 
Some Day Days

C. Litka

Smashwords Edition Ver 4 [September 2018]

Copyright 2015 Charles Litka

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Chapter 01 – Piece One – Kiss of the White Witch

Yesterday

The scent of grass and warm stone laced with fleeting wisps of chatter and laughter drifted through the open window, moving the curtains ever so slightly, without shattering the stillness of my room. I was meditating on the end of a summer's day and the end of my second trinity term – labs completed, problems solved, papers written. Nothing left to do but to go down for the long vacation.

'Gallagher?'

My name. Knew the voice too. Mostly in dreams.

'Are you awake, Gallagher?' This with a rap on the door frame.

Was I?

I swung my stocking feet off the window sill, twisting to stand facing the open doorway. My heart gave a lurch, staggering me, taking my breath. How could the mere sight of her do that?

Selina Beri – remote, unreachable, almost mythical, stood in the open doorway. A quantum event on a Newtonian scale.

'May I come in?' She asked with cool innocence.

'Yes, yes, of course. Please. I'm just...' well, stunned.

She stepped into my room and casually considered it – tattered, in an end of term way, neglected for more pressing concerns, semi-broken up for going away. She looked at me, considered it too. I may do her an injustice with that line, but it's close enough.

'Sorry to drop by out of the blue. I was studying in the library and decided to take the chance you were in. My last exam is tomorrow and wouldn't you know, I ran into an issue I'd overlooked. I hoped, perhaps,' she hesitated, found a word and continued, 'on the basis of our nodding relationship you might be willing to help me.'

Our "nodding relationship" was just that – I'd managed, on the several occasions, to contrive to be in position to wish her a good morning before or after Manaham's Q & A session. She may've nodded in reply.

'I feel foolish... Gallagher. But I'll only take an hour of your time, that is, if you're willing and not otherwise engaged.' This with, perhaps, a ghost of a condescending smile.

'No, not at all,' I said, and should have left it there, but half my ancestors are Irish and they were having none of that, 'I was merely airing my socks, but that can certainly wait.'

She was not amused.

'Sorry. Of course, I'd be glad to help. I'm finished with term and have nothing at all planned this evening...'

She nodded slightly. Obviously. 'The issue is, well...' she shrugged, watching me. 'Remember, several weeks ago, the Manaham's Q &A session when you and Professor Manaham had a rather extensive exchange of ideas on the impact of dyaries, those dynamic diary recorders?'

Beri was referring to Manaham's "The Philosophical and Policy Implications of Technology" lecture that somehow we both ended up taking this term. A gift of the gods as far as I was concerned. Since lectures are recorded online videos, live interactions with lecturers are called Question and Answer sessions, though who questions and who answers is open to interpretation. Some professors use this time to update their recorded lectures and answer questions, others believe in finding out who actually viewed their recorded lecture by asking the questions.

'Er, yes,' I said, likely blushing.

'You seemed to know quite a bit about the subject.'

'A hobby of mine. I use a dyary myself... And I spent my gap year, and spend my vacations working for an anti-surveillance firm, so, you see, I'm familiar with the technology and some of its implications. But he did go on and on about it,' I added, apologetically.

She waved that aside, 'You impressed him. The thing is that he merely mentions dyaries in passing during the actual lecture so I dismissed the whole thing as Manaham off on a tangent and based my study program on his lecture material.

'But today, as I was doing a quick sampling of past Q & A sessions, I was dismayed, and I'm putting that very mildly, to discover that for the past several years he'd spent the better part of that particular Q & A session also on dyaries. And without a Gallagher to spur him on,' she paused and then with a sigh, 'Finals have no doubt driven me around the bend, but I can't help but feel that the implications of dyaries on public policy is exactly the type of question I'll find on my final tomorrow – important enough to spend almost a whole Q & A session on, but missing in the recorded lectures...

'I'm a mathematician, not some sort of policy maven. The philosophy part of my major was just something to keep my parents happy. They have civil servant ambitions for me, you see. I've put off and neglected that aspect of my degree, so when I discovered an issue I know nothing about – I'm quite the luddite – on the last day, it sent me into a panic. I'm certain some paranoia and panic are common around finals, but I can't afford to overlook anything...'

Shinge strolled through the door, buttoning his shirt. 'Care to step out... Oh my,' he stopped. 'You've company...'

'Omar V Shinge, Selina Beri,' I said, introducing them.

Omar was not one to be staggered for long. He beamed, 'Ah, the incomparable Selina Beri, it is a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Beri. Hugh has often spoken of you.'

That was a lie. I mentioned her once before I'd learned to keep my mouth shut about such things. I glared at him. He smiled back.

She gave him a faint icy smile, 'Nice to meet you. I've called on Gallagher for his expertise in dynamic diaries.' On the off chance anyone would imagine this to be a social call.

'Then you've come to the right shop,' Omar replied merrily, never deterred. 'What Hugh Gallagher doesn't know about gadgetry isn't worth knowing. I'm only sorry I can't stay to learn more myself, but I've promised to meet the gang for a night out, to dull the pain of parting and all that. Why don't you kids join us – I'm sure the whiz and bang of dyaries can be put off an hour or two. The evening is still young.'

'Thanks, but I've that final tomorrow and still have work to do.'

Omar shrugged. 'You worry needlessly, Miss Beri. But once Hugh sets you right, join us. He knows where to find us.'

He bowed slightly and humming 'When You Wish Upon a Star' left, closing the door softly behind him with a Cheshire cat grin.

Beri removed her hat and glanced at my desk. Taking the hint, I pushed my stuff to one side clearing a space and offered her the chair. I pulled the other one closer. I hardly dared look at her. I knew this was plain on my face. Nothing I could do about it. If Selina Beri was the queen of the Seelie Court come a'calling, the world would not have seemed more fey. I was not at ease.

She pulled her watson out of her bag and placing it on the desk, turned to me. 'I glanced over Manaham's suggested readings but they seemed rather thin on policy. I've looked in on some dynamic diary sites, which have, no doubt, lots of useful information, but most of it's buried deep in discussion threads. These can be mined, but not in the time I have at my disposal. To save time, I've jotted down a series of questions.'

'Okay... fire away,' I said.

In expanding my written diary I've no intention of expanding its readership, which is to say, me. However, in trying to make this piece a "story" it seems to need a brief explanation of dyaries. So...

Dynamic diary devices, known simply as 'dyaries' have been around for several decades. However, only in the last few years, have they become a growing fad in the twentysomething set, especially among students where they can be quite useful in recording discussions, labs and such for later review. Beri was an exception in this regard. Dyaries consist of a constantly recording micro-sized video-camera and mic which is connected wirelessly to a storage device, usually one's mobile communicator, that is to say, one's "watson". The micro-cam can be unobtrusively mounted as jewellery, though the most useful ones are hidden in the frames of glasses or on hats where they follow the movement of the wearer's eyes. Hardware and software smooth the jerkiness of the camera and tailor the audio to deliver a complete day-long record of what the wearer sees and hears.

Being able to record all that goes on in a discussion with your tutor or in lab for later review can be a valuable resource, so dyaries are commonly used by many Oxford students. But there are other reasons people use dyaries as well. As I'm a person who is into gadgets, and an early user of dyaries – in a rather shallow, thoughtless way I'm quite familiar with them. Arriving at Oxford and exposed to a far wider intellectual horizon, I've become increasing thoughtful about their implications. If dyaries ever should become more than a fad, it will mean that everything you do while you're wearing a dyary, or do with anyone who uses one, will be preserved, not only in memory, but in a manner that can be viewed by anyone, potentially everyone, at any time and for as long as the record exists – a life time or longer. Your whole life will trail along behind you for as long as those records exist – and many of them will be outside of your keeping. And then, when you consider that those records have the potential not only to be stolen, but to be altered or false ones created out of whole cloth, you can see just how potentially disruptive this technology is to the way we live our lives today. But I'd best stop here. I tend to get carried away on the subject.

Beri began by asking questions concerning the technology of the device. I could, and did answer her questions authoritatively. I'm a geek. So I told her how effective the device was and how effective it was likely to become and how soon, how easily its records could be used, archived and preserved, and then how hard, or easily, those records could be hacked, altered, or fabricated – in great depth and detail. Old hat...

Selina Beri is not old hat. She is, you've gathered, the flame and I, a moth. She's also a brilliant mathematical student, with an impressive first in her Honour Mods and two well received papers published in a first rate journal of applied mathematics to her credit. As a brilliant, posh, and very attractive science major, she's been the subject of a fair amount of gossip within our college, which formed the sum of what I knew about her before yesterday.

She's two years ahead of me at the uni and completely out of my league, perhaps even above Omar's orbit. She's cool, even cold, posh, and outside a small group of mostly post grad friends, unapproachable. I gather attempts by bolder souls outside of this group to get to know her have not ended well. Until this term, I've contented myself with admiring her from a safe distance on the rare instances when she dines in college or seen out and about Oxford. This term, finding myself in the same lecture with her, I've been able to stare at her for two hours a week and wish her an occasional good morning with no discernible effect, until now.

Now sitting next to me at the desk, or pacing the room or finally settling into the club chair, she was all mine to talk to and watch for the fleeting hour. She was very much the mathematician, coolly approaching dyaries in great detail and depth, building her understanding point by point, line by line – I, a mere source to be mined. Luckily I'd spent years thinking about dyary issues so I kept pace with her once we drifted from technology to the broader social and policy issues of dyaries. Not only had I read those threads she hadn't time to read, but contributed to them.

She was writing notes with a stylus on her watson and I said something which I can't recall clear enough to record when she said sharply, 'Don't flirt.'

'I'm flirting?' I asked, startled. 'I'm sure I don't know how.'

'I was being charitable. Don't do whatever it was you were doing, if you'd be my friend.'

Friend. Did she actually mean that or was she just speaking absently? I didn't dare reply. I just watched her scribble on her watson.

A minute later she gave me a quick, unreadable glance. Had she just realized what she had said or was she wondering how I took it? In any event, she said nothing more and went on writing.

More and more now, our discussion often tapered off into silence as she mulled the implications of what we had talked about. During these silences, I was content just to watch her discretely – just to feel my heart lurch. As I said, dyaries were old hat to me, but Selina Beri...

In the ruddy light of the setting sun I watched her work – stylus flying over the watson's screen on her lap. 'What are you writing in? Sanskrit?' I ventured.

'Shorthand.'

'I've not seen that used before.'

'I can write as fast as I think. The watson reliably converts it into searchable text.' she answered without looking up. 'The reason you've not seen it is that it takes time and effort to learn shorthand – more than most are willing to make. Now leave me to work.'

Five minutes could go by in silence now – she was writing outlines for test answers. We had been going about this for almost two hours. 'Would you care for a cup of tea?' I asked.

'I'd like that,' she said without looking up.

I filled and plugged in the electric kettle, found an unopened packet of biscuits in the cupboard and set them out on the rickety end table next to her. I poured the boiling water into two big mugs, the tea in a yellow submarine infuser for her cup, and gave it time to brew.

'Milk or sugar?' I asked. 'It's a China Keemun.'

'Plain would be fine,' she said.

I carried them over to the table, their steam trailing golden in the sun light, now slanting deep into the sitting room. She looked up and thanked me, absently.

She slipped her watson into her courier bag, took off her glasses, set them on the table and brushing her fringe out of her eyes, she said quietly, 'I still don't see a way to manage all the implications of dyaries. Your suggestion that dyary records should be held to be intrinsically unreliable and unverifiable may indeed be the only way. However, I doubt I could sell that as an exam answer. Somehow, it does not sound like an answer that would win me many points...'

'We've been able to tear down every other alternative we've come up with. The examiners can do the same. Even so, it might be safer writing a more conventional answer.'

'I'm tempted to do just that. I doubt that I'd have the time to develop an answer to justify the idea that evidence cannot be used – even in criminal cases – because of a broad general rule that dyary records are unreliable. Once people see a video record, they'll believe it, even if the law says they shouldn't.'

'If these devices ever come into wide use, people will come around to understanding that they can be used to direct an investigation, but not to convict, because in the end, their authenticity can never be guaranteed. And I'm certain they'll grow to appreciate that many things we do in life are best unseen, forgotten, or at least unprovable. The inauthenticity of these records will be seen as a virtue, though in the long term, we may have to become comfortable living our lives naked.'

'Some would like that.'

'Depends on the climate, I'd imagine.'

She glanced to me, unsure of my intent. But I was just keeping the conversation from ending, so I looked innocent enough.

She closed her eyes again and we sat in silence. She looked very tired. Perhaps, like Sherlock Holmes, she was feeling the reaction to the rush of events since her discovery of the slightest chink in her study program. I cast about for things to say, but around her I couldn't trust myself not to say something stupid. So I said nothing. We sipped our tea in a rather surprisingly companionable silence.

'I appreciate all your help, Gallagher. I may well end up using none of it. Still, the peace of mind is worth it. I don't like being unprepared... And I really need to earn a first...' she said without opening her eyes. Then with a little shake of her head she added, 'Everything should've been well in hand. So when I found an issue I'd overlooked – on the afternoon of my last day – it hit me at my most vulnerable point and sent me running to a perfect stranger.'

'We've a nodding relationship,' I ventured. 'Hardly a perfect stranger.'

She smiled slightly without opening her eyes.

'I also appreciate your ability to keep still. I do need silence to think things through.'

I said nothing. She opened an eye and glanced at me. I smiled and she laughed quietly.

'You're good at it.'

'Thank you.'

She sighed. 'I suppose I'd best be going – this wasn't on my precisely crafted schedule. I've still things to accomplish.'

She still frightened me, a bit, especially now that I'd have to entertain her on a purely social basis, but I knew I'd never forgive myself if I just let her go away. 'Please stay for a while longer. Do you a world of good. You're more than prepared and you know that. Relax. Take a breath or two, finished your tea, have a few more biscuits, sit and soak in that sunlight. Do nothing at all. That's what's called for now. You needn't say anything. You know how good I'm at that.'

She sighed. 'I suppose, perhaps, for a little while. I certainly don't feel like getting out of this chair at the moment. Not even sure I can...'

'It does sag rather deeply. Very cosy.'

'I may be as prepared as I'll ever be, but that doesn't make me feel comfortable. Finals do that to you. I feel like I should be doing something. Still, you've given me several hours of your time, your expertise, tea and biscuits – I'm obliged to you,' she added, rather obliquely.

'You saw what I'd planned for this evening, so you don't have to worry on my account. I've enjoyed... our discussions...' I finished lamely.

She considered me briefly, giving nothing of her thoughts away. Of course she was aware of my, well, admiration for her, even before she'd come around. Still, as long as I said nothing, I hoped she'd overlooked it.

She took a sip of tea and closed her eyes again. 'It's been a demanding year. So much work. My senior project took up ever so much time and effort, and now these last hectic weeks spent catching up on the philosophical side. I haven't had time to relax all term. Still, I don't suppose it's any different for everyone else in their last term. When do you finish up – next year?'

'No. I've two more years in my program.' I replied, thought of adding more, but that might well break the spell, telling her nothing she cared about.

'Enjoy them while you can,' she said, pausing before continuing, 'I think this year has been harder for me, emptier, and far less enjoyable than it should've been. My best friend and a good many other friends have either moved on or were wrapped up in their own demanding work. Looking back now, I'd never have guessed how much I'd miss them, how much I needed their company and consul. They'd not have let me work so relentlessly. Still, it's almost done. I just want it over. Sorry to be so gloomy.'

'Oh, I was feeling rather blue myself, before you came. Hate to leave, even for the long vacation.'

'For me it's more of feeling blue that I'm not sad about leaving. Oh, my first two years were quite wonderful, but the last two... This past year I could've done my research and work anywhere, given how little time I spent in college life. Can't help feeling I've wasted, well, things I can't quite put my finger on...'

'Still there's next fall with the long vacation to put all that behind you,' I said hopefully.

She shook her head. 'Not really. I start my "plum", a plum position with the Treasury Office on the first of July as a Level B Research Clerk in the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis,' she replied listlessly.

'Oh... You're going down for good?' I said, suddenly a whole lot bluer. I tried to rally, 'I hope this plum is more interesting than its title.'

'Ha,' mirthlessly. 'I doubt it. Only on my best days can I work up any optimism at all. Mostly it's just dread.'

'Then why be a Level B Research Clerk? Why such a hurry to leave Oxford at all? You've certainly a brilliant post grad and academic career ahead of you – if you go that route. Or have you grown that tired of our feckless student life? I'm sure that with the hard lessons learned this last year, you could find the joy again in student life.'

'Don't make me more maudlin than I am. Of course I don't want to go down with only an undergrad degree. But, you see, my parents have arranged this plum for me... But you really don't want to hear all this do you? And really, I don't want to sit around whining about my petty problems...' she sighed.

'I believe it's called venting, a method of unwinding, and unwinding is exactly what you need to do. You know I'm a sympathetic audience...'

She gave me a sharp, warning glance.

'...based on our nodding relationship,' I added warily. 'You needn't fear I'll be indiscreet. I'm not clueless. We're ships passing in the night.'

She considered that in silence for a while. And then with a sigh, 'I'm rather like a runner at the end of a marathon – too tired to be myself. Even just sitting with you is out of character these days. My present mellowness has everything to do with exhaustion and nothing to do... Well I really don't want this mellowness to mislead you. I am the person I'm reputed to be.'

'Actually, since I hardly know you at all, I don't think I could know the difference...'

'Pull the other one, Gallagher,' she said. 'I've earned a reputation for being cold, unsocial, high handed, a right posh. And it's well deserved. You've now had your official warning.'

'Fair enough. But you needn't be so guarded. I've no expectations or illusions. You're here on account of my knowledge of dyaries. As a consulting geek, I often do this for people. I hope I've put you at ease, or as at ease as anyone can be during finals. And as part of my professional service, I'm offering you a further opportunity to relax and unwind by taking an hour of your time just to kickback with, well, a friend of the flying hour – professional, discreet, no illusions.'

She shrugged. 'All right Gallagher. I rather doubt I've the energy to climb out of this chair of yours anyway.'

I quietly let out the breath I was holding and said, 'Great. So tell me more about your plans and your plum.'

She took a sip of tea. 'My parents view an advanced degree as a waste of time – I've already wasted a year taking a four-year degree in Mathematics and Philosophy instead of three in PPE. And since I'll have no need to worry about promotions – as long as I don't make a hash of things – what use have I of an advanced degree?

'My parents are mid-level mandarins – my mother, a Tory party nabob, and my father, an upper-level civil servant. They expect me to follow in their footsteps, especially since there's a long tradition in both families of serving the British Crown, in one capacity or another, for ages. Though our early ancestors in India and China served in far humbler situations – servants, native officials, native wives of missionaries or native mistresses of soldiers – several hundred years of persistence has paid off, more or less. My parents have arranged a nice, secure position for me – an extension of the Beri bureaucratic fiefdom. They're shockingly traditional for this day of age, and simply expect me to fall into the family line... And I've done nothing to dissuade them...

'The thing is that even a Level B Research Clerk should actually have an advanced degree, probably in economics or finance, but a 'double first' in Mathematics and Philosophy will just about do. The fact that the position is already mine – the cart before the horse – tells everyone how this plum fell into my lap. So you see why it's so important that I earn a 'first' in the finals. Not only does it move the horse to its proper place, but any subsequent promotions I might receive might be defensible as well.

'Oh, it is all meant kindly enough, they love me and want to see me succeed, but within the rather narrow light of their experiences...'

We sat in silence, I did not quite know what to say.

'I'm sorry...' more or less thinking out loud.

She shrugged. 'I suppose you're wondering how I could let things just happen this way?'

I shook my head 'no', but she had turned to stare out the window.

'The fact is that I've not taken any interest in my future. My mathematical studies, my papers and my final project have been my sole passion. In fact, they've been my refuge. An end in itself. I've not given my future any real thought and hardly any effort... since other people – like my parents – have. So here I am, a prospective Level B Research Clerk. And so you see, I can't really complain. I know the Treasury is not what I want to do with my life, or at least I don't think it is... See how I hedge! On the other hand, I don't suppose it'll do much harm to work at the Treasury for a while –I might even be able to apply my expertise, until I decide what I want to do with my life. I can, if I care to, look on it as my gap year. In a year I'll have earned some money so I could return to the uni on my own if I felt like it. Of course, I don't dare tell my parents that.'

'That, at least, sounds more encouraging, both the part about using your work in your new position and maybe continuing on with your academic career.'

'We'll see. I haven't had the time or curiosity to delve deeply into what sort of research the Office does, but I presume it gathers and analyses a great deal of economic data for government planning purposes. What I've been working on these last two years is a new mathematical model that can be used to identify micro trends within extremely large bodies of data. My research project actually involved using mega-data from the high energy particle physics experiments that came out of the SLHC in Geneva, but I'd think the same procedures and techniques could be applied to economic data as well. Assuming, I get the chance.'

'And why wouldn't you get a chance? You've a brilliant college record, published a well-received paper and patrons on high, so why shouldn't they put you to work?'

'Oh, I don't know... It's just that sometimes I feel like I'm treated differently, like I'm somehow too attractive to be really intelligent. Clever, perhaps, but not truly intelligent. I know that sounds vain – I am vain – or that I'm being overly sensitive, perhaps I read looks or remarks all the wrong ways. And maybe I am. But it annoys me that I'm valued more for my looks than for my work or ideas, which often seem to be treated with subtle surprise or suspicion, or even resentment, as if you can't have both a brain and looks. It's like I've somehow cheated – it's one or the other, not both. I mean, really, I don't wear make-up. I don't wear high heels, mini-dresses or padded bras. The only thing I won't do is make myself dowdy to fit their stereotypes.... I can be stubborn as well as vain.'

In my opinion Selina Beri is the most beautiful girl in the world, but I let that pass without comment, knowing the fate of fellows bolder than I...

'Even here at the uni there's been times when I've felt the need to make an extra effort to prove my work was my own. It's nothing overt, and maybe it's all just in my head, but a joking comment, or extra interest in my research resources, seem to imply that I couldn't have come up with this on my own. As I said, maybe I'm just imagining it, but I fear I'll find more of the same attitude within the stuffy corridors of the Treasury office. Really, why do people find it hard to believe that the mathematical formulas I derive, come from my own original thinking? Why must I be suspected of just being clever, instead of intelligent? Of using my looks rather than my brains, plying my charms on some malleable male, squeezing their vast brains of every drop of intelligence and then calling it my own...'

She caught the grin on my face, shot me an icy glare and a dark frown...that turned in an instant to a wide smile and a free, youthful laugh.

'Why, you don't count, Gallagher!' she exclaimed with a wave of her hand. 'I certainly didn't use charm to pick your vast brain. A presumptuous rudeness, not charm. But you see how it works. I can't even consult a friend (My heart lurched.) without it being construed as stealing some man's expertise.'

'I'm certain first rate minds recognize your brilliance, since even I do,' I added with a smile. 'And just for the record, I know that in tracking me down, you weren't being lazy, just far too zealous in your research.'

'No. I was panic stricken... But then, I knew you'd be a soft touch. Why, I'll bet if someone like that shy, stuffy Alicia Charters turned up crying at your door and told you that her watson was dead after dropping it into the river with all her projects' latest revisions un-backed up, you'd not only manage to get it up and running again, projects intact, but serve her tea and scones just as you've done for me....'

I could not suppress a startled expression which had Beri laughing again.

'I'll spoil my effect, but I saw you, the dyary expert, dining with Charters, during a recent dinner I had in college. I know Charters rather slightly through a Women in Science Society. So I rang her up and asked if I could drop by her rooms for a few minutes to have a little chat about you along the lines of if you were someone who would be willing to help me, someone who was not a...' and here she stopped, loss for how to put things.

She glanced at me. 'You're not going to help me here, are you?'

I smiled and shook my head 'no'.

She laughed and said, 'Anyway, that shows you how desperate I was. Charters kindly obliged and we had a little chat before I showed up at your doorstep. You'll be happy to know you came highly recommended. She said you were friendly, down to earth, someone I could trust. So you see, I'm neither as bold nor as foolhardy as I may have seemed.'

'I'll certainly thank Ali when I see her.'

'I will too. But, Gallagher, I hate harping on this point, just don't underestimate my reluctance to get entangled at this point with even friendships – or my ruthlessness in avoiding those entanglements.'

'I won't. Ships in the night...'

'I don't want to hurt your feelings, or anyone else's for that matter – it's just that I'm so weary of dealing with infatuated boys – puppies are how I like to think of them. They think that just because I don't have a boyfriend I'm fair game. Even my parents bring them around, sons of old and dear friends and valued colleagues. Old customs die hard. At least those boys are often no more keen than I, to seal a family alliance. The puppies are more annoying. They seem always underfoot and why? Merely on account of how I happen to look, which is nothing I can take any credit for. I assure you they're not mathematician groupies, which is something I can take credit for. You've no idea how tiring it is to have these fellows vying to catch my eye, to talk to me, eager for a look, a favour, the chance to be at my beck and call...' she caught herself, and suddenly looked at me.

'Sorry. I hadn't meant that to sound cruel, or imply anything about you. No doubt you have a pack of girls hanging about you...'

'For computer support, unfortunately.' I said.

She laughed. 'Count yourself lucky. At least it's for an accomplishment, not a gift. How'd you feel if all they ever seem to value in you is merely what you look like...'

'That's not very likely...' I laughed.

She waved that off with a laugh. 'You never know...' She paused and then added, 'I hope you realize my pack of puppies is a gross exaggeration. It just seems like a pack because I've become over sensitive to being judged solely on how I look rather than what I've accomplished with study and hard work.'

I don't know exactly how big a pack we puppies are – no club meetings or summer outings – but I do know that I wasn't the only fellow who spent a great deal of his time in Manaham's class studying Selina Beri from the best seat that could arranged, and our dyary records would convict us.

'What is it about me, anyway?' she asked. She lifted one of her legs into a patch of the mellow sunlight, 'Perhaps my ankles... I think they are quite nice.'

'Now that you point them out,' I said (just to be on the safe side), 'they're quite charming. But I think most people, even the puppies, see things in you beyond your beauty. And, well, some – and I'm just theorizing here – might not have made a deliberate decision to, ah, to have a crush on you. Sometimes those things just happen all by themselves and who can say why, or do anything about it?'

She glanced at me. 'If you didn't look so innocent, I'd be wondering who you'd been talking to...'

I was talking about me... and knowing hardly anything about her, I gave her a puzzled look. 'Huh?' I asked.

'Let's just say that all through my teen years, I was notorious for developing instant crushes on the looniest collection of boys. I try to forget, but my best friend Grace won't let me... Fortunately, I was too shy, too gawky, and had a friend like Grace, a year older and a lot more down to earth, to keep me out of trouble... I suppose I should be more understanding...'

I raised an inquiring eyebrow, but she just smiled and shook her head.

'In any event,' I continued. 'there's more than your looks that attract, even though you guard your private self rather effectively. If some are too callow to see beyond your beauty, so what? You have true friends and family who appreciate you for so much more than your attractive ankles.'

'Outside of family and a few close friends, I doubt it, and if they exist, they are wise enough to let well enough alone. And well advised.'

Warning noted. Again.

'I know I've a reputation for being aloof, cold and heartless', she continued in a low voice, 'But what am I to do? String the admirers along? Use them to flaunt my good fortune? Find amusement in their striving and silly ways while always ready to cut them when they try too hard or get too bold? I think it better to puncture their infatuation quickly. Kindness in coldness, I tell myself. They write a sad sonnet, drink a few pints, and move along to gawk at some other poor girl, and I earn a reputation that discourages at least some of the puppies. Am I wrong, Gallagher?'

I shrugged. It had not discouraged me, but I lied, 'Infatuation doesn't last, no point in prolonging it. You're not really doing more than what's necessary...'

'I don't know... maybe I'll just follow the old customs... Or I'll become a nun. That will serve them... But since I'm being this candid, I'd not have you believing that I'm some sort of long suffering saint. I'll cheerfully admit that there have been times that I've enjoyed delivering the short and sharp to some of my eager pack. The hounds, bigger, more experienced boys. The boys who are in love with themselves and imagine that finding themselves so wonderful, I couldn't do otherwise. Boys who had gotten the idea that I was something other than what I am. I'd toy with them and lead them on for a while, back when I was in my darkest moods.'

'Just to show you what I had to put up with... Well, I'm no doubt telling you nothing you don't already know, but some of these hounds used their dyaries to produce an avatar of me in their game kits or on their watsons. They then would insist on showing me their Beri avatar, always an eager member of their imaginary harem. You'd not believe some of the bodies they give to my avatar... The real one they can't acquire, I assure you. We may not be really rich, but I can afford an anti-spy device to fry their eye-flies and such. Some girls, I know, will brag that they have eye-flies all about their place... It is said that, well, I'll not banter names, some are said to have walls dotted with eye-flies...'

'Tanya ___,' I remarked, not exactly thinking...

'Why Gallagher, I'd not have thought that you ran with that crowd.'

'I don't. But when that crowd's tech toys get broken, they turn to the crowd I run with to get them up and running again. Besides, those types of things get around – everyone knows of Tanya.'

She gave me a long look, harder to read.

'Do you have an avatar of me?' she asked quietly.

I could have lied and said "No", but I don't lie well. She'd know, she'd quickly finish her tea and go. And I didn't want to lie to her. So with nothing to lose, 'Yes.' I said, and hurrying on, in the hope of forestalling half a cup of a tepid tea in my face...an alternative I hadn't considered until I saw her look. 'Not anything like the avatars of your hounds. You see, I've spent a significant portion of my youth playing a sci-fi role playing game, and I've recently started using your image for one of the characters...'

She emptied her mug, 'Thanks,' she said sharply and started to rise from the club chair.

Instinctively I reached over to put a hand on her arm. 'Please, Selina. A chance to explain?'

She just looked at me for a long moment, or two. Then she shrugged and settled back into the chair, still watching me.

