while I'm on my walk. Nor for helping her try to avoid embarrassing you,' I said.

  He said nothing. There was nothing he could say.

  'And if it comes right down to it,' I added. 'By inviting people to Glen Lonon every weekend, you're increasing the chance discovery. Why have me here at all, if you insist on having guests about the place all the time?'

  'Not if you stay out of sight.'

  'I try,' I said, and then floated plan B, 'However, once I've the papers photographed, I could take your secured computer back to my flat in Cambridge and work from there. No need to take the papers along. Everything would be encrypted in the computer. No one would even know I'm working, if I worked in my flat rather than the lab. Plus, I wouldn't be out of place, as I am here. It would seem to be the less risky option, since we both agree you must, in the end, trust me. Why not trust me in Cambridge where I belong?'

  He considered this for a moment before shaking his head, 'No. I want you here and out of sight. I may have to trust you, but the computer is far more secure here than in your Cambridge flat. Plus, even working at home, there'd be far more opportunities to be indiscreet.'

  'Your choice,' I said. 'Of course there's no way to absolutely guarantee word of my presence here won't leak out. People talk. And if your competitors make it their business to keep tabs on you personally, they might well get a whiff of the gossip surrounding the mysterious fellow in The Groom's Cottage.'

  'Strangers would have a hard time remaining unnoticed should they show up around here. My people would hear of anyone snooping about,' he replied. 'Which is one of the reasons why I want you here.'

  I shrugged. 'If you say so.' I was content to plant seeds of doubt. Besides, I still had to take all photos before moving operations to Cambridge, so there was no point pushing hard now.

  'And stay away from my daughters,' he added grimly.

  'Why?' I asked. I'd expected the conversation to come around to them sooner or later.

  'Because I'm telling you to. You're here to work, not bother them.'

  'I've no intention of bothering them. I just pull them out of the river as needed,' I replied.

  'Listen Say, I don't want you associating in any way with my daughters.'

  'I'm sure you can trust them, of all people...'

  'It's not a question of trust. I don't want you around my family. Period. You're my employee, not my guest. You will conduct yourself as such.'

  'I'm not your employee, sir,' my temper finally flaring. 'Nor am I prepared to be treated like a servant. Your daughters and employees may have to put up with your rudeness, but I don't and won't. I don't need you, nor Blake for that matter. I don't want to be here and, damn you, I'll have my gear packed and be out of here in ten minutes if you continue to treat me in anything less than a professional manner.'

  I'd been fishing to get out of Glen Lonon earlier, but now I was angry – eager to pack my gear and be gone this afternoon. And it showed.

  He didn't trust himself to speak, but whirled and banged out of the cottage.

  'Fuck you,' I said (to the screen door).

  02

  I watched his big black motorcar turn around and purr back up the drive and around the bend bound for his town-house in Edinburgh less than four hours away via his relic of the golden age and then I turned and packed up the manuscript, done for the day.

  Wheeling out my bike I headed for the public hot spot in Maryfield. The late afternoon sun was hot and the air tropical, and after being cooped up in the cottage for the better part of two days, I took my time on the ride through the shady forested glen.

  I called in my report to Professor Blake, telling him about my discovery of TTR's scrap book collection and read off the list of sources I'd identified and told him I didn't know what the hell TTR was up to with it. It didn't seem to really matter to him, or perhaps it was simply that pawns didn't need to know their purpose. Our conversation was short and touched on the familiar theme of keeping Learmonte happy. An impossible task and I bluntly told him so.

  I had a much longer and far more pleasant conversation with Penny, bringing her up
to date on all my little adventures or more accurately, misadventures. I mentioned my conversation with Lonsdale and how badly he wanted to hire her. She gushed about how nice Renny is, but with him safely engaged to Lady Nesta, she couldn't make me jealous. Actually, it was rather pleasant that she seemed to be trying, if only playfully. I didn't give it any importance, save that we seemed to haves a closer and easier relationship than we've had in quite a while. I'm really missing a friendship like that up here. After I hung up, I uploaded various messages to family and friends, and downloaded new messages and updates from my info-net sites before heading back to Glen Lonon through the long evening shadows.

  I read my mail on my return, fried a pork chop, boiled two new potatoes and beans for dinner, and still restless, took an hour's bike ride towards Glen Maig just to enjoy in the soft pine and heather scented twilight while birds chattered in the tree tops and the sheep occasionally bleated “baa”. I turned back before the storm clouds built up in the west. Later as I sat outside my door drinking my tea, Willie and Watt stopped by for a brief visit. Guy followed in the deepening gloom, but did not stay long to gossip, leaving me on the bench alone and wishing I was somewhere else or had someone with me to watch the pale dragons of the aurora writhing in the northern sky above the dark hills, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning from the evening's storm in Maig Glen behind me. I turned in sometime after midnight.