'Thank you,' I said, and finding my hand on her arm, pulled it back quickly. I paused to consider what I needed to say. 'I think I need to try and assure you, that, well, I'm harmless, a puppy if you will. I hope you realize from our discussions that I'm well aware of the privacy issues in our very Orwellian society. Anyone who attempts to acquire information beyond what's provided by an individual for the public has crossed a line and is on a steep and slippery slope to being someone creepy. I've occasionally run across such fellows on the cyber side of the issue, and I assure you I don't want to be like them. I truly felt I hadn't crossed that line with you, either in the cyber or real world. Until this evening, I knew very little about you-- basically your published works and whatever gossip happened to come my way over the last two years. And well, I'll admit that the several times I was able to say hello to you... establishing our nodding relationship... was not entirely by chance, but I believe that is fair in the game...'

She may have nodded, but she's one of those people that can look right at you and give nothing of her thinking away.

I continued, 'However, since I'm feeling very embarrassed at this moment for having used your images in a game, I suspect that I compromised my principles a bit. Even though it seemed right at the time. I never really expected to ever have a conversation with you, so you'd never be all that real to me...

'Anyway, I play a game called Terratana Worlds. The AI, artificial intelligence, of Terratana Worlds is quite good. You can input videos of people and it uses logarithms together with these images to construct an avatar that not only looks, but acts, very much like how the model subject might react in the game situation. Of course, the more data – the more images, the wider the situations and emotional ranges used, the closer this avatar actor is to its living model. Until we ended up in the same lectures my dyary records did not include enough of your images to create such a character. However, being able to see you twice a week allowed me a large enough sample to create an avatar of you in the game. So a month or so ago I used my dyary video from those Q & A sessions to re-image a character in the game. Since this was part of the game that only I'd be playing, I felt this was harmless. In any event, even with the dyary records from our Q & A sessions, I had only a tiny, hardly significant sample of your image, so the game could only build a briefly viewed, thinly sketched character with a limited range. I want to assure you that unlike those other fellows – the hounds – I didn't cut and paste your face onto a generic bimbo supplied by their game – to create a bimbo that they could then have do whatever they pleased. From dyary images from Manaham's class I used only your face and your figure in the sense of how you move and act. Essentially you're a virtual actress playing a role in the game. I hate sounding like your hounds, but I'd like to show you the avatar and its role so you can see the difference – then I'll delete it.'

'I don't see any difference...' She gave me a cold stare, but said 'Go ahead, Gallagher,' she said and picked up her glasses from the table to watch.

I stood and reached across the desk and pulled my omnikit and input board out of the clutter. I set it up on the desk and aimed its laser projector on the blank wall facing the desk and started the Terratana Worlds game app.

The opening sequence played through, my star ship falling towards a white, snow covered world with a glowing city at its equator ringing a blue needle of a tower....

'Are you familiar with this game?' I asked.

She shook her head no.

'Well, it's a space opera themed role playing game that can be played alone, in meshes, or on line. For single and mesh games, players build small star kingdoms within the fictional Terratana star cluster... See, here's my avatar, Captain Kee, arriving at the Blue Tower, the palace of the ruler of my star kingdom.'

The game showed my star ship landing on the docking platform on top of the Blue Tower and my avatar descending though the levels of the Blue Tower to the throne room of the White Queen.

'I've set the game to auto-play, so it'll just run through a mission assignment sequence. Your avatar, the White Queen, is the ruler of the star kingdom and Captain Kee one of her agents... a loyal knight and true. Well, actually more like a loyal henchman and true... but with a bit of a young Merlin thrown in. It's my fantasy, after all...'

The sequence ran its course, Kee arrives in the throne room to receive a haughty greeting by White Queen with Beri's face and general grace, followed by a brief outline of the threat to the star kingdom by the White Queen, thus setting up the game play. The Queen then summoned her major domo to explain in greater detail the assignment... I paused play.

Beri had intently watched her avatar move and talk during the several minutes of play in guarded silence.

'And that is your avatar's only appearance in the game. From here I would go off on the mission I'd been assigned to. With so little data I couldn't make your role larger, unless I wanted to do things like those others, which I wouldn't do...'

'So you see me as the White Witch?' she turned to me with a look both sharp and lost.

'The White Queen,' I maintained, yet wondering if I had, indeed, stumbled over her title.

'Ha! The book was written here at Oxford. So when I see my image ruling a snowy world, where I'm sure it is "always winter, never Christmas", what am I to think?'

'Selina, I created the character of the White Queen and her lonely tower on the icy world years before I ever saw you. I didn't have enough data to make you a more active player in the game, and besides you're, well, you are my White Queen,' I added in a fleeting moment of boldness.

'Am I really that cold, that cruel and wicked, Gallagher?'

'No, never. You know that. But since you didn't do more than nod hello to me before tonight your avatar couldn't be friendlier, less aloof than you'd been to me. Unless I was to take liberties. As for cruel and wicked, well, the White Queen in my game rules a star kingdom that's challenged by all sorts of ruthless forces, so she must be strong and determined. That's the way the game is played, that's how the role of the White Queen's character is played, no matter who's face it wears. Your image is role playing, like an actress.'

'Yet you said that the game used my image to craft the character, did you not?'

Even Captain Kee had rarely been in tighter quarters... 'That's broadly true. But considering the tiny sampling of data I had to work with and the role the avatar plays, you can't read into your avatar anything of your true self. It's the queen's role that dominates play, not your character.'

She looked at her avatar frozen on the screen for several seconds. 'Still, I play the White Witch too well. Wicked, I hope I'm not, cruel, sometimes, but am I really that cold and remote, that lonely and unhappy?'

'Think about what you've just told me. The images I used are from this past term, and you know full well what that's been like. You can't take that thin slice of your life and extrapolate it to the whole.'

She considered that for a moment and then looking back to the frozen image of her avatar on screen, said quietly, 'Is that all I am?"

I may have misinterpreted her remark, but I couldn't afford to have her wonder. And I wanted her to know I wasn't a hound.

I activated the game. I picked up the input board and taking control of Kee, I had him quickly step forward and grabbing the rich gown of the White Queen, rip it off. Beneath the gown was a featureless wire frame torso. Then there was a brilliant flash of light on screen and the view cleared to show the smoking remains of Captain Kee sprawled on the palace floor before the wire framed White Queen. The White Queen with Beri's face turned to her major domo and said 'Clean up this mess, Jeeves.' and the game ended.

'What... the...?' I said, staring at the projected scene, and then glanced to her.

'Heck?' she said, watching me blandly.

'Heck,' I finished and looked back to the scene projected on the wall in wonder. 'What the heck was all those fireworks about?' I shook my head, 'You see, if I was actually playing the game, and I'd been given a mission to kidnap the ruler of an enemy kingdom, I'd expect the throne room to have automatic defences like that. I'd have dealt with them before entering the room... But this is merely the opening sequence in the game, hardly part of the playable game at all and in the throne room of my own ruler. So why would anyone program the game to have an auto-defence systems active in this sequence? Why would they bother?" I stared at the frozen scene. It just didn't make sense...'

'Perhaps it has to do with the way the AI logarithms interpreted your White Witch model...' Beri suggested mildly.

'That's possible, I suppose...' I muttered, only to be brought up short, realizing what I had just said. Alarmed, I quickly turned back to Beri searching her guarded eyes. She was watching me gravely, giving nothing away, as usual. I hurried on, 'I don't believe that the auto-defence system has anything to do with how your personality formed the Queen's avatar...'

'Don't be too certain of that,' she replied coldly.

'I'm not...' I admitted, too confused to lie. 'I'd certainly be reluctant to find out...'

Unable to keep a straight face any longer, she broke out laughing. 'Oh, Gallagher, you're a strange fellow. My poor boy, you look so shattered, I can hardly tell you from your avatar.'

'He can't be feeling much worse than I am at the moment. I really, really didn't expect a reaction like that... I only meant to show you that I'd not taken liberties like your hounds...'

'Oh, all right, never mind. Use my face on your White Witch if you want to, it does me no harm. Though why you would want such a cold, joyless and heartless face, I don't understand. I can't imagine it would bring you much joy.'

'She's my White Queen,' I replied and shrugged, 'Until this evening she was all I had, and ever expected to have. It's different now.'

She suddenly looked quite soft and sad. 'Well, perhaps after tonight she can smile and even laugh a little,' she said, glancing at my glasses. 'I'd hope, if only for my sake, for I feel a strange sort of kinship with your White Witch. Let her smile, at least.'

That sent a chill knifing though my heart. Could I? Dare I? No, not now. Yet after this night, would even her smile do anything but bring sadness, as she suggested? What could I say to her, without saying things she wouldn't want to hear? I could not pin down even one thought... I glanced at her, as she was watching me. "Thank you,' was all I could think to say, though I don't know just what I meant.

She nodded with a faint smile. Perhaps she could make sense of whatever it was that I could not. After a silent moment or two she said, 'I've been doing all the talking this evening. I don't even know what you are reading for.'

I had the sense of missing a step. I had expected good bye.... But I managed to say, 'Physics and Philosophy.'

She looked surprised, 'Why you really are a strange fellow. I'd never have expected... I suppose I just assumed from your, ah, reputation and hobbies that it'd have been computer science or some such field. I must apologize for type casting you. Once again, the snob.'

'I don't think so.'

She shrugged. 'I don't mean to, I'm going to change....' she paused and looked away for a moment. 'My philosophy was just to appease my parents' ambitions. So why are you reading philosophy? Or is philosophy what you intend to go on to grad school for? Have I just made yet another unwarranted assumption?'

'No, I want to be a physicist, but I find philosophy, especially those of China and Japan in which I am mostly reading, fascinating and fun. I find physics, on the other hand, fascinating but hard work – so hard that I sometimes despair of getting into grad school,' I admitted.

'I'm sure you're being modest... (I wasn't, unfortunately.) So why did you choose to read oriental philosophy?'

'Well, I'd brushed up against some of those ideas in high school – I grew up in a rather eclectic part of London – and found them very interesting back then. However, I've practical reasons for my philosophical excursion as well. I'm hoping that by absorbing a different slant on life it will give me a different and useful approach on the problems physics is facing today. Lord knows it's in need of a new approach, seeing that it's been spinning its wheels, splintering into contending camps for more than a half a century... Plus I'm hoping it will give me a better insight into the physics research that is coming out of China and India as well...'

'So you've ambitions, Gallagher...'

'I've some...' I admitted, afraid to look at her when I said that... 'But, they're rather iffy...'

...And from there, amazingly, we drifted on to talk like old friends for the better part of two hours. I made another pot of tea, found bread to toast to go with the local marmalade and just hung out like uni students. Beri's mathematical focus made her more than half a physicist herself, so we had plenty of shop to talk about, making conversation easier for both of us. We also shared many Oxford experiences – the interests, ideas and lecturers of the rather narrow slice of social life found in our scientific programs. Since she is two years ahead of me, posh, and accomplished, she hung out with a rather exclusive, post grad social set, so our paths rarely crossed – and when they did, I went unnoticed. And yet, I found myself becoming amazingly comfortable in her company. Between two years at Oxford, the social mentoring of Omar, her sentimental sadness and perhaps, her loneliness, we talked easily.

Yet, beneath the surface, the blues we both felt wove their threads through our conversations. And however much I enjoyed her company, it was shadowed by the certainty of our parting, the certainty that when this ball ended, there'd be no glass slipper left behind.

We had both been silent for a while in our chairs across from one another, she lost in thoughts, I gazing at her fondly, when she glanced at her watch. It was 10:38.

I watched her as she summoned her old guarded ways. She reached down to retrieve her courier bag and hat, then she said, without looking across at me, 'I've put this off as long as I can, but I must go now. I am tired, which is a good thing, but I still have a couple of little things to do before I can sleep.'

'I understand. I'll walk you to your flat,' I said, trying to keep my tone light.

She stood and looked to me as I stood too. 'This has quite nice, bitter sweet, but, well, nice. I should've never let this type of thing go out of my life. I appreciate your efforts, your concern for me. Thank you ever so much.'

I could hardly look at her. 'It's been great. I don't want to spoil the evening, so I'll say no more.'

She just nodded. 'I'd rather you not walk me back to my flat. It would only make it even harder for me not to be cruel. I don't want to be cruel any more. I'll be fine.'

I shrugged. I'd not play the puppy. She had my number, if ever she should care to get in touch. 'Then I guess it's good night. Good luck tomorrow, Beri... good luck with your Treasury gig. And don't worry about tomorrow. Just get some sleep...'

'Thanks, good-bye Gallagher.' And she walked to the door.

She hesitated as she held the handle for a long moment and then turned around, leaning back against the door. 'Don't move, Gallagher. And I say that as your White Witch...'

'Queen,' I muttered automatically.

She shrugged that off and hurried on, 'Perhaps exams have finally driven me around the bend... Now I know this sounds crazy, but I feel a strange affinity to your avatar, to your White Witch, Queen, whatever. Silly, but what can I say? Seeing myself in your game was almost like an out of body experience. Like seeing myself the way others see me. I want her, at least, to be happy. Well, I want her to be able to show happiness, I'm not quite that crazy. And I hope that tonight... That is to say, I hope the person I've been with you tonight will enable you to make my avatar less icy and grim. Less sad and lonely. Nicer. Please help her find whatever happiness an avatar can find.

I didn't know what to say, but I knew I couldn't tell her the truth. I said, 'She'll always be happiness for me.'

'And I want to her to be whole, I want her to be more than just a head,' she paused before adding, 'I've done some foolish things in my time at Oxford. Some I bitterly regret. But I've never done just a silly thing in my four years, and if I'm ever to do something silly, my time has just about run out. Remember your orders, Gallagher, and the consequences.'

And with that, she straightened up, slipped her courier bag off her shoulder and on to the floor along with her soft straw hat. Looking down she undid the buttons of her blouse and slipped out of it, dropping it to flood. She undid the tabs of her batik skirt and then slipped it down to her ankles. She stepped forward, out of her shoes standing only in her silky gossamer thin bra and panties. She looked down at her bra, and then up at me with a sly smile, 'No, I guess I'm not that silly. I'm a mathematician, after all,' and then slowly turned once around to face me once more, suddenly very shy and very young now. She glanced at me, blushed and spun around, crouching down to retrieve her clothing. I don't believe I had taken a breath the whole time.

'Silliness is a very stupid thing, Gallagher.' she said as she wiggled into her skirt and reached for her blouse.

'I think silliness very wonderful,' I said softly. 'I think you're wonderful, Selina.'

'And very strange,' she said slipping into her shoes once more. She half turned towards me, clutching her hat and said. 'It seems, I've started to live my life naked – well, almost naked. I trust you – for some silly reason. That was to make our White Witch a whole avatar. Good bye.' She slipped out the door.

My heart pounding, I glanced across to my desk, at my watson in its charging dock and my dyary equipped glasses in the jumble of stuff on my desk.

Today

Looking as good as my best allowed, I lounged, hands in pocket, against the stone wall across the narrow street from the Schools, where Selina Beri was finishing her undergrad life, one of a gathering mob of fellow students, friends, lovers.

I knew this was what her 'puppies' would have thought to do. But the possibility that no one might be here to greet and congratulate Selina after her last final, was not a prospect I cared to risk, puppy or not. If she had other friends, fine. I'd fade away. And if no one else was here, but she was once more the Selina Beri of the day before yesterday – the one that would not see me – well, I'd posted myself on the fringe, away from the route she'd take to her flat so she could just turn and go away. It had to be her choice.

Time slowed to a crawl. (I did arrive rather early... unwilling to risk missing her.) But eventually students began to pour out the doors and across the green quad and out through the stone gate into our lane, a flock of noisy, cheerfully free blackbirds. My nerve all but deserted me, but I could not be seen fleeing.

There are a number of exams sitting and hers was not the first group to be released. When I saw her, dressed severely in formal black and white, black gown flowing around her, mortarboard cap at a jaunty angle and the red carnation, she was talking gaily with a girl walking beside her. The sight of her staggered my heart as it always did, and hoped always would. And seeing her happy warmed this staggering heart. A stray thought crossed my mind as I watched her in her formal black and white – becoming a nun would not work.

Just outside the gates her friend was swept away by a smiling, beefy fellow. For a moment Beri lingered and watched them go, standing alone as the last of the laughing students hurried past her. No one stepped up to sweep her away. She shrugged off her reverie and glanced around, the smile on her face slowly fading. She saw me, considered me, and slowly smiled. She slipped casually though the thinning crowd to meet me in the lane.

'Gallagher!'

'Beri!' I said, adding, 'Woof!'

'It's more like "Yip, Yip Yip!". But never mind, I'm so happy it's over, I'll forgive you today...' she laughed, holding out her hands for me to hold. Which I boldly did.

'Congratulations! I'm delighted to see you so happy.'

'Thank you. I'm so, so relieved it is all over! I don't believe the soles of my shoes are even touching the ground!'

'I'm sure they're not!' I said as I held her hands and looked at her smiling face. 'I'm not sure mine are either.'

She blushed and then laughed and exclaimed, 'Our question was on the exam! Right there in black and white! I had to discuss aspects of dyaries that would impact on policy formulation. Everything we talked about but without having to suggest a solution. If I've not completely slipped around the bend, I wrote a very competent answer, thanks to you! After that, the other questions just seemed to bring out my best work too. Maybe I just babbled, but if I wasn't babbling, I've done my best!'

'That is all one hopes for. I'm sure you've earned your first, and no one deserves it more.' I replied, and ventured, 'Will you allow me to take you out, Beri, to celebrate?'

'I'm sorry, but my parents, brother, sister, and who knows who else from the family are waiting for me in my flat.' she said brightly, adding without pause, 'But please walk me back.'

'My pleasure,' I said as I released her hands so we might walk side by side. But she held on to one as she shifted to my side and we walked, hand in hand, just like young lovers, which even if I had neither the courage, nor the foolishness to believe, staggered my heart none the less.

Walking along the maze of streets towards her digs on St Giles she was so bright and alive, talking about her finals that I just watched her and marvelled. I'm sure people had to skip out of my way as we walked, for I had no eyes but for Selina – all I saw was Selina Beri – and my dyary record to prove it.

After we turned off the Broad on to the narrow Magdalen Street East, she turned to me and said. 'I'm glad we have this chance to talk, face to face, for I have something I feel I must explain to you, about last night...'

I had no expectations. I knew where I stood. I knew that even walking hand in hand with Selina, was only kindness, part and parcel of the overwhelming kindness she felt for the world today. Nothing she could say would hurt me. And that I knew to be a lie.

I smiled, or attempted to, 'Last night you were wonderfully kind and generous to me. I truly appreciate your friendship, last night and right now, with all my heart. It's all I expect.'

She watched me for a moment and then sighed. 'Yes, everything said last night, rose out of fellowship. I must say that though I'm afraid it might hurt you to hear it. Kindness and fellowship is all I have... And what I did last night, at the end, and you'll note I am blushing right now, I can't fully explain, even today, except to say that it must be some girlish sentimentality that that cold White Witch image of me inspired. But I want you to know, as you look at me now, it was never my intention to hurt you. And I want you to remember it....'

She went on, now looking down. 'When I got back to my rooms, and considered what we had said, and well, how silly I had been, I was happy. Happier than I had been for quite some time. That is the first thing I want you to remember. Later, it suddenly occurred to me that what I had done could be seen, instead, as heartlessly taunting you with something....' she paused.

And I finished, watching her... 'That I could never possess.'

She shrugged and continued quietly. 'But, I assure you, that thought never entered my mind until hours later. Please believe me. I was angry at myself for the cruelty I may have, once again, unintentionally delivered. Then it occurred to me that my foolishness could be seen in yet another light, and hurt you in an even crueller way. I realized that you could see my act as a casual, condescending kindness tossed out as a little favour – like a squeaky rubber bone to a puppy. Or that I was implying that a look, an image, was all you deserved... a little play thing... ah, oh, you know what I mean. Silliness is a stupid thing, I've learned my lesson, Gallagher. I apologize, and hope that you'll never come to suspect I did what I did with anything but good will towards you. And that I trust you.'

'Nothing you have said, Beri was necessary. Nothing like that ever entered my mind. We understand each other perfectly.'

'I am sure we understand each other – at this moment. But I wanted to tell you anyway, so as time goes on, you'll not begin to doubt our understandings.'

'Never, but thank you anyway.' I replied. 'And now, I too, have a confession I must make.'

She looked to at me, a wary glance.

I smiled and kept my voice light and cheery. 'You may not believe this, but while I can't claim to live an exciting life, I'll tell you plainly that I don't usually bother to keep a dyary record of airing my socks...' I could see her wary look change to puzzlement, and then a dawning...

I hurried on. 'I realized as we talked after my game demo that you assumed that I was wearing my dyary glasses, but in fact I was wearing just my plain old glasses. My watson was being charged and my dyary glasses were in the heap at the end of my desk. I needn't tell you how much I regretted that fact when I turned to see you standing in my doorway, but by then it was too late. It would have been foolish to try to sneak them on behind your back and, even if I could, it would have been in very poor taste. If we had known each other better, I would have asked you what you thought about recording our conversation. That is pretty much how we do things, when alone, in private. But, I didn't know you at all. And well, even with my familiarly with quantum theory, I'm afraid I can't see further through a brick wall then the next fellow, so I could not anticipate how wonderful the evening would turn out. And even when I realized you thought I was wearing them, it seemed too late, too lame to put them on then. I'm sorry.' And to keep things light, I continued with a laugh. 'There are lessons here, Beri. I assure you that I'll now always keep a running dyary every time I air my socks.... and you should perhaps ask, if you care.'

She laughed. 'I'll admit to feeling relieved, though I trust you, Gallagher. This morning I find I might not be quite as ready for the naked life as I thought I was.' She then continued quietly, 'Last night when I saw that cold and lonely avatar, a head without a body. and even today, it still seems somehow important that she should be a whole person – not just a head. And she should be able to smile. I know it's silly. Perhaps in my mind I am seeing my White Witch like a voodoo doll or some such alias that touches me...' she suddenly looked sad.

'Oh, it doesn't matter, I'll find some body if you like,' I exclaimed. 'But I'm wearing my dyary today, and I've never seen you happier, more alive, more pleased and I will even dare to say, more beautiful, for you are. So don't worry about your White Witch, she'll have smiles now. Christmas will come!'

She looked to me. 'It is true, isn't it? You are not just saying that to make me feel better?'

'Absolutely.' With my free hand I pointed to the tiny lens in the frame of my glasses. 'I've recorded this whole time, and, if you consent, I'll make sure I add your happiness to her program. But really, Selina, I wore these glasses to remember you.'

She beamed kindly at me, 'You can be quite gallant.'

'You'll make me blush... But I wanted to say, as sort of an explanation for well, the White Queen and all, that looking back I find that you were hardly more real to me then my game avatar until yesterday, little more than an image...'

'But even less friendly,' she added with a faint smile.

I shrugged. 'You were never unfriendly, just, well, remote. But today you're ever so much more than an image. You're very real to me. Real and really quite nice. You've made me see my poor White Queen as the schoolboy's fantasy it always was. I'll see that today's happiness becomes part of her, but you're so much more. And you're not the White Witch.'

She said nothing, but still held my hand as we walked in silence for a while along St Giles Street. Then she looked up and around, shook a little of the softness out of her poise, pushed her glasses up and then looked at me.

'This is where I leave you. My rooms are across the street. Thank you for last night, today, for everything. If wishes were horses, beggars would ride,' and adding quietly, 'And remember, I really am the White Witch.'

With that she stepped in front of me, pulled my head a little closer with her free hand and kissed me. She stepped back, and with an indecipherable look said softly 'Good-bye, and good luck, Gallagher.'

She stood back, dropped my hand and quickly turned away.

'Good-bye, Selina,' I said softly.

And she made her way across the wide traffic lane into the shadows of the trees lining old road before her building, and then was lost in the blue shadows of the doorway without looking back. I stood there, a stone statue. An achingly hollow stone statue, staring, even after she had gone out of my real life. For despite the kiss... No, that's wrong. Because of the kiss, I'm very much afraid I've seen the last of the real Selina Beri.

A moment later, Archibald 'Foggy' Phelps appeared in front of me. He stared up at me through his thick glasses.

'Hello, Foggy,' I said absently.

'Hello, Hugh. I simply will not believe what I just witnessed until I review my dyary record this evening.' he said shaking his head.

P.S.

Foggy grabbed my arm and lead me back towards our college, like some dazed performing bear. We had hardly reached St Magdalen Street before my watson rang. It was Omar.

'Is it really true, Hugh old bean, that you've been kissing Selina Beri right in the middle of St Giles Street?'

Chapter 02 – Piece Two – A Shattered Heart

Early August, A Phone Call

My watson, next to me on the bed, chirped. Caller unknown. Pick it up or let it go to voice mail? I was alone in my hotel room, on the road for my job, and a bit lonely. I picked it up.

'Hello?'

'Hello Gallagher.... Selina Beri.'

My heart lurched.

'Gallagher?'

'Beri.... Sorry... I never... This is a surprise. So how are you? Is everything all right?'

She laughed. Nervousness? 'Oh, I'm fine, fine enough. How are you? Catch you at a bad time? Wake you up? I know it's a bit late...'

'No, not at all, I'm just sitting in my hotel room checking my sites and waiting for a sleepy feeling...'

'Oh... Are you on holiday?'

'I wish. But no, I'm working on a project in Guildford, so the company puts me up at a hotel for the duration. I live the tinkerer's life this long vacation, a week or two here, a week there, project to project.'

'Ah,' she hesitated. 'Gallagher... I feel really silly... Actually, I feel terribly embarrassed. You must have known my intentions back in Oxford...'

'You indicated in the kindest way not to dream and to move along. I've thought of you, of course, but well...'

'I understand. After all, I cut you. I'd convinced myself it was for the best. The best for me, of course. But this time it didn't quite work as planned....'

'I'll not complain. Say no more.'

'No. I must apologize. You helped me, treated me as a friend. There's no excuse for the way I treated you. You don't treat friends, or anyone, like that. I know that, but well... I am sorry... Hugh.'

I had never been Hugh, always just Gallagher. She hesitated ever so little over Hugh, but she said it, and strangely, it almost hurt – I knew how much it cost her to even suggest that I was close enough to her to use my first name.

'Everything's fine now,' I said quickly for both our sakes. 'Consider us friends since June. Now, how are you doing? How's your plum? I hope it is better than you expected.'

'Ha!' That was a mirthless laugh. 'It's even worse, in a way, than I feared. Apparently my parents didn't stop at stepping on a few toes, they stomped on them, one being owned by my superior, Mr Morton. I'm probably the highest paid tea lady in London. He has me doing little more than making tea, running errands and working with the clerical support staff. And since his distaste for me is quite evident, my colleagues steer well clear of me to avoid smudging their copy books with Morton. Only the girls in the support staff are friendly.

'I hope you realize you need to get out of there, Beri. You owe it to yourself – you're too talented to be making tea.'

'Well, that's why I'm calling. I did make one rather off handed effort to pursue an academic career before I left Oxford. My friend, Grace, talked me into applying for the Wagner Mathematical Fellowship at Cambridge. I'm one of five finalists. I interview with the committee on Monday. I'm going up early, on Saturday, to familiarize myself with Cambridge and hopefully spark some authentic enthusiasm for attending the university which will come across in my interview.'

'Wow, that's ideal!' But it sent a dart to my heart. Cambridge... not Oxford, Damn.

'Grace attends Cambridge. She offered the use of her flat this weekend, though she won't be there – she's working in France this summer. I've not met her flat mate, Kate, but I've talked to her on the phone and she sounds quite nice. The thing is, she's busy both Saturday and Sunday afternoons and evenings, and with the weather forecast calling for a rainy weekend... Well, I've this picture in my head of a dreary weekend alone in a strange town in a stranger's flat, blue and miserable. I could do it, really. But, Gallagher, I really, really want to fall in love with Cambridge! I thought that if I had a friend along to share the experience, it could be fun, even in the rain. And, well, the strange thing is that when I thought of asking a friend, I thought of you...

'I know that sounds crazy. I hardly know you, gave you the short and sharp push six weeks ago, haven't talked to you since. Still, I'm inviting you to spend the weekend with me – just as a friend, mind you, that hasn't changed, Gallagher, but still.... I know it's weird. All I can say is, well, even though I like you, or maybe because I like you, I cut you. That's the way I was treating everyone... I'd like to think I'm changing... I'm trying. Anyway, would you like to come with me? I know it is only two days' notice... You probably have plans...'

'I'd love to come along – as a friend. As for plans, well, I spend the weekends just working on my school projects. Haven't had a holiday all summer, so I'm due. I'll probably need to head back Sunday afternoon because of my job... though I might be able to arrange to get off of work on Monday...'

'No need for that. I just want you along to help me enjoy the Cambridge experience. I can deal with the interview on my own. I hadn't planned on bringing a friend when I talked to Kate, and since I don't know her and don't want to put her out, it would probably mean a hotel room for you...'

'No problem. So what's our plan?' I asked, hurrying on before she entertained second thoughts.

'I'm leaving from London and I'm looking at a 7:50 train out of Paddington. I can meet you in Cambridge around 9:30, if that would be the most convenient for you. And I'll pay your expenses, of course.'

'You'll do nothing of the sort. You asked me as a friend, and as a friend I'll come, not a paid companion. I'll be back home in London Friday night, so I can meet you at Paddington and we can travel together. Hold on, what web site are you on? We can book our tickets right now...'

Tickets booked. Details attended to.

'Thank you for being, well, so nice and understanding about this.'

'My pleasure, and you know that.'

'Yes, I suppose I do. But I've vowed not to constantly issue thinly veiled warnings so I'll say only this, I think of you as my friend.'

'And that's grand, That's what I am and will be.'

'Thank you... Well, I see it's getting late. We both have work tomorrow – tea to be made in my case. So I'll let you go now. We'll catch up on everything over the weekend.'

'Sounds good to me...'

'And Gallagher... I'm sorry about the short notice. I was planning to go alone, and then, well, I lost my courage at this rather late date. I haven't asked anyone else. Good night, Gallagher.'

'Good night, Beri...'

She hung up.

I typed 'Selina Beri' beside her number, stared at it for a while, and added it to my directory with a tap. I leaned back against the headboard, drew a long breath and waited for the harsh buzz of the alarm clock to wake me up from this dream.

Saturday, On the Train

I spent Friday night attempting sleep, like I did Thursday night, and Wednesday night. Too many questions and a fear of oversleeping. Up early, I slung my rucksack over a shoulder, slipped out the front door before anyone else was awake and into a cool, drippy grey morning. I looked around and smiled. 'Thanks,' I muttered and then crossed my fingers. I all but tumbled down the Brixton tube station stairs and paced impatiently waiting for the train – Victoria to Bakerloo to Paddington Station – arriving a half an hour early, but still in a hurry. My ticket was on my watson, so I quickly cut through the milling crowd of holiday trippers and hurried on to the platform.

She was already waiting, trim and neat, standing midway down, with only a rucksack at her feet, reading her watson. I stopped as my heart lurched against my chest and marvelled, as always, at this power she has over me. I studied her from that distance. She was wearing a dark green rain jacket, a low crowned, grey-green felt hat, khaki slacks and brown walking shoes. In that pale light of a dreary morning falling through the glass roof, with holiday travellers hurrying by her in the warm oil and ozone laced air of the station, she seemed to have an eye of the storm calmness about her. I'd imagined all sorts of, well, uneasy, explanations as to why she had called me, at such a cost. I could not believe that she didn't have older, better friends than me to call on. Yet here I was. I didn't know what to think. So for a few moments I just watched her from the crowd. Then gathering my courage, I threaded my way through the scurrying holiday makers to her side.

I was about ten meters from her, when she looked up from her watson and glanced around. Her gaze passed over me – and then stopped and came back. Behind her glasses, her eyes widened with a quizzical, then amused look that lasted even as I smiled and gave her my most cheery 'Good Morning, Beri'.

'Hello, Gallagher. I hardly recognize you!' she said. 'Why you're all trimmed and polished, and with those rimless glasses, you look almost...'

'Human?' I suggested laughing. I'd forgotten that I had changed since she had last seen me. 'It's my responsible adult look – or as close as I can come to it. I'd forgotten all about it or I'd have warned you!'

'Then it's not for me?' she asked brightly, verging on flirting.

'It would have been if you had asked, but as it is, my boss made it plain to me that if I was going to be a project manager, I'd have to at least try to look the part.'

'Project manager! I'm impressed. It's just a vacation position, I hope?' she asked, suddenly rather serious.

'Oh yes, my usual vacation gig for the most part. The project manager title is just a little new twist. Before, I was just a tech, with no reason to look like anything but geek, as you well know.'

'A geeky beatnik, I think,' she smiled kindly.

I laughed. 'Well, maybe. I think. Anyway, making me a project manager saves the company the expense of sending along a chap in a suit to deal with the client. I still do the same tech work, but now I have to deal with the clients as well.

'Well it sounds impressive – but then, I'm just a humble tea lady and errand girl...' she laughed, but without any trace of bitterness.

'You're an Oxford scholar, a mathematician, Beri. Now tell me about this Wagner Fellowship!' I exclaimed. 'Even if it's to be Cambridge, I was so happy to hear that you're not going to waste a year...'

'Don't jump to conclusions. I'm only one of five finalists, the others are every bit as qualified as I am. But let's put off talk of that until we get to Cambridge. I'll have plenty of opportunity to talk about it then and you won't have to hear it twice. Shall we board and find our seats? You can dazzle me with the importance of being a project manager. And I, in turn, will amaze you with my stories of teas and copies made, and all the offices I've delivered confidential papers to.'

As we found our seats and settled in, she said, 'I want to hear about this responsible adult job of yours.'

'It's not as impressive as it sounds. SSC, that is to say, Surveillance Security Consultants, is the company I've been working for, off and on, since I was in sixth form – almost since the firm started out. Essentially we provide technology and services aimed at preventing industrial spying. Think of the electronic bug-screen device you use, only on an industrial scale as well as computer security and such. In addition, we analyse their plant or lab to tell them things that they might not want to do, like taking a dyary wearing salesmen through their lab...'

'Which reminds me, these glasses are not dyary equipped, but if you'd like to record anything, I have a dyary pair in my bag.'

Beri blushed prettily and laughed. 'On the whole, I think I will do without a dyary record, if you don't mind!'

I grinned, "As I recall it, it was the lack of a dyary...'

She gave me an elbow, 'You were telling me about this job of yours...'

'Yes, and where was I...' I'd conjured up pictures of Beri on the edge of desperation, worn by her long, lonely last year at Oxford and then by her dismal, trivial job. The Beri next to me, however, seemed relaxed, cheerful, and amazingly enough, happy to see me. Within an hour of our first meeting, I'd felt inexplicably comfortable in Beri's presence, and now I felt some of my hidden tension slip away.

'Anyway, gadgets being my speciality, I've been designing security systems, installing anti-audio and video equipment for clients all along. I worked full time during my gap year to raise money for Oxford and have been working during my breaks ever since, as one of the techs. Tthey pay me well, bless them. This summer, they had a number of small projects lined up for me, usually just me and another tech or subcontractors. Rather than have another person in a suit on site trying to look useful, they just bumped up my wages a bit and added whatever it was he was supposed to be doing to my job description. For their scheme to work, however, I have to look something like an adult, not a geeky kid. And while they couldn't really expect me to wear a suit, since I still have to do my share of crawling around installing things, I have to at least look like I might wear one...'

She raised a sceptical eyebrow.

'I know. But what else can they do? I'm their cheapest option. Anyway, I still do the same stuff I've been doing all along, but now I'm on my own and have to actually talk to the clients and do things like staff training, which, I tell myself will come in handy some day should I ever have to lecture....'

I rattled on a bit more and she asked a lot about questions of the job and about my tinkerer's life of moving from project to project around Britain. So it was not until the train had pulled out of Paddington and we were clipping along through the green and brick London sprawl before I had a chance to ask her about how her life was in the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis.

'It's a case of my parents' nepotism over Mr Morton's.... his candidate ended up in the ditch and, things being the way they are, powers and principalities, he had to grin and bear it. Still, day-to-day he makes his displeasure clear. Being a ward of powers greater than his, he can't do anything too overt, but because I'm the newest and least qualified of the professional staff, he can safely assign me all the trivial and mundane tasks about the office, especially since two of the clerical staff are on family leave. Some of this work, I suppose, would be expected to be done by the most junior of the staff, but some of the other jobs are ones normally performed by someone far less exalted than a Level B Clerk... Yet, should I complain, he'd merely point out that the clerical staff is very understaffed at the moment and since I was new and not fully up to speed yet, I should pitch in and help where I could, be it making a fresh pot of tea, or running some papers upstairs or around the block, which in the end would help me become acquainted with the total operation of the unit.'

'You seem in markable good spirits for all of that.'

'Oh, I've done my share of crying. By Friday of my first week, I could hardly keep the tears back while at work. I tramped about London all day Saturday and most of Sunday as well, trying to work out what went so wrong. I was angry at Morton, at my parents, at everyone and everything. How could they have done this to me? Eventually I walked long and far enough to realize that I'd done it by myself to myself, by not caring, by sleepwalking through the last year or two. I'd only myself to blame, and only I could dig myself out. I've been trying to do that ever since.'

'You know you can count on me to help in any way.'

She glanced at me. 'You're here, aren't you?'

'I jumped at the chance to have a great weekend holiday exploring Cambridge with you,' I said. 'If it'll somehow help you, great, but for me, it's just a dream come true.'

'Well, there is a bit more to it... I believe in my long rant in that evening in Oxford I told you how shy I am, and then proceeded to be anything but shy!' she laughed. 'Anyway, that's one of the reasons you're along today. I'm not shy around you. I'm far too comfortable, in fact. So I'm hoping that with you along, I'll not revert to that cold, posh-wannabe snob that my shyness seems to take the form of these days. I'd like for you to help break the ice with Kate and her boyfriend, keep everything friendly and conversations going, and if you see me getting on my high horse, knock me off it.'

'Yikes. Those aren't things I'm really good at, myself. I'm not all that great at conversations, especially with people I don't know. You apparently don't mind long stretches of silence while I search for things to say, but I'm pretty sure that's an exception. I'll do my best, of course, but well...'

'I must work with the materials at hand,' she laughed, 'I'm sure your best will be just fine...Hugh,' She stumbled over my name again.

'Just keep calling me Gallagher, I don't mind at all.'

'I'm sorry, it's just that I think of you as "Gallagher." I don't see you as Hugh.'

'Then it's Gallagher and Gallagher is here – relax and be yourself. Just remember, it's natural to be a little nervous. But don't worry, you'll do just fine.'

'Right, that's another of your jobs, keep telling me not to worry. I'm sure that'll work just fine...'

'I like it when you're sarcastic, Beri,' I replied. 'Now that I've gotten my orders, tell me all about your "plum." You were on the verge of tears when we got side-tracked.'

'Well, after walking miles and miles and miles, until my legs ached, and all but fell off, it struck me that I was at one of those hinges of life where your life could swing this way or that way for the rest of your life. Luckily, I was no longer sleep walking – I was fully awake and absolutely certain I needed to return to a university and get my doctorate. I'm not cut out to be a mandarin.

'But of course, it was July and I didn't even know which universities offered programs that might suit my interests, never mind the fact that in many cases application deadlines were either fast approaching or past. Morton kept me busy enough at work so I had to do all my research and emailing people after work and on weekends. Still, by the end of the second week of work I had a prospect or two for escape. I might have to beg, borrow, and steal my way into a uni, but I now had hope. That following Monday, three weeks ago, I received the email out of the blue from the Wagner Committee informing me that I'd been selected as one of the final five candidates. I can't begin to tell you how amazed and happy I was. I'd never seriously considered that possibility – I'd submitted the application and paperwork only because Grace wouldn't give me any peace until I did. I've already told you how impulsive I can be, so you'll not be surprised to find that as soon as I read the email, my heart jumped to the conclusion that I was going to get that fellowship and escape Morton and the office. I know that's irrational, every other candidate will be just as, or better qualified than I am, but my heart refuses to be swayed by logic, and well, needing all the happiness I can get, I've just gone along with my heart. Mind you, I haven't stopped pursuing other options, but right now they're all up in the air, so I've nothing to lose and everything to gain with the Wagner.'

'I have this feeling you're going to get it, too, though I was rather hoping to see you back at Oxford this fall...'

She shook her head. 'No, I don't think I'd care to return to Oxford. Not unless I had no other choice. Sorry.'

I shrugged. 'I'll try not be selfish. I'm here and if we're to be friends... I've nothing to complain about.'

'Well, Gallagher, it seems I impulsively accepted you as a friend that evening I called on you – I just didn't want to admit it. That's the way I was. With Grace no longer around to keep me in the social circle, I'd all but abandoned my friendships this past year at Oxford. I've now come to see everything I'd lost in letting those friendships lapse. I've promised myself to try to mend those fences. I've contacted old friends again, and arranged several lunches with some who are in and about London, but, well, everyone's busy these days, and many of them now are paired off and such. Time's flown, I guess.'

She paused, and then continued. 'I've come to realize that I must make new friends. In a way I'm fortunate Morton has assigned me all the clerical duties. My would-be colleagues treat me as if I'm invisible. They're not mean, but then again, they've no reason to be. Nor have they any reason to resent the way I obtained my position, since I believe many of them landed theirs in the same way. But they all have a career to worry about and dare not risk them by being seen aiding a usurper. So, all in all, they avoid me when they can and take as little notice of me when they can't. Fortunately, the clerical staff has no such ambitions nor are they in need of Morton's patronage. And since I'm fairly competent at the clerical duties Morton assigned – you see how knowing shorthand has paid off – the clerks have welcomed my help and I've pretty much joined the clerical staff. I lunch with the girls and we cheerfully chat when Morton's not around. All in all, the days fly by rather more pleasantly than one might expect. And, well, after all the work and stress of my last year at Oxford, it's actually a welcome change. It's only when I stop to think of what I'm doing, that I get a bit blue.

'Anyway, I have these new friends at work. But I also have this Gallagher fellow that I'd made friends with, somehow, only to give him the push. What was I to do about him? Truthfully, I never did figure that out until I panicked at the thought of going to Cambridge alone and decided to find out where I stood with him. You know the rest.'

'Never in a million years would I have expected a call from you. But it goes without saying that I'm delighted. I believe I understand how things are between us, so I'll try to see that you don't regret it.'

'I believe you do, and I promise to try to refrain from reminding you all the time... Please forgive me if I sometimes fail.'

'Of course,' I said, and hurrying on, 'Now tell me more about those adventures at work...'

'As far as my adventures at work go, well between the Wagner invite, my new friends at the office, and my determination to get out of the Treasury one way or another, I've found surviving the office a whole lot easier these past several weeks. With nothing to gain, I had nothing to lose either. I've even been able to have a little fun,' She added with a smile.

'For example, I can't do much with...' she glanced down and took a deep breath and shook her head. 'But I do have nice legs...'

'And nice ankles too,' I added.

She gave me a startled look for a second before it struck her. She laughed, 'Do you remember everything I say?'

'I keep a journal,' I replied. 'You've been warned. Go on with your story.'

'Well, as I was saying, I have nice enough legs. All my walking no doubt. So I went out and bought several miniskirts and a pair of shoes with heels just to wear to work every so often. The boys might ignore me, but could they ignore my legs?'

'I'm guessing "no",' I said, cautiously. 'And you'll note I'm being admirably discrete here, Beri.'

She gave me a sidelong glance. 'Noted. Well anyway, catching them watching me as I walked by was well worth the expense. I'd smile sweetly as soon as I caught their eye, and they'd quickly look away, or try to make it look like they were just looking around. Stupid, I know, but the other girls and I had so much fun playing the game. It's been nice to let down my hair a bit and be just a girl again. Anyway, having gotten over my initial blues, I've found more and more things, over the last month, to keep me amused at the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis. Take for example, the Case of the Green Labelled Folder, as I will one day record it in my memoirs....'

She went on to describe, with a great deal of good humour, her trivial adventures in OBSA.

'Of course, I can make fun of it today, I'm under the self-imposed delusion that I'm going to land the Wagner Fellowship. If that falls through though, I'll be singing a different song,' she said at the end of her stories, growing sombre.

'I doubt you'll be spending many more days at OBSA, but I'll say no more. I have very superstitious ancestors, who won't let me name names and talk about things as a certainty before they are, even though I know they will be... if you follow me. And you do have those other options. I can't imagine an undergrad, who's published papers with the quality and originality of your papers, will fail to land a fellowship in a first class program. But enough of that, tell me all about what you do for fun outside of work.'

'Nothing much. I walk a lot. I'll walk home from work on fine evenings and walk for hours on Saturdays. I'm thinking a lot...' she glanced at me briefly, 'and not about maths these days. And I'm catching up on all the piano practice I missed over the past year, plus occasionally going out with my brother or sister and their friends – I'm back living at home again and you know what that is like...'

'I do – on weekends or when I'm working in London I live at home. The questions I had to dodge about this weekend....'

'Tell me about it!' she said, with a grin. 'You can imagine what my parents think of me going off with unnamed "friends" for a long weekend, to an undisclosed somewhere, and taking several days off from a job I just started – one they pulled all the stops out to get. Not happy at all, but there's nothing I can do about that.'

'Did Morton make a fuss about you wanting to take a couple of days off?'

'He was all set to get on his high horse, until I quickly added that I was interviewing for a position at Cambridge and that since he didn't want me there, and I didn't want to be there, our interests rather converged,' she laughed. 'He thought about that for a second, and then smiled, and said, "Just so," and proved most obliging, telling me to take all the time I needed.'

'And do your parents know about the fellowship?'

'No, not yet. Or at least they haven't tipped their hand. Some of the material was sent by post, so they may have a suspicion, but nothing has been said. If I get it, I'll be able to deal with their disappointment. I am, after all, all grown up now. But if I fail, I don't really want to suffer their consolation mixed with reproach.'

I nodded and we considered that for a while in silence.

'You mentioned practising your piano – I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, music and maths are said to be related. What type of music do you play?'

'What type do you think?' she replied.

I considered my reply carefully, and decided to be as vague as possible, 'I'm sure you can play most anything...'

'Cheap answer, Gallagher. I expected you to be more honest than that.'

'Well, I really do think you could play anything you wanted to – I know how you approach things. But if you want some specifics, well, I can see you playing Erik Satie pieces...'

She considered that. 'Maybe in my most pensive moods... But mostly I play jazz or rather lots of music as jazz.'

'Now it's your turn to surprise me! I'd never have guessed jazz. But now that you've said it, I can see why – it makes sense – all that improvising must in some respects parallel mathematical explorations....'

'There's that, and the fact that my father is a pretty accomplished amateur jazz piano player,' she said with a grin.

I laughed. 'The X factor! Was he your teacher?'

'Well, yes and no. My formal piano lessons started quite early with Miss Haven, an oh-so-conventional piano teacher. My mother wanted me to learn how to play the piano the proper way, and my father didn't want to bother teaching me how to play the piano or read music – he was going to teach me how to play music – but only after I could play the piano. So I had lessons from Miss Haven in the proper way until I was 13. But by then I'd played enough with my father that I'd learned to swing, driving poor Miss Haven to tears and out the door. After that my father undertook my further musical education which, I may add, often included taking me to Ronnie Scott's to hear all sorts of musicians and such – many of whom he seemed to know. At that age, and indeed, even now, it was fun to have such a secretly bohemian father, though he keeps that bohemian side very well hidden so that only his closest friends – and all those jazzmen – know.

'Of course jazz is not popular, so growing I learned to play pop and alternative tunes as well – I can pretty much play a melody by ear and improvise over it. Then as I became more and more involved with maths, I began to see music, the notes and tones, as numbers and patterns, so music took on a whole new dimension. Luckily my piano is digital, so I can just plug in headphones – otherwise I'm sure I'd drive people to despair if they had to listen to my keyboard mathematical explorations...'

We talked on for some time about her adventures in music, from hanging in jazz clubs with her dad, to using music to explore maths, and maths to explore music...

'What about you, Gallagher. Do you play an instrument?'

'No, not really. A few cords on the harmonica is about all. I could never quite get the hang of any musical instrument, to the constant exasperation of Evie Izzowkoski, my music teacher. She eventually settled on having me sing – or scat – most of the tune with a little ornamental harmonica here and there.'

'You had a music teacher and sing! Still waters do indeed run deep,' she said with all the appearance of delight.

'My education was not formal, I assure you. And my singing is an acquired taste – I sing mostly to annoy my friends... And as for Evie, my musical teacher, well, it would be hard to find a more eccentric one than Evelyn Izzowkoski...'

'How so?'

'Evie lived next door to me growing up. We're of the same age and for as long as I can remember we were friends, even at that age, when it was not fashionable to be seen hanging with a girl. Now Evie's a very fey creature. I suppose she has some form of autism, or something similar – though it was always hard to know where that condition left off, if it did at all, and where her deliberate eccentricity began. For example, she dressed very eclectically even for the crowd we ran in – which I'm sure comes as no great surprise – was not a posh set, but very much on the fringe of things, a little goth and very geeky. What her feyness, her autism, does, it allows her to remember every tune she hears – even if only once. She loves them all, every type and style. A phonographic mind, if you will pardon my pun... She is quite uncanny... childish and vague, and a little unnerving.

'She'd listened to thousands and thousands of tunes in the streaming music service she subscribed to – and could sing or play all of them, usually on her harmonica – which she took and played anywhere, any time. I can still see her hanging out in our basement – where we'd set up a makeshift recording studio – sitting on the old, ragged easy chair, just breathing tunes in and out on that harmonica for hours on end. She is quite the uncanny singer as well. All very fey. And since she was my singing coach, I sing in a similar vein...

'I don't know if she knew the lyrics to every tune she sang, but she could sing lyrics to any tune she knew, – whether they were the actual lyrics or just ones she made up, I was never certain, as she seemed able to improvise lyrics as she went along.

'As you can imagine, all this exposed me to a lot of music, pop, rock, jazz, classical, folk and world music from when I was five or six. Unlike Evie, however, my appreciation of music has never reached below the surface. If I liked the tune, it was fine – hundreds of tunes haunt me to this day – but my understanding has never deepened into anything beyond appreciation.' I shrugged, 'The scary thing is that I'm not sure my maths skills are going to be any different....'

'Anyway, once I got into the gadgets and stuff, we built a little makeshift studio in my folks' basement and recorded hundreds of tunes, adding track after track, her keyboard, harmonica and voice and my voice to the pieces. I still have the tracks and still enjoy them. And, strangely enough I still can sing a lot of the pieces if I close my eyes and follow the music, the words – Evie's words at any rate, come to me... But as I said, in a, well... think of Monk singing sort of way...'

Beri laughed, 'I'm not at all sure I can, but you've made me curious since I play the piano in a vaguely Monkish way myself, I'd like to hear you sing...'

'Be careful of what you wish for – you've been warned,' I said with a laugh. 'But as for Evie's singing, I'm certain that someday I'm going to hear a strange, angular silken voice coming from the radio and I'll know I'll have found her again...'

'So how did you lose track of her?' Beri asked.

'Well, though I considered Evie my best friend, I'm not all that sure just where exactly I stood with her, or at least in her mind. It's not that she didn't have affection for me, but rather, I believe she actually lives in the music. That it is her real home – her real world. Me, well I was part of the strange dream world that she had to occasionally deal with. I was more of, well, for lack of a better word, her familiar, her trusty companion, in this, what we call, real world. She was like a sister to me, so there was never anything romantic between us – but because of her condition, our level of communication was almost entirely within the context of music. So after graduation when I went off to work every day, for long hours and her folks moved soon after, we quickly drifted apart, since Evie did not really communicate with texting, email or even the phone... And when I last talked to her folks, she had moved out and was involved in the music scene, somewhere, in some way...

'I hope she's found another familiar to look out for her...' I added, more to myself, feeling rather sad. Evie had been so much a part of my life, for a long, long time – even if it seemed long ago now...

Our time on the train flew almost as fast as the train was travelling. Beri questioned me more about Evie and our music for a while and then we drifted, as it seems we often did, comfortably off into our own thoughts.

The countryside beyond the raindrop streaked window raced by, green, dark and dreary. Beri stared out lost in thought, and I settled back to think myself, marvelling at how easily we seemed to get along and other pleasant thoughts – though my long dead ancestors cautioned me not to count on too much. I seemed to have a talent for attracting fey girls...probably from those ancestors.

We were gliding into Cambridge when I came out of my reverie and looked to Beri next to me. She was watching me with a friendly half smile.

'You've been deep in thought... Gallagher.'

'Could you hear my brain whirling and rattling?' I laughed, trying to bring myself back to the present.

'Well, almost...' she laughed. 'I think we've just about arrived...'

Cambridge, Saturday Morning

We hurried though the driving rain to a nearby bakery restaurant that Kate Waterson had recommended for tea and breakfast. We passed an hour in quiet, sporadic conversation with the rain splatting on and running down the window next to our table.

We had lapsed into that strangely comfortable silence once again. I couldn't help but wonder why she had changed her mind about me, but I had a feeling that I was sitting across a small café table from her in part because of the things I didn't ask, so I kept my peace and watched the sky lighten and the rain taper off.

I checked the radar on my watson to be sure that the showers had indeed passed. It was nearly ten, the time Beri had arranged to meet Kate, when she called Kate to let her know we were on our way. I could hear her cheerful replies, reminding us to pick up two bikes from the bike share station which we'd need later to tour the Mathematics facilities out in the Western campus.

Out into the cool dampness, we rented two rather soggy bikes, dried the seats as best we could and secured our rucksacks on either side of the rack on mine. Kate's flat is only a few blocks from the station and so we arrived shortly after our call. We were greeted at the door with an easy cheerfulness and lots of laughing. She had us feeling like old friends within the first minute and that our visit was something she'd been looking forward to for ever so long. She told us that her boyfriend would be around shortly and then they'd give us the special deluxe tour of Cambridge. We thanked her, saying that we wouldn't want to put them out – we could find our way around – but Kate wouldn't hear of it, dismissing our objections with a wave of her hand and a laugh.

'Too late. It's all arranged. Philip can get us into the buildings I can't. You'll get the full guided tour, like it or not. Now I would imagine you want to freshen up... Let me show you Grace's room...'

While the girls were doing whatever, I had the small, cluttered sitting room to myself. There was a knock on the door and Kate called out, 'That will be Philip, let him in, will you, Hugh.'

I opened the door to a tall, solid–built, but absently tussled looking fellow with a carefree smile. Startled, he stared at me, his eyes widened behind his glasses, his smile stricken, he gulped. He glanced at the number next to the door and looked around, at a loss. Even on a weekend's friendship with Philip Moss, I can state that Philip Moss speechless was an extremely rare event...

'Philip? I'm Hugh Gallagher,' I said, 'A friend of Selina Beri... Kate asked me to get the door...'

'Ah...' he muttered as the light came on, he grinned, shook my hand. 'Phil Moss, nice to meet you. Ignore what I say...'

'Kate my love!' he called out in loud voice as he edged into the sitting room. 'Are you trying to drive me around the bend?'

'How so my dear?' she called back sweetly from the bedroom.

'You know darn well I rely on my feet to find my way to your door. I have all sorts of things to think about with my head. All sorts of things in 24 dimensions. Imagine my horror and shock when my feet lead me to a door answered by a strange cove.... It was like a bad dream... a nightmare... If I can't rely on my feet, how will I ever find you again?'

'Oh Philip, how you go on! My friends have not even met you – what will they think?' she called back.

He gave me a grin and called back, 'But my dear, he is such a strange looking fellow... The fright has certainly shaved a year off of my life!'

'Philip, please!'

'Oh, all right. Six months. But don't be surprised to find my hair has turned white!'

'Philip, how can you be so rude to our guests?' she said, stepping out of the bedroom with a completely unconvincing scowl on her face. 'Please accept my apologies, Hugh. Boyfriends are thin on the ground, and he's the best I can do, at the moment.' And she kissed him. 'Good morning, my dear.'

'And good morning to you, my Lovely Kate, all the more beautiful after my nightmare!' he replied. 'And this dashing young lady must be Miss Selina Beri, the Wagner Fellow...'

'Selina, allow me to introduce my friend, Philip Moss. Philip is a grad student in some sort of quantum, particle physics and not to be trusted in public without a keeper....'

They shook hands and Kate said, 'And I believe you've already met Hugh Gallagher...'

We shook hands again. 'Happy to meet you. I trust you did not take offence... You'll get used to me, everyone does, eventually...'

I just laughed and said, I was sure I would, eventually.

Beri added, 'Gallagher is a third year physics student at Oxford.'

Moss grinned and shook my hand again, 'That explains a lot! I knew right away that we were kindred spirits!'

Shortly afterwards, our expedition set out. Beri and I on our rented bikes, Kate and Moss with their own. First stop, which was not far away, was the building where Beri would have her interview on Monday. We parked the bikes and walked the old university for more than an hour with Kate and Moss, acting as occasional tour guides. Mostly, however, we just talked, and the conversations never flagged. Sharing our passion for physics, Moss and I had much to talk about. Moss had an utterly boyish and infective enthusiasm for his field, so we, well, he talked and talked – Moss being Moss, as I can say now. And since Beri's research papers in maths dealt with extracting and fine tuning data from the vast amount of data like the type generated by the physics experiments conducted by the SuperLHC, she and Moss had much to talk about as well. Kate kept us grounded with her good natured irreverence for Moss's flights of fancy.

'You know you're welcome to stay at the flat. The sofa's comfortable – or so I've been told... we don't stand on ceremony here,' she said when we had a chance to talk alone.

'Thanks, but I'm not sure Beri would feel comfortable with that. I know she doesn't want to put you out more than she has already. And well, we're rather new friends. Before today I could have counted on the fingers of one hand how many hours we've spent together... So I'd rather not make any assumptions. I'll get a hotel room.'

She gave me a wondering look. 'I wouldn't have known. In that case, I'll ask Philip, I'm sure he wouldn't mind putting you up at his digs – does it all the time, unless you mind sleeping on sofas'

'No, no... it's not that, but there is no need to bother, a hotel room is just fine. My vacation job keeps me on the road, so hotel rooms are my lot – it's already factored in. Besides, you guys have more things to do than to take care of us...'

She laughed, glancing at Moss ahead of us in an animated talk with Beri. 'I think we're all having fun, so don't worry on that account. But we'll just let it ride, for now, if you want...'

The Cambridge mathematics facility is located a mile or so west of the old university, so we circled back to our bikes and rode out to tour that facility. Afterwards, with Beri's interest in physics, and the fact that I was a student in the field myself, Moss had a good excuse to take us a bit further on to tour the Cavendish Laboratory as well. Here, Moss and I eventually left the girls in a lounge and continued on a more complete tour – a very compete tour.

We were walking back to meet the girls when Moss asked, 'Are you planning to spend the night...' He missed a beat with a grin. '... in Kate's flat?'

I gave him a look. 'No. I plan to book a hotel room. Neither Beri or I want to impose too much. You and Kate have been ever so kind to take all this trouble to show us around, but I think you can use a break from us as well...'

'I'll ignore that remark. Why would we need a break from such pleasant company? We've had a grand time. And if you need a break from me, you'll have to be man enough to tell me face to face...'

I laughed and shook my head. 'At least not yet, Moss.'

'Then it's settled. You can sleep on my sofa tonight – it's every bit as comfortable as Kate's. And we can slip out and meet some of the lads for a pint or two after Kate and I get back from this party I'm being dragged to.'

'Thanks, sounds like a plan.'

He grinned at me. 'Don't mention the lads part to the girls....'

We eventually returned to find Beri playing the piano that was tucked into a corner of the room, with several other students in attendance.

We paused to listen for a while. I recognized the tune she was playing in a vaguely Monkish fashion – Comes Love – which I thought, rather happily, was an interesting choice of tunes. I closed my eyes and sure enough the lyrics came to me as she played. Now I am not normally all that outgoing of a person – I fit the quiet, serious, physics major mode, or the geeky, gadgetry stereotype quite well, but I was feeling as happy as a fellow could feel without a few pints, and to the great credit of Kate and Moss, I was feeling comfortable, amongst friends, so I found myself strolling over to the piano and catching Beri's eye, I began to quietly scat sing along with the tune in the style Evie had taught me, more as an instrument than a vocal. She smiled and played on, then coming around to another chorus, she said. 'Do your worst, Gallagher – I need to know.'

So, I hands in my pockets, leaning against the piano and closing my eyes to follow the tune and 'see' the lyrics, I gave them my best – trusting their good humour... I took the plunge and sung in my best Monkish style,

Comes a heat wave, you can hurry to the shore

Comes a summons, you can hide behind the door

Comes love, nothing can be done.

Comes a mousy, you can chase it with a broom

Comes love, nothing can be done.

That's all brother, if you've ever been in love

That's all brother, you know what I'm speaking of

Comes a nightmare, you can always stay awake

Comes depression, you may get another break

Comes love, nothing can be done...

With my eyes closed to 'see' the lyrics, I had no idea as to how my performance was being received, but then, if I had cared, I would not have done it. As I've said, my singing is an acquired taste. I had to trust their good humour. So when I opened my eyes to see them smiling as they clapped (no doubt for Beri) I was happy enough. I looked down to Beri next to me at the keys. She looked up laughing. I gladly settled for that.

'Good God, Selina! A jazz pianist, we must certainly secure your selection! The Hot Club of Cavendish – and I see one of its principles is in attendance – must surely demand it.'

'Hear him!' exclaimed Bill Foster, one of the other grad students present – the guitar player of the so call 'hot club' – the other being a fiddle player, Lewis Noste, who I'd meet later that evening.

'As for you, Gallagher. I would greatly appreciate it if you would give me sufficient warning before you caterwaul like that again. Perhaps after several pints I could tolerate it. I know physicists are not expected to be Sinatra, so we must take what we get.... but not cold sober.'

'Philip!' exclaimed Kate. 'How can you be so rude to our new friends?'

'Rude? Me?' exclaimed Moss, his eyes wide with exaggerated surprise. 'Gallagher knows I was just kidding. All my friends know enough not to pay any attention to what I say – is that not right, Foster?'

Without missing a beat, Foster asked absently, 'What was that, Moss?'

Moss gave a wide grin. 'See, my dear Kate, all my friends know me. And you are already my friend, are you not, Gallagher?'

'Yes, Moss. I am,' I replied with a laugh.

'Then for goodness sake, give me a two-pint head start before you do that again!'

As it was well after noon already, we biked back to the centre of the town and a deli for lunch.

We placed our orders at the counter and looked around for a free table. Kate saw Anne Darneby waving from a table near the back of the establishment and led us back.

'Hello Anne,' Kate said, taking her offered hand and greeting her with a kiss on the cheek.

'Hello Kate, hello Philip,' she replied, offering Moss her hand.

'Good afternoon, Mrs Darneby, you're looking exceptionally dashing this afternoon,' replied Moss gallantly.

'Anne, these are our friends, Selina Beri and Hugh Gallagher, Anne Darneby. Anne is the wife of Professor Darneby, Philip's supervising professor,' said Kate.

'I've spent the morning shopping but David will be here any minute. Why don't you join us, I'm sure we can all fit...?'

After packages had been rearranged and we'd all settled in, Mrs Darneby asked Beri, 'Are you a student too?'

'I'm hoping to do my graduate work here, but this is actually my first chance to visit Cambridge. A good friend attends the University, but I've never visited her here.'

'Too bad you are seeing it on such a damp and dreary day,' said Mrs Darneby.

'Just as predicted. I had so wanted to have a good impression of Cambridge – you see I'd this vision of being all alone in a strange city on a gloomy Saturday, so I begged Gallagher to come along to keep my spirits up,' replied Beri.

'I jumped at the chance...' I remarked.

'However, it's turned out to be so much fun. Kate and Philip have been marvellous, so friendly. They've shown us all around and we have laughed and talked all morning long. I'm sure I'll always recall today as a sunny day!' Beri said with a wide smile directed toward Kate and Moss. 'And the funny thing is that I, we (with a nod to me) have only know Kate and Philip for a couple of hours. I really appreciate Kate and Philip for having taken all this time to show us around and make us feel so welcome. I don't know how to thank them!'

'They've been wonderful,' I added. 'It's been great fun.'

Kate reached over and put her hand on Beri's 'I've had a wonderful time, too. We're great friends already. I can't wait until you're up here for more than a weekend.'

'Oh, hello, David,' said Mrs Darneby, looking up to see a large rather bearish figure looming behind us.

Moss turned in his chair, 'Afternoon, Professor. I'm afraid we've dashed your dream of an intimate luncheon with your dear wife...'

'Damn,' he laughed. 'Hello Moss, and good afternoon, Kate – always a pleasure to see you again. I don't believe I've met the other young people. Prospective students, I gather...'

Moss did the honours. 'Allow me to present Miss Selina Beri, a prospective student, and Mr Hugh Gallagher currently enrolled in the physics program of some institute in Oxfordshire, Professor Darneby, my supervising professor.'

We shook hands, and he said 'I've ordered our usual, my dear. I trust that was all right.' And taking his seat next to his wife he turned to Beri. 'So you're the prospective student, a graduate student I take it?'

'I'm certainly hoping to be one, but it all depends, of course, if I can make the grade – I'm certain it will be quite demanding.'

'Yes it is, but I would think you'd have prospects, or you'd not be here today. What program are you applying for, and where did you earn your undergrad degree, if I may be a nosey old busybody?'

'I earned my degree in Mathematics and Philosophy at Oxford this past spring.' she replied, adding, 'Though the philosophy part was a nod to my parents' ambitions for a civil service career for me. Mathematics is, however, my true love.'

And since it seemed that she was unwilling to mention it, I added, 'She graduated with a double first.'

Darneby nodded to me and back to Beri. 'I should think that a double first in Mathematics and Philosophy from Oxford would go a long way in ensuring a post grad career anywhere you choose to go.

She blushed a little and said, 'Right now my only prospect is the Wagner Fellowship here at Cambridge.'

I saw Mrs Darneby cast a quick glance at her husband.

Beri explained, 'I'm afraid I was altogether indecisive about my post grad career. My parents being in the government had expected me to join them in public service. They didn't see any advantage in pursuing an advanced degree and I'm afraid I was not very active in pursuing one. I only applied for the Wagner Fellowship on the insistence of my friend, Grace. So at the moment I have nothing more promising than the Wagner Fellowship to save me from my rather dreary position in the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis. However, if not this year, then next year. I know the Treasury is not where I want to be...' she added with a sad smile.

Professor Darneby asked some questions about Beri's treasury work and my program, and once our food was served, conversation became more general. Moss at his lively best, not in the least intimidated by the presence of his supervising professor. And so, with Kate's breezy cheerfulness and the graciousness of the Darnebys we had a very enjoyable lunch.

At one point in the meal Professor Darneby asked me who my physics tutor was.

'Professor Ruslan Aparin.' I replied, a bit warily.

He darted me a glance and a faint smile. 'Ah...'

Ruslan Aparin holds a number of controversial positions in physics and is more or less an outcast amongst the various mainstream camps in contemporary physics.

'Ah, yes... Luckily I'm not averse to thinking outside the box, so I'm delighted that I have him as my tutor and guide. For someone so readily dismissed, it's interesting to see how much of his work is now being cited in the papers of the younger set of physicists,' I added, out of the habit of having to defend my tutor in discussions with other students.

'Right. No need to rally to his defence with me. We're friends that go back quite a few years. Ruslan is simply too far ahead of the times and pays the price. But if you absorb what he's talking about now, you'll be well positioned to use that understanding when the time comes around.'

We talked a bit more about my eccentric tutor and then conversation drifted on to other topics.

As the meal drew to a close, Professor Darneby said, 'My wife and I are hosting an informal garden party for our grad students at our house tomorrow evening.' Glancing at Moss, 'You and Kate are coming, are you not?

'Of course, Professor,' Moss replied.

'And Anne, we'll be there early to help set things up,' added Kate brightly.

'I'm certain we have hired people to do that, haven't we dear?' Professor Darneby asked his wife.

'There's always a million little things that have to be done. We'll be there a bit early to help,' stated Kate.

'Well, as I was about to say, Anne and I would be delighted if Miss Beri and Mr Gallagher would join us for the party. You'll know Kate and Moss, and I must say I have a very social group of students these days, so I'm sure you will find yourself quite at home...'

'She's already met Foster and Silvani at the lab – while she was playing jazz piano – so you bet Noste will be dying to meet her. We'll no doubt have some lively entertainment if you can make it, Selina,' Moss said. 'It'll be a great time!'

Beri thanked Professor Darneby with a smile and said she would 'Love to come.'

I thanked him as well, but had to add, 'However, I'm sorry to say I've booked the 4:55 train for London tomorrow, so as much as I would like to attend, duty calls – it's back to London and then on to Guildford bright and early Monday morning.

'Hugh has a summer position as a project manager for a security firm,' Beri added brightly.

I had to quickly explain my job.

'It sounds like quite a responsible position, but must be hard to work your vacation study and papers into your schedule.'

I shrugged. 'I think my work takes up the time I'd just be frittering away on holiday. So far I've been able to fit everything in. But I suspect my school work load will be increasing rather significantly, so this may well be my last summer – especially if I'm to continue to rub shoulders with such brilliant company.'

'If I were to advise you, Hugh, I would urge you to study very hard and focus in on what you want to do. Physics is a demanding field and only getting more so,' he said, but said it kindly enough.

And then turning to Beri. 'And to you, Miss Beri, I've a confession to make. I'm a member of the committee that you will be interviewing with on Monday. Perhaps I should have mentioned that right at the beginning, but I chose not to recast this informal social occasion into some sort of pre-interview. Of course, I also wanted to use the occasion to form an impression of you, since I'd been handed the chance. And especially since I was reading your papers just this past week. I'm very impressed with your work – quite brilliant, in fact. And it is, of course, of great interest to me since your work concerns questions so close to my work and the work of our key project. You'd have been my favoured candidate on that account alone, but having met you, I'm only more convinced. However, I'm only one of five members, so my favour means only so much, but, at least, you'll have a friend on the other side of the table. I hope that will make you more comfortable and the ordeal less trying.'

She blushed, and thanked him for his kind words.

We walked outside together, and they wished us a good bye, saying they were looking forward to seeing us tomorrow evening. Beri asked Kate what they'd be wearing to the garden party since she hadn't figured a garden party into her wardrobe in a rucksack budget. Kate assured her that it wouldn't matter, come as she was, but Beri insisted, saying she had the afternoon to find something, and no reason why not, seeing how well tea ladies were paid in the Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis. Kate gave her a few ideas and we had an afternoon project. They then left to get ready for their family gathering, leaving Beri and I to our own devises.

We returned our bikes to a bike station, and I spent the next two hours shopping with Beri. Now my old friend Evie dressed very eclectically. Beri, on the other hand, dresses, well, with a certain very understated, but very much individual style. Not exactly eclectic, but individualistic. I discovered that she often shops for her clothes at second hand shops, since, as she explained, 'I have decades of style to choose from, not from just what is stylish this year.' I, of course, was little help since I liked everything she tried on, but I enjoyed being part of this process, for she was searching for an outfit that would say at least something about who she was, which I found fascinating. After she had assembled her outfit, we just drifted, packages in hand, around the university for a while until a sudden downpour drove us to the shelter of a park pavilion along the river.

We'd been sitting silently for a while when she turned to me, 'I was wondering Gallagher... I'm curious to know why you didn't try to get in touch with me. Obviously I don't hold it against you or anything, just curious...'

'You mean why I didn't call you despite a dozen thinly veiled warnings not to even think about it?' I said with a laugh. 'Or despite that So Long and Thanks for all the Fish kiss you gave me on the Broad?'

She smiled and may even have blushed a little. Hard to tell in the greenish shadows of the pavilion and rain. 'Well, yes.'

'I didn't have your number and you're apparently not on the social web, so I'd have to use your university email address, but who knows how often you check that...'

'I'm sure a fellow with your computer talents could have gotten my number,' she said with a sidelong glance from under her hat.

I shrugged. 'Not my area of expertise, though I know fellows who could, but that would've been creepy. I feel bad enough about using your image on my White Queen avatar... Which, by the way, you were right, – after meeting you, my White Queen avatar only bummed me out...'

'White Witch, and sorry,' she flashed me a brief smile.

'I'm not. It was worth it. Anyway, I think I could've just called Ali Charters. She likely has your number or a better email address since you were both in the Women in Science Society, but it really all came down to either playing the puppy – by lying and pretending to be clueless, or the hound – by assuming you really didn't mean it. Neither seemed right.'

I glanced at her, but she said nothing. 'It felt like we'd become friends – sort of – by the time we said good-bye. And perhaps I could've called, based on that friendship, especially since we were both in London, at least on weekends, but I'm not totally clueless, and knew you didn't want me to.

'And well, from the way you talked, I was pretty certain your Treasury career would be a short one, so I hoped to see you be back in Oxford in the fall. If I was right, we'd certainly run across each other, and there'd be no reason for us not to renew our friendship – at some level, any level. At least that was my thinking before you called.'

'Were you that sure?'

I watched her, 'I was. You may've sleepwalked into your 'plum', but after talking to you, I didn't think you'd settle for it. Your future is clearly not in some cubbyhole in the Treasury. You're a brilliant mathematician with the potential to be a rock star in the field. I assumed that you'd be back at Oxford, since I figured timing would be an issue and I knew the department would have you back in an instant.'

Staring off into the rain, she remained silent. I didn't know what she was thinking, or what to say. After a while I asked just to keep the conversation going, 'Should I have called? Just curious, of course.'

'Lord knows, Gallagher. It would have depended on when you called, the week, the day, the hour...' She said with a little shrug.

She paused and then continued, speaking softly, 'I believe I told you that one of the hallmarks of my teen years was falling in love every month or two with some strange boy for some strange reason. I'd thought that I'd outgrown that weirdness. But then, how do I explain you?'

'Not that I've fallen inexplicably in love with you,' she glanced at me. 'It's not like that at all. Never forget that. But I seem to have, by the same, strange intuitive process, decided that you are a dear friend, someone I can simply trust to look out for me, someone who'd not hurt me... Someone, I guess, who I could be open with after the last year or two of closing myself off to others. I'm a fool, but I can't help it. Weird.'

'I don't think you're a fool. You can trust me,' I said, and dared say no more.

'It's dangerous for you, Gallagher,' she continued, 'since I may well treat you as a boyfriend or a lover, but, you're not. I know you have a schoolboy crush on me, but I've searched my heart and there is no passion in my liking for you in return. If you should make the wrong assumption, you'll certainly get your heart broken... And break this bond between us...'

'I believe that I can be just your friend,' I said. 'I can't help the way I feel about you. But maybe being friends is really the best way. I was a nervous wreck from the time you called until I met you on the platform this morning. I know you're out of my league as a girlfriend. And besides, I know nothing about girlfriends anyway. Completely clueless. I'd be a nervous wreck the whole time if I had to be your boyfriend. Probably couldn't put two sentences together in your presence.

'But when I'm with you, like we are now, I find myself at ease. I can't explain why, but with a few words to me on the platform this morning my nervousness just evaporated away. It is certainly weird how we seem to get along so well on such short acquaintance, so it seems that being friends will work. I know how to be a friend. So you're actually doing me a great favour by being just a good friend. I'll be able to actually talk to you and sleep at night.'

'Gallagher, you're so full of...'

'Blarney...'

'That your eyes should be...'

'They're green,' I declared, adding, 'But it will work. Won't it?'

'I don't think we have a choice. I regret closing myself off from my friends, I'll not go there again with you, my first and dearest new friend. But you must never imagine anything more than friendship.'

'I'll keep my schoolboy crush under lock and seal, but if I should inadvertently cross some line you tell me to knock it off. In turn, just be yourself and I'll ignore any and all implications that could be read into your unguarded moments. The only thing I ask is that if you should change your mind about me, I mean, like, should you trip and hit your head on the edge of a table and wake up thinking I'm the light of your life, please just tell me, because I won't be able to read your new attitude by any subtle changes you might think would signal this change...'

'Assuming I remember our understanding after such a terrible fall...' she said with smile.

'Well, yes.' I laughed. 'But seriously, have we an understanding?'

'What choice do we have, Gallagher? We'll just have to take our chances. But who knows what the future holds? Things are so unsettled...'

'It'll work, won't it, Selina?'

'Yes, Gallagher. It'll have to,' she said, with a faint, enigmatic smile.

'Shouldn't we shake on that? I asked.

She rolled her eyes at that, but extended her hand and we shook on it.

After that, we sat in silence for a time.

The rain sliced down in sheets, pouring off the eaves. We sat, lost in our thoughts.

After a while I decide I'd had my fill of thinking and turned to Beri. Why waste time thinking when I had the most beautiful girl in the world sitting next to me? In the grey-green shadows of the pavilion and her fedora, she seemed very forlorn. My heart ached and I reached over and put my arm around her shoulder – the day had been so seamless in its flow that I did this without thought.

She tensed, looking sharply at me.

With the innocence of intentions, I met her gaze, 'I believe this is the moment you asked me along for...'

'I was thinking more along the lines of someone to play cribbage with,' she replied quietly, but then, completely unexpectedly, she snuggled closer.

'Oh, and by the way; don't worry,' I added, and got an elbow in the ribs for my trouble.

'So why are you looking so lost?' I asked, after a while.

'It is just that today's been almost too good. You know that in my heart I've already got the Wagner. But every once in a while I come to my senses and realize that I've only a one in five chance of getting it. And if I don't, then what?'

'It's true that all things being equal you have a one in five chance, but I'm sure Professor Darneby's support for your appointment will count for a great deal and tip the balance more in your favour. Besides, if your work impressed Darneby, it'll impress the others as well.'

'This is a prestigious fellowship – the other candidates will certainly be most qualified candidates in the field. And they may also have champions on the selection committee. I didn't care much back in May when I applied and now I care so much. Too much.'

'I think you'll get it. But as a sop to my superstitious ancestors, I'll just add that even if you don't, there are still those other alternatives you've been pursuing. I'll not even mention Oxford... But if you have your heart set on Cambridge, there must be other opportunities within the University for you. All the materials you've supplied to the Wagner committee could certainly be used for another appointment.'

'I've been thinking along that line as well. Yet it seems rather late now to begin that process...' she said with a sigh. 'Kate would know since she works for the uni's admission office... I'm sure the material I've submitted for the fellowship could be reused but it's a question of time. I'd have to find a college and a supervising professor to take me at this late date. Then there's the question of where I'd find the money to pay for it....'

'Minor details. I'm certain the uni would be delighted to have you as a student, all the other details can be dealt with, especially given Professor Darneby's obvious regard. Besides, I think your folks would come around – they must know you're not happy at the Treasury. Still, I don't think it'll matter – you're the odds on favourite for the Wagner.'

She just shrugged and snuggled a little closer, lost in her thoughts.

So we sat together, she with her thoughts while I savoured the new delight of holding her close. We watched the rain come down until it did no more.

As it cleared, and the radar on my watson confirmed it, we headed back to the flat. I offered to stand her a dinner, but she begged off, now very tired. We stopped at a Chinese takeaway, ordered a few favourites and enjoyed an informal dinner in Kate's flat. We spent the rest of the evening lounging about, Beri on the sofa, me on a well broken in club chair. We talked of this and that, listened to music, including some of the tunes I had recorded with Evie from my watson and quietly enjoyed the easy comfort of each other's company. At least I did.

We'd not bothered to put a light on, so as twilight deepened we lounged in the dimness of the fading day. I'd thought that Beri had drifted off to sleep when she said softly, 'It is funny. For the last year or two my friends have been moving or falling or being pushed away from me. I've not made any new ones, or even wanted to. Now within the space of a few weeks, I've made three new, good friends, and it seems like I will be making many more... Life is strange'

I didn't know if she was talking to me or just thinking out loud, but when she turned her head and looked to me, I said. 'Maybe not so strange, Selina. Wonderful, yes, but the very same thing has happened to me.'

She smiled and turned back to gaze at the ceiling in thought.

'I'm not given to crying on people's shoulders, as a rule...' she said quietly, adding with a little laugh, 'Though that seems to be what I do every time I'm with you... But what I'm going to say now is offered as an explanation I owe you, not to illicit any feeling of sympathy.

'An explanation for what?'

'For the way I've treated you – and the way I may very well treat you in the future.

'Oh, come now. No need for that. We've an understanding already.'

'Still, I feel I must explain myself, so you'll understand... I don't trust myself you see. If I can explain myself, then things might be easier.'

'If you wish, but...'

'I do. You see, when I was young and foolish I gave my heart away one too many times, and to the wrong person. Two years ago he handed it back to me in a million pieces. It hurt very much. It still hurts, Gallagher. But I have my mathematics. You don't need a heart for mathematics so I've lived in numbers these past two years. In a way, not unlike your Evie with her music, mathematics has been my whole world while I wait for my heart to heal. The saddest part is that over the past two years I've flinched away from everyone who would try to touch my poor shattered heart – even old friends who just wanted to help. I don't want to hurt and just as you flinch if you think someone is going to touch a very sore part of your body, I flinch even at the possibility of someone touching my poor heart. It's not healed, Gallagher, not by any means.

'And that brings me to you. You're unaffected, honest, mostly harmless, everything he wasn't. I know we talked about these things already. I know we've agreed to be just friends, but I know, too, that you could touch my heart. You haven't tried – you seem to understood me and heed my warnings – which makes you all the more dangerous in a way. I can't fault you, get angry, and never, quite, get you out of my mind... In Oxford, I flinched, and gave you the short and sharp. But, as I said, I could never quite get you out of mind, so I called you when I really needed a friend, and, well, you're here with me tonight. As much as I enjoy and appreciate your company, I know, too, that you're a danger to my shattered heart. So please, please, be very careful, and don't ever confuse my friendship with love, Gallagher. I'm not ready for love. I'm not capable of it.'

'But you will be, in time. Broken hearts do heal, I believe,' I said. 'And I can't help how I feel about you, but I've already promised to heed your warning and I will. I don't want to ever hurt you, Selina.'

'I know, but even so, even as I'm now determined to mend my poor heart and open it to, well, friendships at least, you must be careful, I may well push you of all people away again...if you should seem too dangerous.'

And then, before we could say more, Moss was on the other side of the front door talking in a loud voice and making a production about finding the keys to the door. It was unlocked. I could hear Kate trying to quiet him.

When they entered the dark room, Moss called out, 'Is it safe?'

'Yes Moss,' I laughed. And he flipped the light switch.

'See, my dear Kate. At least they are on separate chairs. All you need is a little discretion in matters like these... ouch!' the latter remark as a result of an elbow in the ribs. Moss just leered at me. I dared not even look at Beri.

We talked a bit, and then Moss said, 'Grab your kit, and let's be off. I don't know about you, Gallagher, but I'm exhausted. Just want to get home and fall into bed. It's been a long and eventful day.'

'Oh, pull the other one, Philip. Do you really think I was hatched yesterday? Just be here at ten or your name will be mud,' Kate replied, tired, but cheerful as always.

Saying good night to the girls, we headed out into the cool rainy darkness, and proceeded with the program as planned. I met some of the physics grad students and some others as well in the college pub. As a guest, and by far the least advanced of the students, I had little to say, but enjoyed their talk – much of it shop talk that often veered deeply into areas I had yet to explore in my undergrad career – and stood around for the lads, which was appreciated, and in general had a quiet good time. We were back early, by one in the morning, and sober as we needed to be to meet the girls for breakfast at ten the following morning.

Sunday Morning

Moss was up early, hardy and hale – far earlier than I would've been, had I not been sleeping on his sofa. But the sun was pouring in the window so I showered and shaved, and then we lounged about a bit with a cup of tea and a muffin or two to hold us over until breakfast. Then it was time to go.

Swinging along the quiet sunlit streets of a Sunday morning, Moss kept up a constant chatter, mixing physics shop talk and tour guide observations. We eventually came around to talking about Beri's chances for the Wagner.

'You know, it was only this morning that I began to connect dots and some things began to make sense,' said Moss, airily.

'Huh?' I said.

'It strikes me that Professor Darneby was playing it rather cagey at lunch yesterday, keeping his involvement in the Wagner to himself until the end, and then inviting Beri and you to the garden party. All a bit odd. I'm not sure what the ethics of interviewing is, but it does seem somewhat unusual to invite only one of the candidates to a party, no matter how much she and her work impressed him, doesn't it?'

'Like you, I don't know. But so what?'

'Well, this morning it struck me that earlier in the week Darneby had gone on about some very impressive work which had just come across his desk. He was quite excited about it. Of course, I can't say for certain he was referring to Beri's papers, but just judging from what was discussed over lunch, I wouldn't be surprised.'

'So?'

He stared off into the middle distance for a while and then turned to me with a wink. 'I'd best say nothing more. I'm not authorized to speak on the record as they say, and well, I'd just be spouting unsupported guesses anyway. But I'll tell you this much – if I'm right, Selina will be clearing out her desk at the Treasury very soon now. But you'd best keep that between you and me. Don't want to jinx anything, do we?'

And he'd say no more about that and a short time later we were at Kate's door.

Moss was about to knock, when he hesitated and looked at me. 'This is the right door, isn't it, Gallagher?'

'Yes, Moss.'

He sighed an exaggerated sigh of relief and knocked.

Moss's knock brought a muffled 'Come in, door's open'. We entered to find the girls seated at the small table just outside the kitchenette.

They were still in their nightgowns and robes, still fluffy from sleep, tea mugs in hand.

'Good morning boys!' Kate cheerfully exclaimed, lifting her mug in greeting. 'My, these physicists are punctual – at least for breakfast.' This, an aside to Beri.

'Good morning, dear Kate, Miss Beri,' said Moss gravely.

I contented myself with a sheepish smile and a general 'Good Morning...'.

Moss glanced gravely at his watch and remarked lightly, 'Speaking of breakfast... unless I'm mistaken, did we not arrange to gather here for breakfast at ten?'

'I'm certain you are correct, darling. You usually are in such matters. No matter how many other things you lose track of...' she replied with a slow, unconcerned smile.

'Then it's painful, but necessary, for me to point out that while it is indeed nearly ten o'clock, preparations for breakfast do not yet appear to be underway...'

Kate glanced up at a clock above the electric fireplace and then slowly looking over her shoulder at the empty kitchenette, replied. 'Correct once again – I believe you're on a roll this morning, Philip. I did, however, cook some water for tea...' She picked up the tea pot and swirled it a bit. 'But I am afraid only the leaves are left.... But please make yourselves at home. Water's in the tap, breakfast fixings in the fridge...'

Moss turned to me. 'Be candid with me Gallagher, have we done anything – recently – to get on the wrong side of our girls – anything that is to say, that would warrant this rather cavalier treatment of two starving students in search of a promised breakfast?'

'I'm just an innocent bystander,' I laughed. 'I know nothing.'

'Then my darling Kate, you must enlighten me... and as hungry as I am, I will issue a blank apology – just fill in the lines and I will make amends...'

'You've done nothing, my dear. But knowing that you boys were going to be carousing all night with those rowdy physics students after you left us, I was uncertain of when you would actually turn up this morning... And in what shape you would be in when you did. Philip has been known to arrive hours late and unable to consume more than strong coffee...' this last an aside to Beri.

Moss straightened himself and replied loftily, 'That is a gross exaggeration. I don't believe I've ever turned down a solid, substantial, English breakfast.' Then turning to me he added without lowering his voice. 'What I believe has happened here, Gallagher, is these two lovely downy birds have been chattering away all morning and simply lost track of the time. However, we'd be wise not to mention it, if we want to be fed.'

'Ha!' Kate gave a dismissive laugh.

Moss turned to me once again and said, 'There is one bright spot about this morning, however. Write it in your diary, my friend, because I am sure everyone will demand written proof, when I remind you, on some other sunny Sunday morning ten years from now, when we all are on holiday at the sea together, our children romping around us, that I had predicted that Sunday on this very Sunday in Kate's Cambridge flat.'

Kate burst out with a loud 'What! Are you still drunk Philip, or have you gone raving mad?'

He ignored her outburst. 'It is my fondest dream that our children will grow up playing together, the best of friends, and perhaps a son or daughter of ours will fall in love with each other, and we will someday be grandparents to Chuck and Vera – all four of us together...'

I stared at him in alarm and then cast a glance at Beri with trepidation, but she seemed relaxed with a comfortable smile and showed nothing in her eyes but guarded amusement. Hopefully she had taken Moss's measure, and realized he was just trying to stir the pot with outrageous statements.

'You must be drunk or mad. Such raving...'

'I'm neither, my Dear Kate. I base my statement on observed facts, namely that two lovely rumpled young ladies do not entertain two morally upright young men, while in their panamas and robes, with their hair still fluffy from sleep, and one, I might add, attractively arrayed in striking pink curlers – if they've not already decided that these particular young men are their life mates.'

'And who slipped you that nonsense, my dear Philip? It could only have been Queen Victoria herself.' Kate replied, but with an ever so slight blush and a swing of her leg as she sought to cover her guilty smile.

'Oh my, Kate how charming you look in those slippers,' Moss said, ignoring her question for the moment.

Kate laughed and raised her foot, clad in a toothy 'killer rabbit' slipper. 'Last year's Christmas present from Philip,' she said to Beri.

'And damned dashing too, my Dear! But returning to your question, if I may. As you well know, I have four older sisters and what I don't know about the relationship of young women with their beaus can be written on the head of a pin. It is an unwritten but universal rule that you don't let your young man see you downy and dowdy in your robe and pyjamas unless he's the one. As you well know, my Dear!'

She just laughed and waved her ring-less left hand. "Talk is cheap, Philip darling!'

'There's a natural order in all things, my dear Kate. Killer rabbit slippers first, the ring, the wedding, kids, grandkids follow, as one's personal economy allows...'

Kate laughed and gave up. 'If you want breakfast this morning Philip, you'd best get making it while Selina and I make ourselves presentable – just in case some morally upright men should happen by....' And turning to Beri she asked, 'How would you like your eggs, Selina? Poached, soft boiled...'

Moss, moving towards the kitchen said, 'Feel free to order them any way you like, Beri. You'll be getting them scrambled with bacon... Come along Gallagher – are you of any use in the kitchen?'

Sunday Afternoon

Kate and Moss once again had plans for the afternoon, so after a jolly breakfast of scrambled eggs and bacon – I'd imagine almost everything's jolly with Kate and Moss – We said our 'Thank yous and goodbyes' to them, and headed out to further explore Cambridge.

Kate had suggested some places to visit and with our watson maps, we leisurely poked about a now sunny Cambridge, full of parks, narrow streets and low row houses – frequently finding our wandering had taken us to the verge of the countryside. I can't recall anything worth recording, we talked of this or that – or said nothing at all, comfortably lost in thought. Beri had her interview the next day to think about, but beyond my concern for Beri's success, I was carefree and simply enjoyed being able to turn my head and see Selina Beri next to me. I did that often and never tired of it.

Mid-afternoon found us back in the town's centre, stopping to shop for some special treats and a bottle of wine to take back for Kate.

Since we had more than an hour before my train was scheduled to arrive, we had time to enjoy a pot of tea at Kate's flat. I put the water on, and leaned back against the opposite counter with Beri next to me, and proceeded to prove the theory that a watched pot never boils. While waiting for the steam to rise I noticed our faces reflected in the glass of the cupboards above the counter and took advantage of it to admire Beri, no longer in a hurry for the water to boil. She had been watching the tea kettle, buying me more time to admire her, when she looked up unexpectedly and caught and held my gaze in the glass. She gazed at me – or rather my reflection – with a look of sweet affection – the force fields guarding her eyes seemingly down. I could look right into her eyes, into her shattered heart, and the sight took my breath. We must have held that gaze for several seconds and then she looked away with a faint smile.

I glanced at her beside me, but she was watching the kettle again, and it had begun to steam... I heaved myself straight and stepped over to pour the water over the leaves in the pot. We took the pot and our mugs to the kitchen table, her eyes friendly, but guarded again behind her glasses, making me wonder if it had just been a trick of the light and reflection. Perhaps the simple domestic air of the last several hours – walking, talking, grocery shopping, making tea – had lulled her defences... Or maybe her force fields, like vampires, do not reflect in mirrors.

'Are you comfortable going to the party this evening?' I asked as we sipped our tea. 'You know; I could catch a later train back to London. If you'd like.'

'I'll be fine, but thanks anyway.'

'Work with me on this, Beri. I don't know why I scheduled such an early train. I don't want to leave,' leaving the 'you' unsaid.

She looked at me from across the table, her eyes once more their cool, guarded selves behind her glasses. 'Too late. I must do some things on my own now. Of course Kate's a mother hen type, so I don't have to worry about mixing – she'll fuss over me and will see that I'm included. And really the only thing I'm going for is to get a feel of Cambridge student life – it's not like I'm going to be anything but a quiet observer.'

'Oh, I don't think you're going to be overlooked,' I said. 'Last night at the college pub Bill Foster was telling Lewis Noste about your piano playing. The Hot Club of Cavendish will be doing a set at the party, and just to slip you a tip from the stable cat, keep your fingers limber...'

'Really?' She looked up brightly.

'Yes. Foster was very enthusiastic about your playing and about making the Hot Club a trio, so expect to sit in for a few numbers as a guest player,' I said.

'Do you know what type of pieces they play?'

'Well they jammed for an hour or more last night, so I can tell you some of the pieces I recognized...' I said.

She got up and brought back her watson, bringing up its piano app. I brought mine out from the rucksack and slid it over to her so she could play, quite adeptly, two handed with the two watsons side by side on the table. I named the pieces I recognized and identified others as she played them for me. The hour flew by and then it was time to go.

Beri insisted on accompanying me to the station and stayed with me on the platform, still talking of this and that until my train arrived. Then she shyly took my hands and said softly, 'Thank you, Hugh, for everything. You're the friend I knew you'd be. You've made it so much easier for me...'

'Kate and Philip made it easy, you didn't need me at all, but you know how happy you've made me by inviting me along. I've had a wonderful weekend. Thank you, Selina.'

'Oh no, you've helped me just like I thought you would! You did your job perfectly, I felt comfortable and secure – you often broke the ice, allowing things to flow in a way that they might not have, had I been alone. I owe you, Gallagher,' she added over a blast of wind and noise that rolled over us with the slowing train. She stepped closer and kissed me.

Stepping back, she said so softly I could hardly hear her, 'The last time was supposed to be goodbye so this time it's just thank you.' She stepped back and nodded to the train, its doors opening.

'Thank you, Selina. And good luck tomorrow, I'll be on pins and needles, so let me know how things go, wont' you?'

She nodded. 'Of course... See you later, Gallagher.'

I smiled, hating to go. I boarded the train and stayed by the door until it closed and the train began to move, we exchanged a wave and then the station slipped away.

Sunday Evening

From the moment the train pulled out of Cambridge until I drifted to sleep on my childhood bed in a row house in South Lambeth sometime after midnight, I lived as if intoxicated. The glow of the weekend lingered, its dark matter weight gone, the weight of trying to do everything right, nothing wrong, of new places, new things, meeting new people, and wondering if Selina Beri could be what I imagined her to be. Now like an escaped helium balloon, I drifted above the slowly fading English summer Sunday. The lush green countryside flashed by in a whirling dream as fey any land in any faery book and upon arrival, London with its faint ozone breath, curiously quiet and warmed in the summer sun, embraced me. Shouldering my knapsack, I set out for home on foot, heedless of the walking I'd done with Beri, unwilling to let the day slip away.

Discovering that I was starving, I stopped at a garishly lit Chinese fast food joint. The pork buns and egg rolls – eaten as I walked – were the best I ever tasted.

It was that type of evening.

(Will I ever find that joint again? Or another such evening?)

I traversed unexplored streets lined with cars plugged into their charging posts, darkening ravines of brick and stucco, drifting in the general direction of home, altering my course as I came upon familiar landmarks. I arrived in twilight. I answered the curiosity of my family with breezy evasions of all but the most obvious facts and ducked into my room for bed. My aching legs were throbbing now...

Shortly after ten I received a text from Moss.

Gallagher, Evening was a great success. Beri a favourite of all. She seemed to enjoy herself. Fit right in. I'll send along a video from my dyary of her opening tune. It will scare the bejeezus out of you. This is just between you and me, Gallagher. Darneby came up to Kate and me later and asked us what we thought of Beri as a person, having spent time with her. Kate was enthusiastic in her praise and I assured him Kate was never wrong in these matters, and that I was already on record as saying that I was sure we'd be lifelong friends. The fact that he asked us is significant, Gallagher. I could see his mind working. Remember what we were talking about this morning... Best not say any more – as you'd say, naming names. Keep your fingers crossed. Moss

I stared at my watson, going over the message again and again – Moss was full of mysteries, damn him.

About eleven Beri texted me a few lines saying that she had a wonderful time, everybody was friendly, everything went well. She was very tired and could write no more tonight. I replied with a simple good luck tomorrow and good night.

Just as I was about to drift off to sleep, Moss's clip of Beri's piano piece arrived. I watched it on my watson a half a dozen times. Moss had placed himself off to one side of the piano so he could see Beri in profile, the fiddle player, Lewis Noste, a mathematically inclined fellow, and Bill Foster with his guitar beyond her. The piano was in a room with French doors that opened out to a twilit lawn.

Knowing her admiration of Thelomious Monk, and that she used her piano to explore mathematical ideas, her opening was not all that unexpected – but it still scared – well, the bejeezus, whatever that is – out of me too. She started the tune – a strong, simple rhythmic beat and then she deconstructed it, seeming to hesitate and lose her bearings. She hit wrong notes started and stopped, so that it seemed that she was completely lost. Moss glanced around the room – people were watching her intently, almost embarrassed for her – people she'd only just met but had a very pressing reason to impress, at least one of them. This must have lasted only ten, fifteen seconds or so, but it seemed like an eternity. It was an amazingly bold thing to do – I just shake my head in wonder every time I hear it, but it had a purpose, if I know Selina Beri at all – it served notice that she was something more than a pretty face.

Several viewings later I watched Lewis Noste's face as he watched her every move – he never looked away, but neither he nor Bill Foster moved to rescue her. They had to have known...

But then she launched into the tune, leaving no doubt that not only could she play, but she could swing and swing hard. Midway through Moss and Foster joined her and they drove and swung to the tune's conclusion. The piece, I found out later, was the Kate Bush tune Cloudbusting, and if I close my eyes toward the end of the tune I can sing, the sun's coming out. This cheered me, as I believe her choice of music is a window to her soul. When they concluded to a very appreciative audience, her smile just glowed, stray damp curls clinging to her forehead from her effort, and she was applauding her fellow players. It was an electric performance. I doubt I will ever grow tired of watching it.

I texted Moss, Amazing thanks

Monday

I was back in Guilford far too early and in very sorry shape the next morning. I ached all over – too much walking – and I could hardly keep my eyes open to boot. I spent the morning testing and tweaking the newly installed equipment, trying to keep focused on my work to prevent my mind from wondering about Beri and her interview.

There was a short email from her when I escaped for lunch,

Gallagher – Interview seemed to go well, I was pretty relaxed considering, and everyone seemed friendly. Nice comments on my papers. I'll know by 4:00 if I am chosen to be one of the two finalist interviewed tomorrow. Professor Darneby called and asked me to stop by either this afternoon or tomorrow. I'll stop by after lunch – meeting Kate during her lunch hour – she needs to know how things went. Have to run. Beri

I spent the afternoon training the small clerical staff on the counter surveillance sensors and software we installed last week. That meant that I could not check my watson every five minutes – I had to wait until the afternoon tea break.

Moss had sent a cryptic, text message,

Darneby has just introduced our newest Darneby Trust Scholar.

Moss, damn him, seemed to delight in mysteries. Dare I put two and two together?

I finished the afternoon session, though who knows what I told them, and was hardly out the door when my watson chirped. I grabbed it from my pocket – it was Beri.

'Beri! Can I congratulate you?'

'Oh, yes! Gallagher, you'll never guess what happened!' she laughed, breathlessly.

I laughed and let out my drawn breath. 'Oh, I might be able to guess – Moss sent a cryptic text, but you'll have to tell me what is going on – he was just messing with my mind!'

'Did that chatty so and so let my cat out of the bag?' she asked lightly.

I could hear Moss in the background say 'I merely informed him that we had a new Darneby Scholar, just being sociable.'

'Tell me all, Beri!'

'I'll have to call or email you later, Gallagher – Moss has allowed only a minute for this call, we're all on our way out to celebrate...'

Moss was saying, 'Don't count on it Gallagher, unless Beri can handle her campaign better that I suspect she can...'

'Oh, keep still, Moss,' Beri laughed. 'Professor Darneby has offered me a physics fellowship and to be my Supervisor this afternoon when I visited him. He said I was one of the two finalists for the Wagner, but he wanted me to consider his offer as well... No need to make a decision until after I know how I fared tomorrow, but I jumped at the chance and accepted right off...'

'She's no fool, Gallagher!' said Moss in the background. 'Time's up Beri... Let me have that for a moment...'

'Say Gallagher,' Moss continued now on Beri's watson. 'I don't know how the connections work from Guildford, but why not come up. The party will have likely moved to my digs by the time you can get here. I'm sure I'll be able to enjoy your singing by that time, old chap!'

I could hear Beri say, "Oh give that back to me... Ignore him Gallagher. I'm going to stand the crew a nice quiet supper and then I'm going to get some sleep. It's been a long weekend and I've a whole list of people to visit and things to do tomorrow. It may be Wednesday before I head home. I'll talk or write you later... All right I'm done...' this last to Moss, no doubt.

'Have fun Beri, and you know I'm so happy and proud of you!'

'Thanks, Gallagher, I'll fill you in on all the details later.'

Tuesday

I waited up till nearly 11:00 in my hotel room, but drifted off after that. Beri sent a long email that arrived by my first break on Tuesday morning.

Hi Gallagher,

Sorry, Moss is a force to be reckoned with. I ended up staying out far later than I had planned – too late to do anything but fall into bed. So here are all the details I promised you yesterday.

After lunch with Kate, I walked over to Professor Darneby's office. He warmly welcomed me and settled me into one of the large leather club chairs. He said he was happy to inform me that I had been selected as one of the two finalists for the Wagner Fellowship. He gave me the details for my second interview. 'That takes care of the first item of business', he said and then sitting down at his desk he went on to explain that he had another, more personal reason, for wanting to see me.

He explained that his father had made a pile of money in business, and that Professor Darneby had managed to secure some of the 'loot' for an endowment with which he has sole discretion on how and when it is distributed. 'As my father says, it's my inheritance,' he explained with a laugh.

He went on to say that he usually uses it for a fellowship for a physics student when he sees someone who he believes will bring a unique quality to the department and who might not otherwise get into the program. He said that the Cavendish Lab is currently finishing work on an advanced detector, SPARC, for the improved Ultra Large Hadron Collider in Geneva. Before it gets up and running, he'd like a new mathematical framework to fully exploit this detector. In addition to his current maths orientated student, Lewis Noste, he snagged one Edward Simonette, an American mathematical physics grad student, to work as a research fellow for a year to work on this project as well. 'And then,' he said, 'when your application and your paper using SLHC data came across my desk for the Wagner Fellowship, well, it seemed like the hand of Providence... And not only for our jazz program,' he added with a laugh.

'I'm sure, Miss Beri' he said, 'you can see where this is heading. Since you already have all your paperwork in and have been approved by the Board of Graduate Studies, I would like to offer for your consideration, what is known as the Darneby Scholar Fellowship. I would be your supervisor in your studies in physics.' And before I could say anything, he hurried on to say that truth in advertising required him to note that high energy physics had 'hit a wall,' despite billions spent, and was split into warring theoretical camps, making the field rather unattractive to new talent. While he hoped that would soon change once the Ultra Collider gets up and running in a year or so, he said he was confident that the work his team would be doing for the SPARC detector and the ULHC would be so ground-breaking that I might look forward to positions in either the physics or maths once I earned my degree. He then quickly added that he did not expect an answer that day. He only wanted me to know about it now, so that I would not consider it some sort of consolation prize if he was able to offer it to me after tomorrow, and he added with a grin, 'I would rather not risk losing you to the Wagner without at least presenting my proposal to you. And I should say that several times this morning at the lab it was brought to my attention that I have not awarded a Darneby Fellowship for some time. I had to agree with them, Miss Beri. I believe that I can say that you would be warmly welcomed into our program, should you decide to take up my offer. But I want to emphasize again, that you may have two Fellowships to choose from, so please wait until after you know the results tomorrow to make any decision.'

I can't tell you how wonderful I felt, listening to him. I could hardly wait to for him to stop hedging so that I could tell him that I would love to be in his program. I believe my work with the collider data has laid the groundwork for a fairly easy adjustment to mathematical physics, which I'm confident I'll enjoy – not the least because I know he sincerely wants me in the program, and that his other students, who I met last night, I think will welcome me as well.

So as soon as he paused, I thanked him for the offer, told him how much it meant to me and then told him that I would love to join his program, that there was no need to wait until after the interview tomorrow. He seemed surprised – but very pleased as well. I said my only concern was how to withdraw from the Wagner Fellowship at this late date without appearing ungrateful or flighty. He laughed and said not to worry. He would take any blame for having 'poached' me, but he was certain that everything would be fine with the rest of the committee – the other finalist for the Wagner was very qualified in maths, though less so in physics, so that in this way they would not only be spared a hard decision, but will have gathered both candidates into the Cambridge fold.... first choices both.

He had some papers of intent for me to sign, called Kate to set up appointments for me to see the proper people to arrange all the details of my fellowship, housing and such. I dashed off a brief letter thanking them for their consideration but withdrawing my application for the Wagner. After that he took me around to introduce me to all the staff and the students that were working over the summer, most of whom I had already met. It was all very jolly. That brings you up to date and I'm finally getting very sleepy. Sorry that you're not here. I feel as happy as I did when I finished my last final at Oxford and I wish you were here to share it with me.

As I told you Sunday, having you with me over the weekend was wonderful and oh, so very helpful. Thanks again. I'll write later with more details.

Beri

Beri called late Wednesday afternoon from the train station. She talked about the day, mostly running here and there to complete her enrolment, and I asked her about her music program at Darneby's. She said that Foster, Noste and she had slipped away to work on the program for a half an hour or so – deciding on the pieces, playing through some of the parts... She'd played the original version of the Cloudbursting piece from her watson and they had then gone over how they were to approach it – both Lewis and Bill being quite accomplished players they picked it up easily, so they go by nicely without a lot of practice for the handful of tunes they did, so 'it was not as off the cuff as it may have appeared...'

I gathered my courage and asked her if she would like to get together this weekend, since we'd both be in London. I told her not to consider it a date – I was completely unfamiliar with that process, but that I would be happy to fall into any plan she might propose. She hedged – not unexpectedly – saying she'd have to see how things fell out at home and work and then she said her train was arriving so she had to go. She'd call on Thursday or Friday to let me know what was up.

Beri called Thursday evening while I was wandering aimlessly about Guildford in the warm twilight, unwilling to retire to my hotel room until I was tired enough for sleep. My heart skipped a beat just seeing who was calling. I answered cheerfully, but braced myself for bad news. Everything seems different when I'm not with her, far iffier, and I can't exactly put my finger on why. We're so comfortable with each other when we're together, but when viewed from any distance other than in her company, we seemed such an unlikely pair. And then too, we'd been walking hand in hand that afternoon in Oxford right up to the time she delivered the short and sharp with a kiss. And that seemed in character. Yet she isn't the girl she'd been reputed to be when I'd admired her from afar, but I know so little about these things. I couldn't trust my judgement, especially since I know it's coloured by so much wishful thinking.

We exchanged friendly greetings and small talk for a half a minute until she came around to the reason for her call. She said her folks were taking her out to dinner and then to Ronnie Scott's on Saturday night and then on a family outing on Sunday so that the only time she had for me was on her customary Saturday walk. I was welcome, if I cared to join her. I told her I'd love to walk, and spend the day with her. We arranged to meet at the Golders Hill's north gate at ten. I'd give her a quick call to give her my bus route ID number so she'd not have to wait, and then she was ready go. I tried to ask her a few questions about how things had gone at home, but she said we had all Saturday to talk about all of that, and that she was pretty exhausted, having put in a full day's work. Besides, she said, she really hates to talk on the phone, to be just a voice in someone's palm and that may well be true. So we said goodbye and hung up – all in all our conversation lasted 3 minutes 24 seconds. But I was seeing Beri Saturday and that was all that counted.

Saturday, Again

I stepped off the bus into the warm milky light of an August morning on Golders Hill and looked for her. I saw her coming through the green shadows and bright spots of slanting sunlight that patterned the pavement with a sort of weary, (or was it wary?) nonchalance. My heart gave its accustomed lurch. She was dressed much as I'd first met her, in her own style, in an off-white blouse, and a black batik patterned scarf to match her skirt, with a black flat cap, black canvas shoes and white ankle socks.

She gave me a tentative smile when she saw me, which frightened me, a little. I'd a premonition. But I smiled back.

'To steal a line from Moss, you look dashing this morning, Beri!' I said as I dodged the last of the pedestrians between us. 'And my, what nice legs!'

'Good morning Gallagher,' she replied, and with a rather half-hearted attempt at a scowl, 'And knock it off.'

'Just saying.' I replied and dared a brief, kiss on her cheek – just friends – as we stood in the green shadows next to the park fence. Up close she looked tired, happy, and yet, as she watched me from under the brim of her cap, wary as well, which put me on guard. Just friends, I told myself.

'I'm so happy to congratulate you on your fellowship, new friends, a successful début in the Hot Club of Cavendish. And welcome to the pinnacle of all sciences, physics.'

'Ha! Phil handed me the same line.'

'It's true. Be nice and I'll show you the physicists' secret handshake...'

'I can't wait, but Gallagher, I believe we agreed to a walk,' she said. 'Let's walk.'

'Yes. Of course. But first, may I congratulate you on your Cambridge success, with a kiss?'

Her eyes sought mine, and held them for a long moment. And then, without a word, she stepped closer, leaned against me and she kissed me.

Stepping back, watching me, 'Happy now?'

'Oh, my, yes,' I said. 'Really, I'm happy for you, and proud. I hope you're as happy as I am.'

'Yes,' she said, 'Very. Oh, I have my spells of be careful what you wish for because it may come true, and get scared at what I've gotten myself into, but that's to be expected. Still, let's walk now, shall we? I need to unwind and walk out all those worries.' she said, turning away and setting out.

'You do look a bit tired – beautiful, but tired. Still, given a very full and eventful week that's hardly surprising.'

'That, and yesterday's lunch.'

'Yesterday's lunch? Over indulge, did we?' I asked as I hurried to fall in step with her.

'I stood my office girlfriends' lunch yesterday to celebrate my fellowship, and we celebrated.'

'Ah...' I grinned. I'd not have expected that of her. 'Morton kick about it?'

'We're pals,' she laughed, crossing her fingers. 'Morton didn't officially see anything. He's been ever the gracious winner. Quite accommodating.'

'Yesterday your last day?'

'No. I'm working through next week. But my friends were so excited about my escape that we decided not to wait. Morton was kind enough to back date my resignation letter a day, so I'll have given the fortnight notice. And since my family leaves for France on our annual holiday to the South of France next Saturday, I figured I might as well make tea and file for one last week – I rather like having a little money of my own.'

'Well, I'm going abroad next week too, three weeks in Scotland to be exact. Three weeks of work, of course. If we have jobs in the South of France, I'm not getting them. Guildford and Glasgow is more my lot,' I added.

'I imagine Guildford's quite charming in the summer.'

'I envy you; you need to imagine Guildford,' I replied.

'Oh, it can't be that bad...'

'Not bad, boring...' I said. 'Anyway, I'm glad Morton's been so accommodating.'

'Oh, he has little choice, really. Without me in the office he has no hostage, so he needs my goodwill. He knows who I am and who's behind me, after all. The favours my mother called in trumped his, so if I left bitter and vindictive, his future budgets and career might well be blighted by the powers behind my appointment.'

'Quite the bare knuckle business, this civil servant gig,' I remarked. 'Never imagined that.'

'It's an intricate balancing act between civil servants and politicians when you get above a certain level. Trust me, I grew up in a house filled with an atmosphere of political ambition and intrigue, seeing that my mother's an influential party official and very social. And, of course my father's a senior civil servant as well, so I've a pretty good idea how things work.

'I do think Morton was playing it pretty close to the wind with me, banking on the belief that I'd not risk making things worse for myself by complaining. If I cared, he might come to have regretted that over time. Luckily for him, I didn't give a damn about his Office of Budgetary Statistical Analysis so I'll not bother to make waves. But he can't be certain, so turning a blind eye to a slightly long and wet lunch yesterday by the clerical staff and the fact that we didn't do much more than giggle the rest of the afternoon is simply a matter of grinning and bearing it. We got pretty happy... I'll miss them... They made it all bearable,' she added with a sigh. 'But between the week and the lunch, I do need to clear my head. I hope you're up for a long walk.'

'After last week, I expected nothing less. Glad everything worked out at work. How did things go at home?'

'Quite well. I think when they came to understand that while I was interviewing for a prestigious fellowship I was hijacked by a Cavendish professor for a key project involving a billion-pound international physics experiment, they've finally come around to realizing that I'm not just a silly girl with a knack for numbers. I'm a silly girl with a real talent for numbers, who'd be wasting her talent in a Treasury cubbyhole. And to be fair, they must have realized I wasn't happy at the Treasury, so I was welcomed home as a conquering hero. And I made them happy by agreeing to go along with them on holiday next week since I'll no longer be employed. Of course, it's no sacrifice on my part – I'm going to need a fortnight in the South of France to get my head cleared for the work ahead.

'One Hugh Gallagher is a different story, however. You didn't go over all that well.'

'Huh. Me? What do I have to do with anything?'

'I seem to recall you accompanying me to Cambridge last weekend.' she said, casting me a sideways glance and grin.

'As a friend. You made that clear, didn't you?'

'Of course I did. And you were a perfect friend. However, you realize that during that whole long weekend in Cambridge, we'd not done anything I couldn't tell my parents...'

'Exactly. So what've they got to be concerned about?'

'Well, you know parents. They want to know everything, and since you were the perfect gentleman, I could tell my parents a completely unedited version of the weekend. And really, why not? So I did.'

'I still don't see anything to be alarmed about,' I protested, though why I cared, I couldn't quite put my finger on. 'You are of age, and can go to Cambridge with whom you care to, I'd think.'

'Yes Gallagher, I am of age and I can and did go to Cambridge with whom I pleased, but I'm afraid that my going off to spending a weekend with a boy, and one previously unknown to them, raised some red flags with them. And I have to tell you that it didn't make them appreciably more comfortable when I assured them that you were just a friend, only to admit that I'd just met you once or twice while studying for my last exam, and then only for a few hours. And then there were those questions I couldn't answer about you. Basic questions like, where does he live? Who are his parents and what do they do? How old is he? Is he handsome?'

'Certainly you could've answered that one...' I protested.

'Maybe, but that would have only raised more red flags, wouldn't it?' she laughed.

I laughed too. 'Well, I suppose, if you were honest...'

'And the list goes on, does he have any children, or ex-wives in his past? Is he politically acceptable? Does he have a trust fund? Did I know anything about you at all?

'I told them that you were a nice boy and I liked you and that you worked as a project manager during school holidays, but that only served to put the trust fund under a cloud. And why you, didn't I have a lot of other, older friends that I could have called on? Were you really just a friend? Why aren't you telling us more about him? They said my answers, or rather the lack of answers, simply didn't add up. I said maybe. But I didn't care...' she said with a light laugh.

'Why do I get the feeling that you were enjoying yourself?'

She just gave me a wide smile, and a shrug. 'They didn't like it when I wouldn't tell them anything about the weekend before I went, and now they don't like it when I tell them everything. There's no pleasing them. What can a girl do?'

'Well, I can answer their questions so that...'

'No.' she replied airily. 'I know all I need to know about you. I feel no need to know the answers to my parent's questions. But don't worry, what my parents think of you is nothing you have to worry about. I certainly don't. I'm not much of a rebel, but I'm not a little girl any more.'

'Well, I suppose.' I said with a shrug. 'Though I kind 'a wish you'd not use me to annoy them.'

'And why is that?' she asked brightly, as if she didn't know.

'I think you enjoy teasing people, Selina Beri.'

'I do,' she laughed. 'You might want to remember that.'

I gave up. 'Tell me all about your time in Cambridge after I had to leave.'

'Oh, I've told it so many times to so many people, I don't feel like going through the whole tale yet again. You know so much more about it than everyone else, so just ask questions, and we'll just wing it.'

I'll not give a verbatim transcription of all that we talked about, since we talked and walked for almost two hours discussing all that transpired after I had to leave.

I should give a quick overview of the project that Beri has been invited to join. The SPARC project is a large high energy particle detector that has been designed to work with the soon to be completed Ultra Large Hadron Collider (the ULHD) near Geneva Switzerland. It is a joint project of the Cavendish Laboratory and ten other university programs from several countries. It is designed to detect around a dozen theoretical sub atomic particles that the standard model suggests will be created when once the ULHD gets up to its designed operating energy levels. Each of these possible particles has at least one mathematical model designed to pick the particle out of all the resulting debris of the smashed atoms. What Professor Darneby has done is create a small ad hoc grad student working group, of which Beri is part of, and tasked them with coming up with a single unified mathematical model that could be used to identify all the possible particles and used interactively to identify the relationships between these still theoretical particles. It is clearly an impossible task. But Professor Darneby holds the theory that people are at their creative peak in their 20's, when they know enough to work on their own, and are naive enough not to recognize the impossible when they confront it. Many of the important physics discoveries of the last century were made by the giants of the field when they were still in their 20's or early 30's. Darneby wants to see if three brilliant young mathematical physicists working together on the SPARC analytical framework project could do the impossible.

Lewis Noste has been working on this project for the last two years and according to Beri, he's made a significant dent in the project.

'I was amazed,' she said, 'at what he's done so far. I felt bad seeing all the work he's put into it, only to have me and the American suddenly thrust into his project. I asked him if he resented it. He told me, by no means. He still had five years, seven months, give or take two months of work ahead of him, if he kept working on it, and not only would his schedule miss the target date of the SPARC start up, but he thought he might grow weary of it...' she laughed.

'Lewis is rather a curious person. I don't know if you met him or not...'

'He was at the gathering Saturday night, so I've met him. Rather long winded, I seem to recall.'

'Exactly. He doesn't use one word where ten can be used to nail down any ambiguity that the one word might allow. And that's exactly how he does his maths. He showed me his work. Every step, every line of mathematical logic is built up, precise step by precise step, every formulation unassailably constructed and grounded in exhaustive proofs. You get to the end and all you can say is, well, that's obvious. But of course, it wasn't until he discovered it and constructed a six lane motorway to the conclusion. Don't get me wrong, I'm not criticizing him or his work – it's impressive, compelling, and exhausting. He's made an impressive start in devising a framework for the project and knows all about the various particles that the detector is being built to detect. And he knows all about the physics behind the math, something I don't. Professor Darneby has great faith in him, but finds him frustrating as well, since he's unwilling to publish any of his work as he doesn't consider it complete until the whole of it is complete, in five years, seven months. I know I'd have published some of it. It deserves to be published, even if it is just a mile stone on the journey. After all, that's what science is about, a journey of discovery. But of course, it's his work and his choice.

'But as I said, he seemed to welcome the help and seemed very welcoming to me.'

She caught me smiling. 'What are you grinning about?' she asked, trying to keep a straight face.

'I saw on Moss' dyary video of your garden party concert how he was watching you,' I winked. 'playing the piano. I've seen that look many a time. In fact, I've seen it in my own mirror if I should catch myself thinking of you in front of it.'

'Jealous already, Gallagher?'

'I'm extremely jealous of how much time this Noste is going to get to spend with you. And all the time I won't.'

'Is that all?'

'Well, I don't wish to appear cocky or unkind, but I have to say that if I could pick my rivals, Lewis Noste would be close to the top of that list,' I said. 'But then, who knows, perhaps a fiddle is the key to your heart.'

'Who knows? We'll see, won't we?' she replied airily.

'Well, what do you know about the other member of your maths trio, the American?' I asked.

'That would be Edward Simonette. Professor Darneby saw a published paper of his immediately invited him to do a year's post doc work on the SPARC analytic project. As it turns out, he's only just finished his course work and hasn't started on his dissertation yet. However, when he learned what the project was all about and what Professor Darneby wanted us to do, he was so anxious to be a part of it that he's putting off writing his dissertation for a year and is coming over as a research student on a Darneby grant. I gather he's a few years older, 27 or 28 years old, since it's a six-year program in the States, but then he's a genius.

'I had a chance to read his paper and I have to say that it sent me to the heights and depths at the very same time. He hasn't arrived yet, so I don't know what he's like in person, but his maths is like, well, think of an anti-Noste. Where Noste uses the equivalent of ten words where one might do well enough, Simonette uses just the absolutely right one word where most people would need ten words. I read his paper in awe. His work has an elegance that only a mathematician could sense, but it's just, well, awesome. Noste's work is massive, solid and unchallengeable, but Simonette's is spare, elegant and equally unchallengeable...' she said, shaking her head and went on to talk at some length about the work of Simonette, Noste, and her conversations with Professor Darneby and what he said about why he wanted her in the project.

'He told me, he knew he didn't have a matched pair with Noste and Simonette, he had a dray horse and a race horse, and while he knew he had the raw talent, he wasn't sure that they'd be able to pull together effectively. That's why when he saw my senior project and other published papers, and especially after talking to me and my approach to maths, he knew he had found the very person he needed to balance the team. You see, I often intuitively see my answers and jump ahead of my proofs to get to there and then must work my way back to solid ground. My mathematical formulae are original, but their structure is, well, often rather ramshackle. They work, but they're neither very elegant nor absolutely unchallengeable. Darneby feels that not only will our three unique approaches find a structure that will work, but they will be, well, "self-healing" to use his word. He feels that the weakness in each of our individual approaches will be automatically corrected by a combination of all our approaches, so we have what is needed to do the impossible.'

Beri talked about some concerns she felt in trying to live up to Darneby's confidence and her determination not to let him or her fellow students involved in the analytical project, and the SPARC project in general, down. Still, compared to the Beri I knew the night before her last exam, or even last weekend, she was now positively carefree, so I didn't have to do more than put in an encouraging word or two in here and there, and before long we were off and talking on other subjects, the people she'd met and events that she'd experienced in Cambridge.

After so much talking, we strolled in a very comfortable silence – that rather wary undercurrent of our initial meeting had long since worn off. We'd left the park some time back and were wandering the leafy residential streets of Camden Town when Beri said, 'Have you given any thought to what all this means to us?'

Us. I glanced at her, smiling, but she was looking ahead.

'I have, occasionally, given some thought to you, even us...' with a slight emphasis on us.

She cast a sidelong glance, 'And?'

I sighed. 'I've a feeling ours is a quantum relationship. I dare not define us without changing it. So I haven't. Instead, I've considered what I have to do to make any sort of relationship possible.'

'And what do you have to do?'

'Well, hanging out with you and Moss made me realize that if I hope to continue to be part of your life, I need make it not only to grad school, I need to become a respected physicist. And that means that I need to put a great deal more time and effort into my studies. Time and effort for both of us.

'Given the distance between us, and the time and effort we'll both be putting into our studies, well, I have very modest expectations of us, at least in the next few years. I don't see this as precluding our continued friendship. And of course, I'd hope that slowly that friendship would deepen over the years... And well, if wishes were horses and beggars rode, I'd hope for more than friendship. But I haven't forgotten what you said last weekend, so I'll try to keep those wishes well hidden.'

To my surprise, she took my hand and pulled me close. 'Thank you.'

'For what?' I asked, looking into her now more carefree eyes.

'I was afraid we'd have very different expectations, and well, things would then go very badly between us.'

'Beggars would be riding horses and pigs would be flying if I expected more,' I replied. Hope, on the other hand...

'Yes, Gallagher, I'm sorry, but that is the case,' she replied. 'The thing is, well, even with your modest expectations, I hope you'll understand...'

'Oh... Or should I say Oh, no?' I said lightly, trying to ignore the light touch of panic in the pit of my stomach. We were, after all, still walking hand in hand, and I'd never been more comfortable with her. But then we'd been doing much the same thing while walking to the Broad in Oxford...

'I hope you'll just say Oh. The issue, Gallagher, is that I don't know what to make of you. You don't fit any of my familiar patterns. And, well, like you, I feel there's this quantum element in our relationship. I can't define your role in my life. I told the girls you were a ticking time bomb, but that's not quite accurate. You're an unstable element that can't stay unstable for long. Something must give. You must decay into something more coherent, but what that is, when it will happen, or how, I can't predict.'

'Must I really explode or decay?' Watching her closely. She had warned me that she might flinch again, and this seemed it, sort of.

'I'm afraid so. I have examined both my heart and my head. I like and trust you, far more than the few days I've known you would justify. But you have to know, there's no passion in that affection. None. Given the shape of my heart, that's hardly surprising. I doubt I'm capable of falling in love now. And yet I find myself treating you like a lover. Believe me, I've shared more with you than with anyone but my oldest friends. I don't regret it, but I'm afraid it will give you the wrong signals, especially since we would be so far apart and misunderstandings could so easily arise. And well, drama is the last thing I need when I'm starting a new phase of my life, and I feel a great deal of pressure to live up to Professor Darneby's expectations.'

'Yes, of course. But I'm not asking, or expecting anything more than a friendship. How much drama is there in that? What's to go bang?'

She gave me a wry look. 'You're saying that if we were to fall in love it would be no big deal.'

She had me there. I laughed. 'It's my wildest daydream, but if we are friends already, wouldn't it be easy, over time to deepen it to love?'

'Being in love with each other would not distract you from your studies? We could stay in love just by seeing each other every few months. Do you really think we could tend both our love and our studies as they needed to be tended? Staying apart, for months at a time, for years, to complete our studies would put a great strain on our love, while getting together often would put a great strain on our programs.'

She had me again. I sighed. 'Okay, I see your point, but seeing how busy and involved we both expect to be in our studies, I'd say the risk would be rather low of such a desirable complication at this point.'

She shrugged. 'I don't know. But what if things turn ugly? I know that when I get involved in my studies, in my work, I get very annoyed by any distractions. Phone calls, texts... anything that demands my attention... You know what I was like this past year. I hope to avoid the extremes of that, but even so, I know I'll be very involved in Cambridge. Perhaps too involved to be involved with you in Oxford, no matter how well-meaning your intentions are. I'd hate for things to go bang over little, pointless misunderstandings.'

I opened my mouth to speak, but she held a finger to her lips.

'You know how outgoing Philip was last weekend. Well, Kate tells me that once the term starts she sees Philip mostly on weekends, and then half the time he's little more than a lump to have to move around because he's either working or lost in thought. So you can imagine how I'll be once I get involved in the project. I'm impulsive, and I'm afraid I'll resent and impulsively respond harshly to outside distractions, even from you. That's the dark side of my impulsiveness. And if we're not together, separated by distance and the ambiguities of the written word, misunderstanding and hurt feelings should arise, the quantum element of our friendship might cause it to blow up. I don't want to risk that.'

I found I could say nothing. Arguing with her now would accomplish nothing. She'd made up her mind already. 'I trust your judgement, Selina. What do you want me to do?'

She gave me a considered, but unreadable look. 'Yesterday at lunch, I asked my girlfriends what I should do. They came up with a plan in just a few minutes. The solution was obvious, to them. I needed to resolve the uncertainty of my feelings about you. I needed to decide to keep you or throw you back. I said I couldn't because I hadn't gotten over James Marten. My heart wasn't ready for a new love. They said, well, mourning over a bloke for two years was enough. I needed to put Marten behind me and that I'd be able to do that with you.

'This is two bottles of wine into our long lunch, mind you, so it doesn't have to make sense while sober. But the essence of their solution was that I could resolve the lingering unhappy effects of my love affair, celebrate my new career in Cambridge and decide what to do with you in one stroke since I was already going to spend today with you. All I needed to do was to book a room in a small hotel and get well and thoroughly laid by you. Getting laid, they assured me, by a sweet and no doubt eager boy, would be a wonderful way to celebrate my good fortune, work off all my stress and straighten out my wounded pride. And by then, by the end of the afternoon, I'd be in the possession of enough facts to decide if you were worth keeping or throwing back. QED.'

I just stared at her. This wasn't going where I'd expected it to go. Not in a million years.

She cast me a darting glance and went on. 'Now, I'm a pretty shy and old-fashioned girl. I've had only one lover, and he dumped me two years ago, but I must admit that the more we talked, the more attractive the plan seemed. Of course I had objections, but by the time we arrived back at the office, the girls were so fired up with the idea that they compiled a list of small hotels in the area, and even called the desk clerks to ask if they were cool with the idea of letting rooms to couples without luggage. They also made a list of chemist shops near these hotels just in case you happened to be unprepared.'

She sighed. 'Now we weren't, in the strictest sense of the word, sober, but it did seem like an attractive idea at the time. But well, you understand that I'm coming up on a big "but on sober consideration" don't you?' she added with a glance.

'Good Lord, Selina I hope so!' I said, hitching up my gaping jaw and drawing a breath.

'You hope so?'

'I love you dearly, but well, I'm pretty shy and old-fashioned myself. I've never taken a hotel room for an afternoon.'

'You do know how to make love, Gallagher, don't you?'

'If I didn't, I know where to find out how. But making love with the girl of my dreams, in a hotel room on a Saturday afternoon, knowing I'm going to be thrown back if I somehow failed my audition in some way – well, talk about stress. My only hope might be to be such a total disaster that it'd be too hilarious to be taken as anything but a joke. Something we could laugh about for the rest of our lives.'

We'd stopped and stood facing each other. She watched me with a curious smile. I was almost certain she was just kidding me, but I didn't dare, for any number of reasons I hadn't the time to sort out, make that assumption. And, well, you'd have to be a bigger fool than I to turn down making love to Selina Beri...

'But give me a hotel number and I'll book us a room. I'm a fool, but not a big enough fool to refuse making love to you. I believe you're just kidding, but I'll take this chance to say that I do love you, that I want you, and I want to love you my whole life long, not just for one Saturday afternoon. I'd rather not risk that dream on a turn of a card, or a roll of the dice, but I'm yours to command.'

She shook her head and smiled, 'Yes, Gallagher, I'm teasing you. There is a certain logic in the idea, and perhaps, if we weren't going to be so far apart and so wrapped up in our studies – for years, really – it would've been worth some – sober – consideration. But as it stands, well, I wanted you to know that I have thought of you in that light, even if I was more than a little intoxicated at the time. Especially in light of my sober plan...'

(Oh, no...) I thought. 'Which is?'

'I think we need to break up,' she said, simply, quickly adding, 'For now – for the next term, maybe longer. With a promise of renewing our friendship when I can see my way clear...'

'You've confused me. How are we defining breaking up? If we're only friends to begin with. We are still friends?'

'Yes, of course. And we'll remain friends. But I need some time without you. Time to get settled into my new life. Time to meet new friends, to delve into my studies and Professor Darneby's project. To start fresh and put my last, rather unhappy years at Oxford behind me. You're part of that past, and part of my future too... But as I said, you're such an unstable element in my thinking. I just don't want to deal with it now. If we were both in Cambridge, it would be one thing, but apart, too many misunderstandings, too many distractions can arise, so I want to put even our friendship on hold. Know that it exists, but just let it be idle for a time. Put it in a box on the shelf. We'll have plenty of work to keep us busy in the meanwhile... You understand, don't you?'

Really, it could've been a lot worse. And in many ways, it wasn't much worse than just going along as we were now – if I was too seriously attending to my studies. A long distance relationship would only complicate things for me, as well. And, I suppose, in the end, a friendship with Selina would, in my mind, at least, be not just a friendship.

'Yes, of course,' I said, 'I'll do as you ask. This has been a dream come true for me. I want to continue to be your friend, and if this is what it takes, I'm happy to comply.

'You're my first and dearest new friend, and I hate to be so selfish. But you're something else as well. I don't know what, but I know I can't deal with that now. We'll have time to settle someday.'

'Someday. Still, it'd be nice if we could keep in touch and get to know each other better on a low key. An occasional email, not love letters, just updates about what's going on in our lives, written and read when we have a spare moment or two. And I'd understand if you didn't have time to write often.'

She shook her head. 'No. If I didn't write or didn't write often enough I'd feel guilty, or annoyed that I felt I had to write. And then there's the possibility something written being misunderstood. We have this easy relationship, let's not risk it.'

'All right, whatever you think best. I'll wait. You're worth it.'

'Thank you, Hugh, for understanding.'

'I can't help but be understanding. I'm a beggar on horseback, and I know it. I'll not complain. Right. That's settled. So what do you say? I'm thinking maybe we should celebrate that after all... Ouch! You needn't have kicked me in the shins. It was your idea,' I exclaimed, laughing. 'Besides, I was about to suggest I treat you to lunch.'

'No you weren't. But I'll take you up on the lunch idea. I've worked up an appetite with all this talking. I'm thinking of a nice café deli on Golders Green Road.'

'Right, but, I think we need to seal our understanding with a kiss,' I said, boldly. 'Unless you're afraid one more little kiss will set off this explosion you fear.'

'I think that's still a low level risk,' she said with an all too confident grin, but leaned in and kissed me.

'Now,' she said, gently pushing me back, 'We've still half an hour's walk ahead of us. Once we start walking.'

'I'm in no great hurry,' I said, but she was on her way, so I could only fall in step with her as she started down the road.

Beri found the café and we had panini sandwiches and a glass of wine in the backyard garden of the café. (But only one glass. She wouldn't let me talk her into a second, for some reason.) Since I wasn't wearing my dyary glasses, she let me take a few photos of her in the garden. And to get a picture of both of us together, I set my watson on our table to take a video. As I slipped around to sit next to her, she said with a straight face, 'He photoshopped himself into this...' But when we stopped laughing, she did kiss me sweetly. However, everyone who knows me will still think it was all photoshopped. And I can't say I'd blame them.

Afterwards we set out again on a long, leisurely stroll, along quiet residential streets dappled in sunlight and shade. We wandered eastwards and then around and through Hampstead Heath, talking or not as the mood took us.

Around 3:00 Beri's watson chirped. She took it out of her bag and looked to see who was calling. 'Sheri. One of my office friends,' she laughed.

'Going to answer it?'

'No. You know why she's calling, don't you? I think we'll just let her imagination run wild.'

When Sheri's call reached Beri's voice mail we heard her say, 'You'd better have a very good reason for not picking up, Selina Beri. And we'll expect to hear all the juicy details first thing Monday morning.'

Selina shook her head, but said, 'I believe those girls have done me a world of good. Not only have they made working at the Treasury fun, but they've, how should I say this? They've grounded me in the real world again. I owe them.'

We'd been walking in silence for a while when she stopped and looked at me.

'What's up?' I asked.

'I'm home,' she said.

'Oh...' I looked about, we were standing next to a neatly trimmed hedge before a rather substantial stucco and brick home a street or two north of Childs Hill and Golders Hill parks. 'Oh.' I sighed, adding wishfully, 'Maybe a few more turns around the block? I haven't told you about my ex-wives and kids yet.'

'Unless you were lying to me earlier today, those aren't your kids, Gallagher,' she said.

'Oh, I guess you're right. I suppose that explains the ex-wives too...'

'Gallagher, it's time to say our goodbyes.' she said, and she meant it. 'It's after five. I have to shower and dress. I'm sure they're having a fit that I'm not home already.'

I looked at her standing so close next to me. 'I can't seem to think of anything to say.'

'We've talked for almost seven hours, I should think we've said just about everything we've had on our minds,' she said quietly.

So stepping close I took her hands in mine, 'All right then, Selina. Goodbye, and good luck,' and boldly kissed her one last time. We'd been more boyfriend and girlfriend all day than friends, but I wasn't about to mention that. I'd be just an old friend, and one on the shelf tomorrow, but today the sun was shining, so I'd make hay today.

She pushed gently away. 'Goodbye Gallagher. Thank you for everything.'

We shared a long tender look.

'It might have worked...' she said, with a slow smile, but with a teasing sparkle in her eyes.

'Out of curiosity, when did you abandon plan A?' I asked warily.

'Several hours ago. It was getting too late to do it properly.'

I closed my eyes and sighed. 'Selina, please don't tease. You know that as soon as you are out of sight, all my noble, and ignoble objections for plan A are going to fly out the window and I'm going to be feeling horrible about passing on the dream of a lifetime. Please tell me you never really considered it.'

'What part of "I trust you like a lover" do you not get? Who knows how far things would have gone on that trust?'

I sighed again, and shook my head. 'You're not helping here...'

'Of course the reason I trust you is that I knew you'd not have gone too far, however too far would've been. Sort of a catch-22, but in a good way... Besides, I know as well as you that things would never have been the same again. It's far too early with us to decide things in that way. It wouldn't have been right, and we both know it.' And with a wicked smile she pulled me close and kissed me again.

When she pushed away again, she said smiling, 'Just wondering.'

'Four months in a box...' I sighed.

'No promises.'

'Four months. Get settled, Beri.' I replied. 'And you know you can call me at any time, for anything.'

'Yes, Gallagher,' she said softly and kissed me lightly before breaking away. 'Take care and study hard.'

'You, too,' I said as she turned, walked up the path and opening the front door, disappeared into the shadow without looking back.

P.S.

I received a brief text from Beri late that night, 'It's midnight. You're back to being a pumpkin, Gallagher.'

I replied, 'Dear Beri, I believe the coach reverted to a pumpkin, not the Prince. I think you meant I'm once more the frog. If I'm wrong, let me know. Your friend, Gallagher.'

Didn't hear anything back.

Chapter 03 – Piece Three – Dinner with Beri

Mid-August, The Following Friday

It was very iffy. I'd my reasons, my lines, my logic, but I was still far from confident. But I'd something to prove, at least to myself, after last Saturday. She was worth the risk. Still, it was iffy, iffy, iffy.

I surveyed the busy London street. Unable to cover all the building's exits, I decided she'd probably need to turn in her credentials at the main desk, so I loitered half a block down from the main entrance, watching the doors while people hurried by on one hand, and the traffic purred slowly by on the other.

I'd set out from Canvey Island two hours earlier. Stopped at home for a quick shower and change before taking the tube to Whitehall, arriving with fifteen minutes to spare. I'll admit to finding those fifteen minutes a whole lot more stressful than I had envisioned them in my Canvey Island hotel room. I was tempted to give it all a miss, but I knew I'd bitterly regret it fifteen minutes after I did.

So I stayed to watch the clerks and civil servants pour out of their offices at the end of their work week. I'd expected she'd be near the end, but after waiting until the last of the stragglers seemed to have left, I was ready to give up – feeling both disappointed and relieved – when I saw her push through the doors. I smiled. She was wearing a mini skirt on her last day. She was with three other girls – they were all talking and laughing – no doubt her friends from the office. Damn, I thought. She could've made plans with her friends to celebrate her last day. I'd assumed she'd not want to make too much of a night of it since she'd be leaving in the morning for her holiday, and would be free for an early dinner with me.

I watched as they reached the pavement and turned away from me, only to stop to talk out of the stream of pedestrians. When I saw Beri give one a hug, I guessed they were saying their goodbyes, so I pushed myself off the signpost I was holding up and made myself walk over to her.

'...I know, but I have all my packing to do...' Beri was saying as I slipped beside her.

'But only after she has dinner with me,' I said cutting into the conversation with an apologetic smile to her friends.

'You!'

'Who else?' I replied.

'What are you doing here, Gallagher?' she said, surprised, but not angry. Or not very angry.

'Hello, Beri. You look quite stunning today. Nice legs,' I added with an appreciative smile.

'Knock it off, Gallagher,' she replied smoothly. 'Now, what are you doing here? I thought I'd seen the last of you for a while.'

'Well, I was just down the street, and catching sight of you coming out of that office, I decided to take the opportunity to ask you – and your friends – out for dinner,' I added, hoping her friends kept their wits about them and declined the invitation. Still, as a project manager, I could afford it. I guess.

'Are you stalking me now, Gallagher?'

'Heavens, no. I've been working in Canvey Island all week. I just, well, I felt I needed to see you once more to celebrate the end of your meteoric Treasury career. Over dinner.'

'I thought we reached an understanding.'

'Yes. We do have an understanding. It's just that I discovered a little loophole and felt it was within our understanding to stand you to dinner tonight. Just tonight.'

'Oh, you did, did you? I seemed to have missed the message warning me of this loophole,' she said sarcastically, but without rancour.

'Knowing how you hate phone calls, I decided to forego one. Besides you'd have said No. Couldn't risk that. Best make a surprise out of it. Plus, I wasn't sure I'd be able to wrap up my Canvey Island project in time to get back to London to do anything. I didn't want to risk standing you up. So you see, this was the only way. Now, these must be your friends, Sheri, Anne, Gloria,' I said, turning to her friends who'd been watching us with amused interest. 'I'm delighted to have a chance to meet you. Selina has told me how wonderful you've been to her.'

Beri sighed. 'Hugh Gallagher,' she said, with a shrug in my direction, and introduced her friends, putting their names with their faces. We shook hands with 'How do you do? Nice to meet you.' all around.

'I'm glad to have the chance to thank you for making my friend,' this with a glance to my friend, 'so welcome at OBSA. She's told me how much she appreciates all you did for her and how much she enjoys your friendship. And well, I should also thank you for all the work you put in last Friday. Can't tell you how sorry I am that I let the side down...' Which earned me an elbow in my side from Beri, but grins from her friends.

'We were, all, so very disappointed, Hugh. Still it's never too late,' Sheri assured me. 'I'm sure Selina still has that list of hotels we came up with for her on her watson.'

'I do not. And it is too late.'

'She has so much packing to do,' said Gloria sarcastically.

'The Clover on Golders Green Road and the Heath Inn on Hampstead High Street,' added Anne. 'But I'm sure those sorts of hotels are a lot handier around here...'

'Well, I wouldn't know,' replied Beri archly, with mock cattiness.

With a few more laughs, and a little more chatter, they made their excuses why they couldn't join us for dinner and then with more goodbyes and promises of keeping in touch ('We expect all the juicy details, Selly.') her friends went on their way. With one last wave to her friends, Beri turned to me.

'Now, you. I'd thought we'd agreed to put you in a box on the shelf until further notice. Getting rather bold, are we?'

'Perhaps. But I wasn't bold enough on Saturday, and I regret that now. You're worth taking a few risks. Besides, girls don't care for boys they can just push around. They like bad boys...'

'So you're a bad boy now?'

'More like a mischievous boy, I suppose. Or maybe a bad boy on his best behaviour?'

She rolled her eyes. She wasn't really upset, but I did want her to understand my reasoning. I'd put a lot of work on polishing them up.

'As for escaping my box, if you think back, we were talking about it in the context of your studies in Cambridge. But you're not in Cambridge yet. I assure you I've every intention of honouring our agreement. You'll not find me turning up in Cambridge like this. Truly Selina, I know how much it means to you... to us,' I couldn't help adding. 'But, well, a dinner, a walk home tonight, won't change anything, and, well, maybe I wasn't bold enough Saturday – not like I was kidding you, but by not emphasizing the fact that I agreed to step back out of your life because your friendship is worth the price you're asking.'

She gave me a look. 'I really hadn't doubted the depths of your friendship, Gallagher.'

'Best to make sure,' I replied lightly. 'Just double checking.'

'You'd better not even think of showing up in Cambridge unannounced,' she said, giving me a hard look over the tops of her glasses.

'Oh, I'll keep my word – I know it's for the best,' I assured her.

And then she went on, 'It seems you're making a lot of unwarranted assumptions this afternoon. Why should I like bad boys? Why wouldn't I like pushing you around? Isn't that all I've done from the very beginning? As for our agreement, I think I made my intent quite clear when our agreement was starting. I seem to recall we said our goodbyes last weekend.'

'Ah yes. That goodbye. You're making me blush, Selina,' I laughed. 'But well as long as you brought it up, I'd like to clear up that cryptic text you sent last weekend. From it I gathered you felt we'd crossed over the line of being just friends a little last Saturday. I was thinking so at the time, but I didn't want to upset you by mentioning it...'

'Right,' she said. But I don't think she believed that last part.

I smiled. 'Oh, I knew even then it was just kindness on your part, and for that day only, so don't worry on that account. However, I was thinking that by being just friends tonight we could undo any misunderstandings that may have arisen and set our new relationship up on just the right note...'

She sighed. 'How many hours did you spend coming up with all these lines?'

'Not that many. Besides, after work there's not much to do in Canvey Island except study in my hotel room, believe me.' From the look she gave me, she didn't believe that either. Clearly, she's never been to Canvey Island.

'Anyway my dear, my last line is, where shall we dine tonight? That choice I'll leave to you.'

'What makes you think I haven't a previous engagement?'

'Oh, just a guess. I'm assuming you'd not care to make a night of it before a long trip. And, well, since I overheard you telling the girls you'd be going home to pack, I'll ask again, where would you like to dine?'

'I do have to pack for my holiday, so it can't be a late night...'

'We'll dine early. I promise to have you home before something, other than me, turns into a pumpkin.'

She sighed. 'Oh, all right, Gallagher, why can't I say "no" to you?'

'Grand. And the reason you can't say no is that I'm merely asking you, as a new but dear friend, to have a nice meal and quiet conversation. No harm in that. So, where shall we dine? The choice is yours.'

She considered that for a moment and then said, 'I'll let you select the restaurant. Any ones I pick might have old memories, ones I'd rather not relive...'

'Hmm. I was rather hoping that you help me out here. I know some pizza and Chinese places down Lambeth way... And two Sundays ago I had the best dim sum from a little place somewhere on Queenstown Road, but we probably don't want to go that far afield... so that leaves only an Indian restaurant off Charlotte Street, the Jalandhar Raj. Omar Singe, who knows these things gives it his highest marks. Do you like Northern Indian cuisine? Otherwise, we can just stroll through Soho until we find one that looks interesting.'

'Indian food is fine. I'll trust Mr Singe's recommendation, so we can settle on the Jalandhar Raj.'

'Tube, bus, or walk?'

'It's early still, we can walk,' she replied, as I'd half expected since she wasn't wearing heels. But that was fine by me. Walking with Selina is always fine with me.

And with that, we set out for the Jalandhar Raj, walking like good friends, no holding hands this evening or walking arm in arm. Bad boy or no, I was going to be on my best behaviour. I had to keep her trust. I kept my hands in my pockets.

'How do you come by liking Indian cuisine? Mr Singe I suppose.'

'Yes, Omar has sought to educate me in Indian cooking, along with a whole slew of other things for which he sees me lacking. As I may have mentioned, we prepare a meal most every Sunday, Indian cuisine being O's specialty, my mother's Italian cooking mine, for some of our friends each week. The custom has taught me not only to enjoy some Indian dishes, but how to prepare them as well... It's all in the spices...'

'So you cook... as well as sing and fix gadgets and who knows what other hidden talents?'

'Well, unless I have missed something very important, I'm facing long, bleak years of bachelorhood. I have no intention of adding starving to that dismal prospect. Do you cook, Miss Beri?'

'Like you sing.'

'How delightful,' I said, and glancing across to her, found her watching me with a rather serious expression.

'I meant it is an acquired taste.'

'I am looking forward to acquiring it,' I replied.

She shook her head. 'Did you spend the hours waiting for me in some quiet pub, Gallagher?'

'If I am intoxicated, it is merely from being close to you. All our serious talk is behind us so we can just enjoy ourselves. As I look at it, this evening we're under the hill in Seelie Court, a time out of time. So tell me about your last day.'

We talked as we wove our way through a purring, bustling London – the ozone smell of electric motors woven in the slanting sunlight and shadows. The Jalandhar Raj is located in a back water street south of Regents' Park. It's a basement restaurant, so we walked down the steps, pushed through the door and into fragrant darkness. It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust. We were early – the place was mostly empty. The owner, doing his bookwork at a table in the back, rose to greet us.

'Greetings, Hugh,' he said as he approached.

I returned his greeting and turned to Beri. 'May I introduce you to the owner, Mr Hamid Chaven. Ham, this is my friend Miss Selina Beri."

'A pleasure to meet you, Miss Beri,' He looked at her a moment. 'I count Richard and Sara Beri among my valued customers. Are you by chance, related to them?' he asked, politely.

She laughed. 'They're my parents.' Then turning to me, 'You'll certainly score some points for bringing me here, Gallagher!'

I gave her a puzzled look, while Hamid cast me a sly smile. 'You've lost me,' I said.

'I'll explain over dinner. However, that reminds me, I'd best call mother and let her know not to expect me for dinner.'

'You must give them my regards,' said Hamid as he led us to a booth near the back where we made our menu selection after some discussion between Hamid and Beri.

Then, taking out her watson from her small purse, Beri tapped it on and called up a number. 'Hello mother. I'm calling to let you know that a friend surprised me and is taking me out to dinner, I'll be home later.... Yes, I know I have packing to do... I'll be home before nine... I've plenty of time... Hugh Gallagher... yes, him...' she cast me a wicked smile, her eyes twinkling. 'Right, the one I spent the weekend in Cambridge with... Oh, by the way, Hamid Chaven sends along his regards... Actually, Hugh choose the restaurant. You've never taken me here, so I wasn't aware that the Jalandhar Raj was one of your regular haunts... Well, I've got to go, mother, I will tell you all about it when I get home... Bye.' She put away her watson with a merry smile. 'That was fun, Hugh.'

'I'm not sure what to make of all of that...' I said with a wary smile.

'Mother caught sight of our goodbye kiss last Saturday, and asked me who you were – or by implication, who you thought you were, kissing her daughter on the public street in front of our house... I had to tell her you were the friend I spent my weekend in Cambridge with. The one I don't know anything about... She wasn't pleased, with either you or me. Still, bringing me here might have been an unintended stroke of genius. It may raise your stock... or not. Mother's such a snob. I get that from her... But oh, well, who I kiss on the pavement in front of our house is not really her business, is it?' she rattled on merrily.

'You seem to be enjoying giving your parents grey hairs,' I said with a grin.

'Oh, I am,' she replied with a laugh. 'You might want to take it as a warning... But then again, you know I like to tease. Say, how would you like to meet them tonight.... I'm sure they are just dying to meet you...'

'You, my dear Selina, might be actively engaged in terrorizing your parents with me, but I think I'll beg off of being an active co-conspirator.' I said.

And so we talked of this and that in the spicy, cool dimness of the Raj, of her night out last weekend, her week and upcoming holiday. I had little enough to talk about, but the conversation flowed.

Our meal delicious, the company and conversation lively, concerning only the moment –indeed it was a time out of time... It was not yet seven when we climbed the steps into the still warm and glowing London evening. We were of one mind about it being too early to go directly home, so we turned north to just wander in the softly fading summer day along the wide avenues and leafy shadows of Regent's Park until it was time to head to the Camden Town tube station and take it north to Golder's Green.

Two magic London evenings in as many weeks. Have I been blind to them all this while, or is it just what it's like being in love?

The rapidly deepening night found us beside that green hedge again in front of Beri's home. We were standing close watching each other with a tender wariness.

'Thank you, Hugh, for this evening. I've enjoyed it immensely. It was a very nice touch. I'm not as enamoured with bad boys as some girls claim to be, but still, on occasion... However, nothing has really changed and I'd really, really not be happy if you pushed your bad boy image any farther,' she said. 'I'll be going up to Cambridge right after I get back from holiday.'

'Yes, which is why this evening was my last chance. I'm sure Moss will keep me up to date on what's going on in your life, so you'll not be lost entirely to me. And we'll have our studies to fill our hours, so it will all work out... Write or call when you're settled and comfortable enough for us to see each other again.'

Then we just stood watching each other, saying nothing, her face glowing warmly in the last ruddy glow of the western horizon.

With an effort, she sought to lighten the mood. 'Are you sure you don't want to come in and meet my parents? I'm sure they'd find you most interesting...'

'Look behind you,' I said quietly. I'd been watching a couple walking toward us over Beri's shoulder, who seemed quite interested in us...

'Why it's Mother and Father!' she said softly, and turned back to me. I could see the whiteness of her wide smile. 'How did you guess?'

I shrugged. 'They seem to be staring daggers at me.... Is it too late to bolt?'

'I should think so, but then again, it might make you all the more... interesting.'

But it was too late to run, and she turned around and greeted her parents.

'Hello, Mother, Father! Isn't it just a lovely evening for a stroll? Hugh and I have been walking in Regent's Park – such magical time!'

'Good evening, Selina,' her mother said, and looked at me, her face dim in the fading light, but light enough to see the cool disdain. Her father nodded with a faint, amused smile.

'I'm so glad you've come along. I had invited Hugh in to meet you, but he was too shy... But now. Mother, Father, this is my friend, Hugh Gallagher. Hugh, my parents, Sara and Richard.'

'My pleasure,' I said, and shook Mr Beri's offered hand. Mrs Beri just regarded me icily.

Silence.

'It is a delightful evening, isn't it?' I said just to fill it, the evening's glibness gone, or so I thought. But my ancestors made me add, 'Though you have such a lovely daughter, Mr and Mrs Beri, that it may well be Selina's company, rather than the weather, that makes it so delightful... In fact, I'm sure it is.'

That got right in amongst Mrs Beri, as I guess I intended it to, and she said sharply, 'Yes she is. It is nice of you to say so, but Selina has a lot of packing to do, we're off to the South of France tomorrow.'

'Oh, we were just saying our goodbyes. I have a long tube ride back to South Lambeth before me.' Selina gave me a soft jab in the ribs with her elbow.

'Then we won't keep you. Nice meeting you, Mr Gallagher,' she lied and turned up the path that led to their front door.

Her father nodded and said, 'Good night,' and followed his wife into the rectangle of light of the open door.

'What would she have done if I'd not taken you to the Jalandhar Raj and earned all those points?' I wondered aloud.

'Boggles the mind, doesn't it?' Selina laughed softly, turning toward me again. 'I'm afraid you're more than a few points in the red...'

'Is it really that bad?'

'Are you a loyal, lifelong Tory?'

'Well, no...'

'Do you have a trust fund? A title perhaps? Do your folks own a country house?'

'No, no, not that I know of...'

'Did you spend a weekend with me in Cambridge and were you seen kissing me last Saturday afternoon on the pavement in front of my house? Are you standing way too close to me now?'

'Guilty on all counts! And it was worth any number of demerits.' I said, reaching for her hand and pulling her even closer.

'And don't tell me you weren't ruffling some feathers yourself a moment ago... That line about taking the tube back home to South Lambeth was particularly telling.'

'Let their hair turn grey,' I muttered, seeking her other hand.

'And, by the way,' she said, skipping back a step. 'My mother's certain to quiz me again about what your parents do for a living. Maybe I should tell them something, just to show them you're not merely a casual friend?'

'Somehow, I doubt they're thinking we're casual friends. But you can tell her that my father's a wastewater technician for Thames Water and my mother's a teacher, and they're both union stewards as well...'

'No! Really?'

'Yes, really.' I said with a laugh.

'Why you're a gift from the gods! I'll be surprised if their hair's not grey by morning,' she laughed. "I can hardly wait to tell them...'

On the strength of being a gift from the gods, I slipped my arm about her and pulling her close, kissing her tenderly, like a really good friend, until she pushed me gently away, saying softly, 'Knock it off, Gallagher.'

Which broke me up. When we both stopped laughing she said, 'I do have packing to do, Gallagher. Thanks for dinner, the evening, everything... I've had a wonderful time.'

'And thank you for being so sweet and allowing me to cheat a little,' I said and kissed her one last time and then gave her up.

'Good night, Gallagher.'

'Good night, Selina. Enjoy your holiday.'

She disappeared into the shadows beyond the hedge to reappear briefly in the light of the opening doorway and was gone. I turned and walked away.

P.S.

And walked and walked the miles to South Lambeth and home, unwilling to let that sweet night go its way.

Chapter 04 – Piece Four – Omar's Visit

Later, Sometime After Midnight

Received an email from Omar. It read,

My Dear Giz,

I hope you're seated – I have some very alarming news – news only our friendship forces me to relate. I just hope you'll forgive the messenger.

I've just landed back in town and dropped by the Jalandhar Raj this evening with a dear friend and who should I see but the incomparable Selina Beri – dining with a rather rummy looking cove – I'd say some very junior law clerk or accountant of some sort. And I further regret to report that she seemed to be having a very good time. I felt that discretion was called for (as I use it, every now and again) so I did not make myself known, and even hid behind my menu when she left.

As I said, I regret bearing this distressing news, but knowing your fondness for the incomparable Miss Beri, having kissed her in the middle of the Broad Street, Oxford, Oxfordshire, I feel that it is my sad duty – one that I cannot dodge and still be your friend.

I hope we can gather soon to exchange news,

Your friend,

O.V.

I replied,

O.V.,

Devastated. My job takes me to Scotland for the next three weeks plus. Leaving Sunday morning, so if you want to 'exchange news', you'll need to drop by the house today. I'll be working on school papers.

Welcome home,

Hugh

Thanks for being discrete, for once.

Had I known that Omar was back in town, (He'd been off visiting his folks stationed in Jakarta this year.) I might have hesitated to take Beri to the Jalandhar Raj. I knew it to be one of O's haunts when in London, but that was spilled milk.

Saturday Afternoon

I saw Omar slip his e/mini into one of the few open slots on the block from my bedroom window a little after 3:00. I didn't go down to meet him right away, giving him time to flirt with Mom and my sister, Karen. Mom can take care of herself, but I only gave him a minute or two with Karen, who was getting old enough to flirt with Omar as well.

When I went down to fetch him. I found him sleek and suave as ever, leaning casually against a door frame at the foot of the stairs, sharing a laugh with Karen, who was standing far too close – at least as seen from my angle as an older, more experienced brother. That last part is probably wishful thinking...

'Hello O, Good to see you hale and hardy after your travels. Come on up, I need a break.'

'Hello Giz ol'bean,' He glanced up at me, and exclaimed, 'Good God, Giz, what have you done to yourself! Why, it was you at the Jalandhar Raj last night with the incomparable...' Discretion was an iffy thing with Omar.

'You saw Hugh's girlfriend!' exclaimed Karen. 'Tell us all, he won't even admit he has one, but we all know!'

'Oh no, you won't,' I jerked him up the step. 'Come along O, I've a lot of work to do, and if you want to exchange news, you can't be wasting time gabbing with Karen.'

'I'll text you all the delicious details,' Omar called back.

'Not if you want a long and healthy life.'

'What's with the hair cut and shave?' Omar ask as we climbed the stairs.

'I'm a responsible adult now... They made me do it...' I replied and gave him the quick run down.

I shut the door of my small room, and swung my leg over the back of my desk chair as Omar settled comfortable on the bed. He then just beamed at me with a silly smile on his face and the occasional sigh. I stared at him, just waiting.

'Now I know exactly how Dr Frankenstein felt the moment his creation stirred to life. My heart is about to burst with pride...'

'Dr Frankenstein, my ass....'

'I'll admit I'd come close to despair over you, Giz. I put a lot of effort into polishing you up enough to be at least presentable to members of the opposite sex, though at times it seemed a hopeless task. But I persevered, that's my nature... And now, when I see how all that work has paid off... I've created a Romeo that can charm the likes of the incomparable Miss Selina Beri, well, as I said, my heart is about to burst...'

I looked silently to the ceiling.

And then leaning forward, he said. 'In all seriousness, I was amazed and happy when Ham pointed you out in your booth. You'd already eaten and were just finishing up over tea when we arrived, but even so, I felt discretion was called for in this case. Ham was all set to bring my date and me over to your booth, but I gave him a wink and told him to find us a table where we would not be seen, four being a crowd... I actually did hide myself behind the menu when you young people left...'

'I truly appreciate that, though, I suppose, it may not have been strictly necessary.' I shrugged. 'Hard to say, really...'

'Tell me all, Giz old boy, tell me all...'

I had no intention of telling O all, and didn't. But on the other hand, Omar's a very social creature with a wide circle of friends well beyond Oxford. What he knew and what he would say is of some importance to both Beri and me in our rather small closed society, so playing coy would only allow rumours go unchecked – rumours that he could squash. Moreover, he's my best friend – counting Beri as a different sort of best friend – and I knew I could trust him. He could even be discrete, as he had been yesterday, when the situation demanded. In short, I knew I could tell him how things stood, and trust that it would be to both Beri's and my advantage.

'You've a very strange relationship, Giz, my boy,' he sighed after I'd finished my outline. 'But, you're on your own. You're launched on your romantic career, but be careful, Hugh. I know little more about Miss Beri than you. She's in a higher orbit, which might give you something to ponder. Still, I suppose you know her far better than me now...' he sighed again. 'I rather look on you as my monster and I should hate to see you end up on the sharp end of a villager's pitchfork...'

I shrugged. 'I don't think I have – or want – any choice. However, all in all, it's probably good for me. My eyes have been opened as to where I presently stand in my physics studies, and where I need to be if I'm to go on to grad school and on to become a first rate physicist. And I won't settle for less, now,' I replied and proceeded to tell him about my experiences in Cambridge with Moss and the gang, as well as Professor Darneby's comments. He listened thoughtfully and asked a few questions and considered what I had said for several minutes in silence. He seemed to be weighing options, so I made it easy for him.

Omar is reading Mathematics and Statistics. However, he envisions managing science research projects as a career. He plans to take his masters in management, and is already working towards his career goals by becoming familiar with as many of his contemporaries in the various science fields as he can – the people he sees himself eventually employing or directing. I believe him to be a shrewd judge of humanity, and I know he weighs his wide circle of friends and acquaintances in light of his ambition, noting their strengths and weaknesses with an eye as to how to best employ them when they become his charge.

'O, as a friend, I'd like to ask you to give me your candid assessment of my potential. How do I rate in your black book of future scientists? I could use an outsider's opinion. Do I stand any chance to be a first rate physicist?'

'No punches pulled?' he asked with a laugh.

'Well, I'm asking for it.'

'But will you remember that? Still, never mind, Laddie. I take your point, and I don't think you will be able to kick about my assessment of Hugh Gallagher.' He made a tent of his fingers and gathered his most Mycroft Holmes air about him.

'First, I'd say that you are as honest as a person can be without being annoying. You are entirely trustworthy. I would love to have you as my right hand man. You have, despite your decidedly geeky origins, an intuitive understanding of people, so you fit in and are quietly popular. You'd be easy to manage. These are all positive traits, not to be sniffed at. And you are a very creative thinker to boot...

'But letting the other shoe fall, I have to say that you've been far more focused on your Chinese philosophies than on physics. Which is fine, but not if you want a career in physics. And while I know you have some new and sweeping theories of everything, unless you can put those into the language of physics, which is to say maths, you'd best stick to philosophy. And having shared digs with you for two years, I have some questions as to your interest in the higher level maths you'd need to excel...'

'I know...' I sighed. 'And as you well know, I've just no intuitive feel for it, I can read and understand the mathematical arguments I've been exposed to – if I really work at it. But it seems I've no inherent faculty to think or speak in mathematical terms... And when I am being honest with myself, seeing that mathematics is the language of physics, my future does seem rather iffy...'

'Have you been really trying, Giz?'

I shrugged. 'Yes and no. When I have to, I do it. I don't like it, but I can do it. But that's not really good enough, is it? You have to be passionate about something to really excel and if you don't excel, you'll end up teaching high school science... Thank goodness I have SSC to fall back on. I have a passion, but I don't see much prospect of doing what I want to do given the way things are in physics... Hell, you've heard me bitch often enough about how if you need an infinite number of alternate worlds to get your maths to work, you've lost the script... It has to be simpler... Anyway, I've a hard time playing the game or committing completely to a career in physics. Until now. Now it's the only game I want... I guess I have a reason now to buckle down...'

'If that's what you want, you must, and you can't avoid, maths. Still, you might consider a way to minimize your conflict with it...'

'How could I do that?'

'Have you considered using your knowledge of gadgets, computers, and software in physics as an experimental physicist? With a knowledge of both gadgets and software and physics, I see you as kind of the go-to-cove when anyone needs a hands-on expert to design instruments and software for their proposed experiment. I'd think you might find yourself quite sought after... And I think you might well enjoy that type of challenge as well. It's the capacity I'd employ you in if you were employed on a project of mine.'

'I've toyed with that idea, but only in terms of working for SSC, after getting my undergrad degree,' I admitted. 'But you're right, there may be a place in the lab on that event horizon between engineering and physics that I might fit well in...'

'Still, don't use that idea to avoid maths, you've got to hit maths and physics hard this coming year.'

'Yah, I know that. At least I'm motivated now. Believe me, between Beri and the Cambridge grad students, I've had my eyes opened. And I really want to be a part of that scene in one capacity or another...'

We talked more of my prospects and what I need to do, and how to do it for a while more and then it was on to Omar's adventures abroad. Omar had a date later, but we went out to a small, family run – kids playing on a back table – Chinese restaurant for an early dinner after which he dropped me off in front of my house and I returned to my Spartan room, to continue working on my papers until late that night.

Chapter 05 – Piece Five – A Middle-word

Launching a career as a writer of romances might seem a weird thing to do while reading physics and philosophy at Oxford.

Hell, it is a weird thing to do any time. No getting around it.

In my defence, I must point out that I've been on the road most of this summer without my bike and living out of hotel rooms is pretty much of a drag. Writing down my memories seems much more, well, justifiable, than just daydreaming...

I'd like to believe that there is more than boredom and daydreams motivating me to write and for my sake as well as yours, I think I'd best write the reasons out.

The story of these stories begins with dyaries. As I mentioned in my first piece, I've been using dyaries to record my everyday life for several years now, off and on. Dyaries are often and not entirely unfairly, laughed at as devices geeks use to record every boring second of their boring lives. On the other hand, it's often said that the best camera is the one you have with you, and it's even better if you have it running when the unexpected happens, so I do see value in dyaries – even in the most boring of lives, like my pre-Beri life. And I can certainly testify that unexpected things happen. Funny thing is that when it happened to me, my dyary was sitting on my desk. They may be a niche device and a sometime fad which probably argues that they are not essential, but I do find uses for one. I also have found their flaws.

One obvious flaw is that while they record the image and the sounds, they don't record thoughts or emotions – something a written diary is quite capable of doing. I know of people who add a voice over narration to their dyary record, though usually to an edited version. Since this makes it more of a conventional diary with video, the shortened form makes it less of a true dyary, if one takes a dyary to be a recording of more or less everything in one's day.

What I've done since coming up to Oxford, to compensate for this lack of emotional backdrop, is to write a regular old-fashioned diary to supplement my dyary record. This made me more interested in words and writing, and writing creatively. This is the critical linkage, dyaries leading to a diary, leading to writing, and writing creatively.

So far, so good. Nothing out of the ordinary. Half the people in the world want to write a novel, so I'm in fairly safe waters here. And like most of this half of the world, I dabbled in writing fiction, mostly science fiction, and mostly just the noses of stories, rarely getting the whole dog of the story down. Plots being one of my weaknesses...

Enter Selina Beri. I need not go into what Selina Beri means to me, I've spent tens of thousands of words going into that already. But she brought with her a story. A story I could write. A story I wanted to set down, if only to live it again in my imagination.

There are two main elements that make Selina's entry into my life a story. The first is that her appearance in my life was something very much out of my ordinary. Let me put it this way – her appearance is like a series of mountain peaks arising out of an otherwise flat and featureless plain. It stands out. At present it's an isolated series, though I hope some day I'll see them as part of a range I've yet to glimpse. As mountain peaks, they can be described without dragging in a flat plain that surrounds them, which is to say, my everyday life. They have distinct shapes – beginnings and endings, which I've tried to craft into stories with the traditional beginning, middle and ending, though the larger story arc is unresolved.

I should make this point – most everything I've written is not a verbatim transcription of dyary records. Mostly because they don't exist for almost all of the incidents I write about. At least I have no such records. Moss no doubt has dyary records covering the parts of the time Selina and I were in Cambridge that he was present for, as his recording of Selina's piano piece at the garden party suggests. I paid no attention to his glasses at the time. I've not talked to him about any other recordings he may or may not have. That they might exist and could be accessible has certain implications, of which I'll touch on in a bit. The point I want to make is that these are stories. I've reconstructed the dialogue from memory and the diary entries I made soon after the events, though actually, I've written these stories so soon after the events that they describe that they are essentially enhanced diary entries. The dialogue, while not verbatim, is "true" in the sense that I include only what I can recall us saying, if not the exact words, close to them, and "fiction" in the sense that I did edit what was said somewhat in order to shape them into a story. The extent that life has been edited is the extend that these stories are fiction. So, looked at in one way, these pieces are fiction, since they are crafted, but I feel them to be real, my memories of events translated into words.

What I have, or expect to have is not a novel, that I know. It is not fiction for one thing, but a description of a selected slice of my life set in words in a stylized shape. Since it is based on real life, it currently lacks an ending – so far. And without an ending, you can't have a middle either... and without a middle and an ending, I don't think you can have a novel, or even a story when you come right down to it. I've gone and taken liberties as well, tacking on various fragments and now, even this essay. I have adopted the term 'pieces' to include both the semi-independent short stories and the shorter, mostly plotless fragments to highlight the fact that I'm not trying to construct a novel in any traditional sense. While these smaller pieces could be viewed as 'chapters', I feel no compulsion to make them so. If they fit that way, fine, but if not, well fine too. I mean, how many 'middle-words' have you found in any other book? I'll be 'creative', and follow no pre-set pattern – we'll see what sort of pattern emerges from the life that inspires it.

I guess I'm drifting off on a tangent. Let me try to wrap this up.

In writing these pieces, I'm greatly distorting my life. This is obvious, but I guess I'll state it anyway. I live mostly on that 'featureless' plain, which, of course, is not featureless, only very familiar. While I must admit spending a great deal of time thinking about Selina and, well, 'us', the truth is that if you add up the actual number of hours we've spent together, you will see that the number is sadly, quite modest, no need to start using days to measure our time together. However, the 'atomic weight' of those hours on an emotional level is quite large, heavier than whole days of pulling cable, installing sensors and jammers and programming desktop controls that fill my ordinary summer vacation days. (Being a security firm, we hard wire all our devices to try to insure that they cannot be breached, just so you know why I'm still laying cables...) Anyway, the point is that between the few hours here and there that I've spent with Selina, I do live a quite ordinary life, both as a student, and as a tech guy in the summer. I really don't want to write boring things... But I do feel an obligation to present a more honest view of my life, so I will try to place any future romantic episodes of my life, if any, within the context of my whole life as far as I am able. At the present time, the only way I see to do this is beginning to write creative pieces concerning my everyday life. Making them entertaining is going to be a mighty challenge.

Chapter 06 – Piece Six – Mission to the Lamp Black Stars

A Tuesday, Early September, Edinburgh

Moss messaged to give him a call when I had a minute, so at noon I picked up several egg rolls and found a park bench in the sun.

'Hey Moss, what's up?'

'Hello, Gallagher. Did I dream this, or did you mention playing a mission agent in Terratana Worlds Online?'

'Well, I may have.... but I'm trying to give it up. Part of getting serious about getting into grad school and all that...'

'Never mind about that now. The term will start soon enough. Give it up then. You're pretty good, right?'

'Well, I've been playing it for, what, almost eight years now... I think I know my way around The Terratana.'

'Don't be coy, Gallagher. What do you do, how do you rate?'

'Well, I'm a special mission agent of the Blue Tower – my home world in the local game – I have a 90A-SM skill rating in the online game, hold a master's star pilot ticket and own a customized tramp, plus a stealth ship and several smaller specialized flyers...'

'How did I know you were a hot ticket? Do you have your Daydreamer with you, or are you just writing physics and philosophy papers in your free time?'

'Well, you know, three weeks living out of a hotel can be a bit of a drag, especially on weekends...'

'So your game unit's on the desk next to your bed.'

'Aye. But just for the occasional quick break...'

'Great. What do you say to a raid on the Lamp Black Stars this weekend?'

'You're crazy. Those guys play for keeps, I'd lose my ship and my avatar, my online loot and my rating. I'm neither that good nor that crazy.'

'Come on Gallagher, there'll be no star roving for you soon enough. What do you care? You'll be all grown up by the time you can find the time to play again...'

'True. But still, you're crazy. I won't even ask how good you are, Moss. You can't be good enough. No, I've worked too hard – for the better part of my life – to lose The Desperate Lark in one reckless weekend... even if I intend to mothball it... Sorry.'

'What if I tell you that I'm offering probationary membership in a group of twelve hard bitten Terratanians, all who rate as high or higher than you in their special fields and who've raided the Lamp Black Stars eight times already? The last time we netted enough Lamp Black loot to sell at the auctions worlds of Cromitara and Fallone for almost £1,000 real world money. So what do you say? The Society pays for repairs to ships and equipment out of the loot before we divvy it up... Besides, what we need is your agent skills, not your precious ship.'

'You're kidding. I've heard of these things before, but I've never done anything but ad hoc raids and such...'

'This is the real goods, lad. It'll be an all-night mission. We've booked a room at the college with the fastest connection you can get. You'd have to get yourself down here though – we need to operate in the same room – remote coordination has too much lag... Can you swing it? You'll know some of the team already. It will be blast. Kate's going up to London, so it will be liberty hall all weekend.'

'I'm tempted. I've heard of this type of operation, but I really do need to work on my papers...'

'The operation's been in planning for a year. We need exactly twelve players to pull this off, and one of the Hunt is on his honeymoon, of all the irresponsible things to do! We can really use a player of your calibre, Gallagher. Don't let us down...'

'Well... I've kind'a promised myself...'

'I understand, Gallagher. I know it doesn't compare to spending a rainy weekend alone in an Edinburgh Hotel writing a research paper...'

'I'll be down Saturday morning...'

'Great. The walls have ears, so I won't go into details over the phone, but you won't regret it... Get sharp, Gallagher – we need you in top form, so start getting in shape now. Get to know a standard OSY -5 (Orbiting Ship Yard) blindfolded... I'll email you coordinates to meet my ship in the Cluster on Friday evening and I'll lead you to the mission's assembly point so we'll be set to go Saturday. Needless to say, no hint of this to anyone, the Terratana Cluster is riddled with Lamp Black spies...'

'Right.'

'See you in the Cluster on Friday then. Let me know your train. Maybe we can do some biking. See you in person on Saturday!'

I said goodbye. I took a bite of my egg roll and wondered just what the hell I had just volunteered for...

Saturday, Cambridge

At least I had an excuse to email Beri, if only to let her know that I'd be in Cambridge staying with Moss over the weekend – per our understanding. Since she might still be in the South of France through the weekend, and Kate would be out of town, my email was just a fishing expedition to see if it would elicit a response. It didn't. Beri doesn't do things in half measures. We'd broken up, and broken up we were.

It actually was raining in Edinburgh when my train pulled out of Waverley Station, but merely overcast in Cambridge, so after a quick lunch I rented a bike at a bike shop and Moss and I went for a ride.

'Don't worry too much about the mission, Gallagher...' Moss said as we rode along a country lane. 'These raids have gotten to be almost routine...'

'Right. Then why do you jump at every loud noise?' I replied.

He laughed. 'I'm just primed. The mission's a cert. We've spent years studying the Lamp Black Star Nebula. By the way, you're now a probationary member of the Quantum King's Hunt, but if anyone asks, it's the "Cavendish Chess Club". anyway, the nebula is not the impenetrable curtain it's made out to be. It's riddled with constantly shifting rifts and passages which are not a barrier for a determined gang of physicists, astronomers and software engineers thinking in twenty-four dimensions. We've reversed engineered the nebula's program and can track its randomness... It is, after all, only a computer program, nothing like real nature. We can, with a great degree of accuracy, predict where the passages will be at any given time and can walk into and out of the Lamp Black Stars at will.'

'That almost sounds like cheating...'

'Not at all. We've merely applied scientific method to studying the nebula, all from within the game, mind you. It's not like we hacked the game... Anyone could do it if they spent the months we've spent on the problem...

'Seeing that I'm going to be risking eight years of playing, I suppose I should not kick too much,' I said.

'No you shouldn't. But you worry needlessly. All we're going to do is hijack a shipyard, Kimson's World's orbiting shipyard to be exact. It is a standard OSY-5 with some security upgrades. A 90A-SM wouldn't break into a sweat breaching it and taking it down alone, much less with three other very talented agents. It'll be a piece of cake.'

'But if that's where they build their Black Star Alloy ships, it's the key to their success. Surely they'd have it heavily guarded!'

'Come on, Gallagher, they're would-be pirates not would-be industrialists. I realize you've not played with us before, but I assure you we don't take unnecessary risks. Over the last several years, we've slipped a whole fleet of stealth spy bots into the Lamp Black Stars – we know so much about them it's as if we're members of the League. Kimson's World's shipyard relies mostly on its secret location for security – it's guarded only by its standard issue AI. These people play pirates and rely on their nearly indestructible ships for their success – not their brains. We – that is to say you and your mates – should be able to compromise the shipyard AI and lift the hulls before they ever catch wind of it... After which the rest of us will just grab the hulls and skip back to the nebula and safety... But just to be on the safe side, we'll have a little feint going on the far side of the Black Star Nebula as well so even if they detect our raid, they're unlikely to respond to our raid with overwhelming force since most of their ships will be either raiding or tied up fighting our little feint... One of the ships going in will be my Kate's Folly, so believe me, we're not taking any unnecessary chances.'

'We're planning to steal an entire Black Star Alloy hull?' I exclaimed. These almost indestructible ships are central to the Lamp Black League's raiding success. The hulls are so rare outside the Lamp Black League that they can only be obtained in deals conducted outside the game and using real world money, well over £300 per hull, engines extra.

'You got it, only we're going to lift five of them – we'll bring in five salvage tugs that we'll attach to each of the hulls. None of the hulls have complete AI's installed yet, so we won't be fighting the ships themselves – they're just hulls. We just slip in, attach the salvage mules to the hulls and make off. We'll pilot all the salvage mules from the Kate's Folly, and can ditch the hulls should the chase get too hot. If we can get away with two or three of them, we'll be more than happy...

'If we can pull this off, how are you going to sell them – the Lamp Black League will certainly hear of it.'

'Don't intend to sell them. We're equipping the Quantum King's Hunt with Black Star Alloy ships. You'll get one too, your share of this raid, though probably not for a year.'

'But if you keep raiding them, they're sure to get wise... they can't be that dumb.'

'It'll be too late, Gallagher,' he laughed. 'You see; the raid is half a feint itself. The other half of the mission – your part as a member of the penetration team – is to install a ghost program in the shipyard's AI. This program will build one Black Star Alloy hull a month – off the AI's books and in the dark. The League will never realize that the shipyard is building our hulls, and it will even deliver the hull to a rift in the nebula for convenient pickup.'

'I can't believe you can do that! How can you build a hull without them noticing?'

'Your team leader, Mia, is our group's pet software engineer. She's a genius, Gallagher. She's designed a program that can be installed via the shipyard's AI which will build hulls for us without it ever showing up on the Kimson's World Shipyard's records. We've already tried this out on other shipyards. It works.'

'It almost sounds like you're hacking the game...'

'Maybe a greyish area. Don't know how her program works, so I can't say. But it can be justified since we're working within the game, and it could be done in real life seeing that the shipyard is totally robotic... The League just picks up their completed ships at the shipyard on a schedule. It's not like they're gaming shipbuilding... As I said, they're pirates, not manufacturers. Plus, we're all putting our precious avatar's asses on the line for this, so it's not like we're just sitting in our bedroom hacking. The long and short of it is that, if you guys don't blow it, you'll have a Black Alloy hull to fit out by the end of the year. Not shabby for a night's fun...'

Moss went on to describe all the work the Hunt put into the game and the mission – where they found the time for it, I don't know. But I suppose they didn't so much as play the game, as study it...

After we stopped at a pub for lunch and a pint, Moss turned to another subject.

'Kate tells me that Selina gave you the short and sharp the week after you were up.'

I glanced at him wondering where this was going. 'Yes and no. She feels that she has too much to do this term and I'm too far away.' I admitted cautiously. 'I'd be a distraction so she wants to put me, as she poetically said, in a box on the shelf for a while. We'll not communicate during term to give her time to adjust and settle in.'

'Kate also tells me that you and Selina had dinner the following weekend...'

'Ah, yes.'

'Doesn't sound like you're in the box.'

'A loop hole. I took our agreement to start when she arrives in Cambridge. We haven't communicated since then, though.'

'At the risk of telling tales out of school, Kate says that there are wheels within wheels, Selina and Kate have gotten to be best of pals over the past month... And since I expect to be a guide and mentor to Selina it would help me to know, well, what is what, so I can help you out, old chap.'

'Oh please, Moss!' I said, alarmed. 'Don't help me. Yes, look after Selina, see that she doesn't get too wrapped up in study and work to the exclusion of any social life. The reason she jumped at the chance Darneby offered was the friendly and social aspects of his program. Please make sure she's part of it. Don't take "no" for an answer. But for goodness sake, don't try to help me with Selina.'

'I'm wounded, Gallagher. You don't worry about Selina, we'll not let her be a stick in the mud. The Hot Club of the Cavendish will see to that... But I'll also look out for our interest old boy. Trust me...'

'Our interest?'

'I have my reputation as a fortune teller on the line here, lad. If I'm to protect my impeccable record, our kids have to be playing together on the beach ten years from now.'

'Oh, screw that, Moss. Leave it alone. Please. Beri can take care of herself, and the last thing I need is for her to get some crazy idea that I've talked you into acting as my sheepdog. She'd never tolerate that...' I said, or rather pleaded.

He grinned. 'Trust me, I'll be subtle...'

'How come I don't believe that? Please be so subtle that all you do is just leave everything alone. Seriously, Moss, I think everything will work out fine, left to run its course. I may know nothing about women, but I know what Beri was like during her last two years at Oxford, and I know just how much better I have it than all those other poor saps who chased her.'

'If you're broken up, you're hardly in the chase anymore, you know...'

'I believe I am. She feels we can't go on like we've been without putting our studies and careers at risk. I haven't a dozen older sisters like you, so I don't know just what it all means, but I still seem to be in the game. My take is that I'm in a box on the shelf not because we don't get along, but because we get along too well. I'd like to keep it that way. What else can I do?

'So I'm asking you, Moss, even knowing that you are an expert on these things, just let things alone. Please.'

He grinned. 'Don't worry, Gallagher.'

Lord, I do.

The Mission

The mission started with dinner at five in the dining room of Darwin College where I met the other members of the "Hunt". All are grad students who'd been conducting this type of operation in the online game for four or five years. I was cautioned this was a dark operation since there's no way of knowing everyone at the university who played the game and who they played for... They owe their success to keeping below the radar. Moss seems to be their general leader – his outgoing nature generally dominates a gathering of physics students, but Lewis Noste was the mission leader. After dinner we retired to our activity room and set up our gaming kit.

When we were ready, Noste gave his mission briefing. It took him an hour. I sat growing more and more alarmed. Not only did he cover every little detail and possible hitches, but he did it in the most round about fashion – never using one word when three would do. And he was the operational leader I'd be serving under! How we'd get everything done in the time we had to execute the mission, I didn't know. Yet no one else seemed alarmed, so I tried to quiet my misgivings and hope for the best. All I can say is that I pity all the poor students who will be sitting through his lectures in the decades to come. My heart goes out to them...

Once the briefing was over, we broke up into three smaller clusters of players representing the operational grouping of the raid and spent four hours carefully manoeuvring into position to launch the raid – working the various ships through the nebula guarding the Lamp Black Stars. I was one of the agents who would penetrate and take down the shipyard's defences. Dao Zhang Mia, the designer of our ghost software that would be installed in the shipyard's AI, was our leader. Ben Hudson and Sandy Brant were the other members of the team. We were mere passengers aboard Noste's (or Fiddler Green, the name he plays by in the game) ship, The Black Bird until we reached the ship yard – The Black Bird having adopted the ID profile of an expected freighter which the Hunt had previously delayed elsewhere in the Terratana. We would then disembark using stealth suits, penetrate the orbiting shipyard's automatic defences, and disable the security measures that protect the hulls. I've been doing this type of mission for years, and in more securely guarded places than shipyards, so I was not too daunted – only the fact that we were dealing with the League made the mission iffy. Even though we were merely passengers for the first four hours, we hadn't any free time. We donned our viewers and control gloves and spent the hours rehearsing our roles in the penetration – a virtual game within the game.

Afterwards we donned our avatars and met within the game. Mia recognized my avatar, Captain Kee, and I hers, Jasmine Night – we had played together several raids within the first year or two I had started playing. The residual trust that still clung to those long ago encounters went a long way into easing me into the team – and more importantly, into the trust of the team.

Just after midnight Fiddler Green eased The Black Bird in the guise of a robot freighter into the shipyard dock and it was time to go. A quick lav run for all and then my avatar donned his stealth suit and at the signal, Mia, Hudson, Sandy and I were off...

The operation took less than an hour, things went pretty much as planned – not too many alarms and panics – shipyard defences penetrated, and neutralized, plus an unexpected sixth hull with a complete AI which had to be neutralized as well, putting us behind schedule. Kate's Folly arrived and Hudson's avatar left to work the remotely controlled salvage mules, leaving Sandy and me to keep watch while Mia hacked the ghost program into the AI. Once that was accomplished, we jetted up and boarded Moss's Kate's Folly for the run home, each of us at the controls of a salvage tug and its attached hull, (The fifth one was locked to automatically shadow Kate's Folly). With The Black Star, Benson's Star Viper and Marconi's Quantum Dreaming as escorts, we hightailed it for the safety of the nebula. While the raid on Blue Cloud, the pleasure world of the Cluster, had created the planned diversion, the delay caused by the sixth hull allowed the League to react to our raid and we had four of the indestructible pirates hot on our tail us as we raced for the safety of the nebula, our five lifted hulls trailing behind. In the end we had to send two of the hulls – one of them being the one I was piloting shooting off towards a nearby star, forcing the pirates to choose between saving those hulls by chasing them down and capturing them with tractor beams, or continuing on in the hope of destroying our ships. The four Lamp Blackers cut their losses and slit their forces, sending two ships to save the two hulls, allowing us to ditch the two remaining pirates in the wilderness of the Lamp Black Nebula and bring out three hulls.

Even typing that last line gives me chills – it was far, far from a sure thing, and while it was only my avatar on the line, when you spend six hours behind your view glasses living the avatar – you can't readily tell where it and you leave off. But I will say this, however round about and indecisive Noste is in his speech, he acted in the game with amazing dispatch and decisiveness. We made it out only because he's a superb star ship pilot and a master tactician – sacrificing our two hulls only in the last critical moment. After reaching the safety of the nebula, we then spent the next two hours laying down one false trail after another, discarding one level of disguise and camouflage after another – a necessary precaution because if the League could identify you within the game, they'd make it their business to ambush you every time they found you in the game.

It was half-light by the time Moss and I made our way wearily back to his flat. Of course, once I was on the sofa I found I was still too wound up to sleep, no matter how tired I felt, and the day had long since dawned before I stopped replaying the events of the game and drifted off.

Sunday Cambridge

We were up by noon, sore and achy – they don't call it virtual reality for nothing. Made some coffee and had a bit of breakfast all the while reliving our mission to the Lamp Black Stars, tension gone, feeling only the elation of having done something rather amazing.

Kate called Moss about three o'clock, home from London.

'Kate, my love, so good to hear your sweet voice... No, my dear, I'm not hung over. We did have a rather late night... but we were just playing a game with a few of the guys... No, not at all. Why we never had more than a glass or two the whole weekend, did we Gallagher?'

'Sober as a judge the whole weekend, Kate,' I called out.

'No, I don't have a butter knife to his throat... Say Gallagher, when does your train leave?'

'7:47,' I replied.

'You're a dear Kate. I love you. We'll be over shortly. With bells on... Er, love, you are actually going to make something to eat this time, or should we stop and pick up a takeaway? Just asking... See you soon.'

He turned to me, 'Tea's on.'

As we were walking to Kate's flat, Moss said, 'I know this sounds paranoid, but we don't want word of our exploits getting out... So keep all talk causal... A friendly game with some of the guys – as few names as possible. The pirates of Boskone are our usual rivals... Best let me do most of the bragging...'

I gave him a sceptical look – but then, these guys are playing for higher stakes than I ever did. 'Right.'

Then we were at Kate's door.

'You're a feast for my lovelorn eyes, Kate, my love!' said Moss as she opened the door to our knock. He swept her into his arms and gave her a long kiss. 'It was such a weary, bleak life without you, my dear. Don't know how I ever survived.'

She laughed and pushed him tenderly away. 'Pull the other one, Phil.'

Moss muttered something like 'I intend to' under his smile as Kate turned to me, 'Hello Hugh, it is so good to see you again.'

I took her hand and gave her a cheery kiss on the cheek. 'It's great to see you again' Kate, and since Moss didn't mention it this time, you look dashing. Thanks for having me over.'

I didn't see her until I'd stepped inside and Kate had closed the door. Even my heart, usually such a reliable indicator, was caught napping. It just stopped, stunned before it leaped like an eager puppy.

She was standing on the other side of the small kitchen table before the doorway to the kitchenette, apron on and a pleased smile. 'Hello Gallagher. Two can play the surprise game.'

I skipped across the small sitting room and slipped around the table, took her hands lightly in mine and looked into her eyes. 'Hello, Miss Beri,' I said softly, gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek and stepped back a little, smiling.

'Don't be an ass, Gallagher,' she said and stepped closer and put her arms on my shoulder.

I just slipped my arms around her and drew her close and we kissed until she pushed me away, since I was content to make hay while the sun shown.

Somewhere Moss was saying, 'Would you look at that Kate – and just friends. I blush to think of what we would be witnessing if they were.... ouch.'

I stepped back so that I could look at her, holding one of her hands.

'This is a wonderful surprise. It never crossed my mind. I didn't expect you'd be up until tomorrow at the earliest,' I said. A stray thought did cross my mind, 'You did see my email about being here, didn't you?'

She may have blushed a little, 'Yes, Gallagher, I knew you were here. However, since Kate was in London for the weekend and I was eager to get to work – I found the south of France lovely but not conducive to mathematical speculation – we arranged to travel back together. So here I am.'

Despite the qualifiers, I felt grand.

'Do give me a chance to say hello, will you Gallagher? Hello, Selina. Welcome home,' Moss said with smile and a kiss. For all his nonsense, Moss knows just what to say, sometimes.

Beri smiled happily. 'Why, thank you, Phil. It is good to be home.'

'And you will be happy to know that your Gallagher here, proved his mettle last night in our Terratana game. A flawless performance. Nerves of steel. His looks belie his daring nature,' Moss said giving me a hearty slap on my back.

Beri raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'I must confess, I'm astounded. The only time I watched Gallagher play that Terratana game he ended up in a smoking pile of ash – and that in his own ruler's throne room...'

'No kidding! Why if I'd know that... In his own ruler's throne room, you say. How did you manage that Gallagher?'

I may have even blushed. 'I'm afraid the details of that affair are under seal and you'll have to wait fifty years after my death to discover the details...'

'Oh, I don't think I'll have to wait quite that long...' he replied with a wink at Beri and Kate. 'Nevertheless, we had fun this weekend, biking yesterday and playing Terratana worlds last night. I know you girls are dying to hear of your men's bravery and dash, but we can relate all over tea, can't we, my dear? I'm rather famished.'

'...so you see, we'd cut our margin of error to just about zero... All we could do is run for the safety of the nebula, and run as fast as we ever could. I overrode all the safety controls and pushed my dear Kate's Folly as fast as she ever has been pushed. We could do little to keep them at bay – we had to rely on our speed. I don't mind telling you it was touch and go... It was only my skill at evasion that kept us from being blown to atoms, wasn't it, Gallagher?'

'You were good, Moss. I don't believe I could have done better myself.'

'That remains to be seen. However, though outnumbered, we out manoeuvred them and reached our bolt hole in the nebula, their treasure safely in our hold... And, well, here we are today, your bold heroes, hail and hardy... a casket of Eritia diamonds richer.'

Coming from the kitchen Kate applauded. 'Oh my! You are so brave, Philip!' And she leaned over and gave Moss a mushy kiss. 'I am so glad you weren't blown to atoms and got out with all those Eritia diamonds! Can I have just one, my dear? Just a small one.'

'You can be as sarcastic as you wish, my love, as long as you kiss me like that!'

Dinner was ready and with that, conversation became general, lots of talk, catching up on everyone's doings from the sunny Mediterranean coast to the grey stones of Edinburgh, the weekend with friends and shopping, and the journey home. After we ate, we sat around the small sitting room talking until it was time for me to say goodbye and catch my train for Edinburgh.

Beri walked with me to the train station in the falling twilight, though not without Moss making a mock fuss about wanting to see me off at the station himself... How we all should go, 'it'd be so jolly...' He only relented after extracting a promise from Kate to make it worth his while to stay home. '...with a dish of ice cream or something...'

'I don't have any ice cream in the house....' said Kate.

'Then I'll just have to settle for something...'

'You'll have to settle for just the memory of me, if you don't watch out,' she replied.

'It was great to get together with Kate and Philip again,' I said as we walked towards the station. 'Just like old times.'

'We've only known them for a month,' said Beri, 'But, still, it was so nice to be all together again. I owe them a great deal already for all they've done to make my move to Cambridge easy.'

'You and I together seems like old times too,' I ventured.

To my surprise, she hooked her arm undermine. 'Yes, Gallagher. My life since I walked in on you has changed rather dramatically for the better.'

'Mine, too...'

'Still, I wouldn't want to give you the wrong idea. I'm quite fond of you. I'm comfortable with you. And if you don't let it go to your head, I'll admit that I missed you this past fortnight.'

'I certainly missed you...' I admitted.

'But nothing has changed. This was all just a whim of mine...'

'And a very nice one...'

'Quit flirting. My work begins tomorrow and I'm determined to focus on it from here on in.'

'But not to the exclusion of a social life as well,' I said giving her a stern look.

'Don't worry about me. I've learned my lessons, so you needn't say any more.'

'Okay, and don't worry about me either. We have our deal and I intend to live within it. I really can't kick. This – being with you now, having you as a friend and everything that's gone before – is far more than I ever thought possible.'

She gave me a measuring look. 'Just don't get carried away.'

'You keep saying that, but I can't help it when I'm with you.'

'Quit that, Gallagher. Just be a friend.'

'Right. I really can do that...' I said.

She gave me another long look, and she nodded. 'I hope so.'

So do I.

We then walked in companionable silence for a while before I decided I'd better prove I could be just a friend by asking her about her plans for moving in and settling down. And while we waited for the train we just talked physics shop talk – mostly about the cram physics course Beri was about to undertake with Moss, Noste and others in the next three weeks until the formal start of term. And then, all too soon, the train was whooshing to a stop a few meters away and I had to leave her.

We said our goodbyes. I kissed her, as a friend, and reluctantly climbed aboard the coach and found a seat to watch her on the platform until she slid out of view and the train carried me back to Edinburgh through the twilight of late summer.

Chapter 07 – Piece Seven – The Flat

I finished the project on schedule the following Friday and took the train to London on Saturday. Sunday I rode with Omar down to Oxford and spent the following week scraping, cleaning, painting and furnishing our flat.

We decided to move out of college and last spring found a large dormer flat located about 3 km from college. It was, however, only really affordable for four students not two. This was not an issue for O since his parents provide him with a very generous allowance, but it was for me. O offered to chip in three quarters of the rent, but I wasn't going to go along with that. In the end we decided to add a third roommate. O would take one bedroom and pay half the rent, I'd get a flat mate and we'd split the other half between us. We put the word out amongst our friends and Foggy Phelps, a serious, quiet, astronomy student expressed an interest, so we signed him on as our third flatmate.

The flat has a large front room used as a sitting/dining room plus a decent kitchen. It is a flat you can entertain in, which was its main appeal to O. You entered from the stairwell through a small foyer that opens to the long room stretching across the front of the house. A good sized kitchen borders the first half of the room with a breakfast bar divider, then a hallway leading to the lav and the two bedrooms in the back. Beyond the hallway door, the room continues for another three meters or so with an old fireplace converted to electricity on the outside wall. The room is lit by two large dormer windows, with the outside edge of the room sloping under the roof, making it cosy in O's words.

The flat was not (too) shabby. Quite suitable for students, but O does nothing in a minor way and had grand ideas for its renovation. O has a wide variety of friends with a wide variety of interests whom he can call on for any occasion. On this occasion he talked our two artist friends, Millie Rue and Chris Dolely Dolelan, into acting as our 'consulting interior designers.' Why he "hired" both I'm not quite sure, likely to avoid choosing one over the other. Early in September the three of them had begun planning the project. I was in Scotland at the time, but I gather the term 'hammer out' is an accurate description of the process. Millie is always cheerful and you'd have a hard time finding someone more quiet and mild mannered than Dolely, but when it comes to art, design and style they have opinions – strong ones – and when you toss in O who has opinions about everything as well, the process, I gather, involved a very lively exchange of views. Though I've become much more interested in the varied aspects of style since I've been at Oxford and met all sorts of people, I'm glad I missed those discussions, judging from the minor storms over minor issues throughout the renovation. I kept my head down, my opinions to myself, and kept painting.

Once the plan was agreed on and cleared with the landlord, work began. It involved painting all the walls and trim one shade of white or another, including all the kitchen cabinets inside and out. For me, the upside of all these white walls, is that you can project a screen on any wall from any place in the flat and get your work done from any chair in the flat. (You just have to dodge all the paintings...) We also had to rip out all the existing carpets and renew and then wash the underlying wood floors with white stain. In short, a week of hard work, backaches and bitching while camping out on inflated mattresses on the floor and eating take away.

Tuesday evening, three weeks ago

We were sitting around on the floor of our half-painted flat, eating Chinese take away and looking ahead to the next step in the process, furnishing the digs.

'You're out of your mind!'

'Quality Leather club chairs are not inexpensive, Giz.'

I gave Omar a hard look. I knew his opening figure for our furnishing budget was only meant to start the discussion at a price point high enough to allow him to graciously agree to a compromise and still not scrimp. But still.

He added, 'I'll pay half. Only fair. You know I've plenty of loose change to cover these expenses. Just relax and take advantage of my parents' generosity.'

'We've already agreed to split the furniture budget equally, O. And we don't need leather chairs. What do you say, Foggy?'

'Ah, as I understand O's idea,' began Foggy, 'we're looking to make the Sunday dinner something along the lines of a classical salon, so an abundance of comfortable furnishings would be desirable. I'm all for comfortable chairs and sofas and such. I like to sit down on softer things than the floor as much as anyone. However, I do think that we should remember that we are, after all mere students. Moreover, I should point out that some of our friends – and flat mates (with a glance at me) – entertain rather left wing views and might look askance at student digs looking like a St James Street club... All in all, I'd think most of our friends would feel more comfortable in a battered and wobbly chair from some second hand shop than a new leather one...'

'At a thousand quid apiece.' I added.

'Exactly,' said Foggy. 'And I agree with Giz that we should share and share alike for furnishings since we'll all be using them. Besides, that system makes for the most comfortable room mate relationship – neither Giz nor I care to feel like second class flatmates, or freeloaders. So, all in all, I believe Giz is right, your proposed budget is rather on the high side.' Foggy concluded.

'Really O,' I added. 'There are many times that I wonder how you can claim to be a Light-liver with a straight face.' I said, repeating his figure. 'That's a virtual orgy of consumption!'

'You wound me, comrade Giz. You know there's lot more to Light-living than mere anti-consumerism as the big box press would have us believe. It's all about the responsible use of resources, about buying locally produced products and supporting locally owned businesses whenever possible. Buying quality English crafted leather furniture that will last a lifetime – or more – is classic living light. Buying junky chairs churned out on the far side of the world which will fall apart and end up in pieces on the kerb when we move out in two years is not using resources wisely. My proposal, though initially expensive, is based squarely on classic Light-life doctrine.'

'It still looks like an orgy of consumption to me. But then you have always struck me more of, well, sort of a party boss type of Light-liver...'

'I know it's an excess Light-living fever that causes you to level these hurtful charges, Comrade Giz, so I shan't bother to continue this argument. Once you have mastered your hot temper we can discuss this further.'

'Oh cut the crap, O. I know you're just gaming our furnishing budget at a higher level than if we'd started with a figure I'd propose. What do you say Foggy? Come up with a figure you can readily afford. O knows quite well about what I'm willing to spend, so give us your honest figure and we'll work with that. And be sure to mentally include the inevitable cost overrun involved in projects like this when you state it.'

Foggy considered his budget.

'Seriously Giz, Foggy, I can cover our expenses and would be glad to do so. I, or rather, my folks, are not short of loot. And I'm serious about buying the type of furnishings that will last. Good quality is well worth it,' O said earnestly.

'I'll grant you that, but I'm sure we can do without leather... And Foggy's right about not being too pretentious. Matter of principle and all that. Besides I can't believe we'll have to compromise all that much if we stay within a budget the three of us can afford.'

'And what would that be?'

I looked to Foggy as I did the math in my head, subtracted 30% for the inevitable cost overrun and waited for Foggy's figure. I don't know Foggy's financial condition, but I didn't think he was as flush as O.

Foggy gave his figure with a bit of hemming and hawing, and since it was within my range, I seconded him.

Omar smiled. 'I guess we can scrape by with that, if we must.'

Damn. I mentally slashed the 30% contingency allowance I'd allowed to 15%.

O continued, 'Fortunately Dolely's extended family is in the home furnishing business, so he knows pieces, prices and manufacturers. He says we'll be able to get the family discounts as well.'

The weird thing is that after spending several evenings visiting the various shops of Dolely's relatives between Oxford and Northern London with our consulting interior decorators we ended up buying not leather club chairs but plastic chairs and tables... Or rather "resin" chairs and tables. However, despite being plastic, O assures me, that they're very Light-living. They're big pieces, solid, heavy and richly coloured. (We carried them up the two long flights of stairs, so I know for despite being light-living, they're not light.) They're made in the EU from recycled resin, and actually seem stylish with a futuristic flair, so that they might avoid being recycled again for several generations. We opted for a four-piece sectional and two club chairs just to make moving them up the stairs easier. One handy feature is that each piece or section has a cushion that can be taken off, unfolded and used on the floor as mattresses to accommodate overnight guests. Having opted for resin chairs it was decided to go all the way, adding two large resin coffee tables and several resin end tables as well. The neat thing about the coffee tables is that their legs can be extended to convert them into card tables allowing us to use them for our Sunday dinners without having to buy a separate table or two for that purpose.

In payment for Millie's and Dolely's design services, O offered our walls as an informal gallery which they and their friends could use to display their work. Seeing how O often has guests over and who they are, his boast that the future movers and shakers of Britain would be exposed to their work was not entirely B.S. Luckily Millie and Dolely are both very talented artists so that having their paintings and sculptures on our walls and around us is a definite plus. The agreement also gives them the right to bring around works from their friends which might be a bit iffy, but we'll just have to take the rough with the smooth.

Between the furniture, carpets, and art, the whole effect is eclectic and colourful with a definite modern edge to it. I could see it in a magazine, which is what our design committee was shooting for, I suppose. And amazingly enough, everyone remained friends throughout the process, though both Millie and Dolely claim that they'll never – ever – do interior design again because of all the stress in dealing with opinionated clients.

Foggy and I furnished our bedroom more simply, two futons on platforms with drawers underneath them and a long narrow table as a dresser/desk, all from the flat box big store.

'Well, Foggy, it's pretty sparse. Nothing here to embarrass a monk,' I said looking about our bright, but sparsely furnished room.

'True, Giz. And I can't help but find that a little sad. The monk part, you know.'

He was right.

I sighed. 'Damn.'

'Yah.'

The following Saturday

The weekend we were finishing up the painting – that is two weeks ago – I got a call from Moss.

'What are you doing next weekend?'

'I'll be working to finish up several papers. Why, what's up?'

'Next Saturday's the annual Cavendish Chess Club picnic, and as a member, you are, of course, invited.'

'The Cavendish Chess Club... I don't seem to recall becoming a member of that organization...'

'Don't be dense, Gallagher. You joined several weeks ago.'

'Ah...'

'Yes. The club pays for the whole binge out of our ill-gotten gains. We invite our friends and lovers along but the true nature of the club must remain a secret – you know why. You'll be along as a guest of mine since the chess club would have a hard time explain your membership. Some of us plan to bike out to the riverside park at St Neots. It's something like 25km – you can either rent a bike and ride out with us or catch a ride with the non-bikers... After the picnic the chess club members spend the evening and early morning hours playing chess, which is to say, duelling in Terratana worlds, so what do you say?'

I hesitated, thinking hard. 'Thanks for inviting me, it sounds like fun but...'

'If you're worried about breaking the terms of your parole, you needn't. Noste has already invited Beri and she begged off. She'll be in London all weekend.'

'Well, in that case, I think I can fit it in, but I'll need to head back as early as I can on Sunday. I really have to finish those papers...'

'A second point, are you up for some house guests next week?'

'Sure, I'd love to have you down. What's up?'

Bill Foster and I are planning a bike trip of a couple of days to clear our minds. I was thinking we could swing by Oxford, pay you a visit and if you could put us up for a night that'd be great.'

'Sounds great. When can I expect you?'

'We'd do the Cambridge to Oxford stretch on Monday next, stay overnight and then head out on Tuesday. Bring your bike along on Saturday and you can join us if you want.'

'I think I'll pass on that this time. Living my tinkerer's life this summer, I haven't been on my bike except for a few turns around town this whole summer...' We went on to sketch out a few plans and talk biking a bit.

'And by the way, Gallagher, have you been reading my emails?'

'You mean all those alarming emails about how friendly Noste is getting with Beri?'

'Noste's plainly smitten and between the Hot Club and Darneby's special project they're both on, he's going to have plenty of opportunities. Don't sell Noste short. He's a determined fellow.

'Thanks for your concern, and even more the fact that you're staying the hell out of it. Trust me, I've already kidded Selina about it and she's an old hand at keeping suitors at bay. At Oxford she was notorious for giving them the short and sharp if they dared more than a casual acquaintance. Noste doesn't worry me. Not her type, math and the fiddle playing notwithstanding. Besides even on my short acquaintance with Noste, I think it's unlikely that he'd be able to write and deliver a speech expressing, in exhausting detail, his multitude of emotions in anything short of a term or two...'

'Perhaps, but remember his Terratana avatar, Fiddler Green. You saw how fast he can think and act when needs to. I have to believe it's easier for Fiddler Green to play the pedantic professor than for a pedantic professor to play Fiddler Green. I'd not underestimate Noste, lad.'

'Well, I don't know Noste well enough to say one way or the other. What I can say is that if you want to stay in Beri's good graces, you just continue to stay out of it. And since I can't do anything from here in Oxford, I'll just have to trust my rather remarkable luck.'

'Well, you've been warned.'

'Yes, Moss I have. I'll email a confirmation of that if you'd like.'

Chapter 08 – Piece Eight – Two Weekends

Last Weekend in September

I enjoyed my visit to Cambridge. It was overcast, but did not rain, so the bike ride (on a rented bike) and picnic went off without a hitch. It was a much bigger gathering than I had expected. There were a lot of people I didn't know, and who didn't know me, but everyone was friendly. We played some football and I helped cook and we returned to Cambridge just ahead of nightfall.

As promised, most of the Hunt and a few other game players gathered in Moss's flat to play a series of duels in the Terratana Worlds game. The games we played were essentially capture the flag games between two teams or players involving dogfights between the two sides using a variety of star ship fighters. All the players earned points for their play either in individual matches or on teams and at the end of the night the top scorer was awarded some prize money from the Hunt's (or Chess Club's) treasury. The winner this year was the new research student from the States, Edward Simonette. Since we were both more or less outsiders in this group, we'd hung around together at the picnic and I'd gotten to know him somewhat – easy going, a quiet sense of humour, a good sport, who took kidding with easy grace. Though modest, he's an ace pilot, as I found out playing with him and against him. He ended up with the top score, I ended up near the bottom of the list, as all these guys are really, really, good. The usual champion, Lewis Noste, took giving up his crown to the Yank with rather poorly concealed ill humour, to which Simonette and the rest of us turned a blind eye. Seeing that Noste and Simonette are both working on the same project for Darneby, that might prove rather interesting, since I gather from Moss, that Noste rather put a lot of stock in his skill at flying fighters and has been known to hold grudges. Hopefully Beri will not have too much trouble keeping the boys in line and will not have to break up too many fist fights...

Anyway, for various reasons including not getting up till noon, I wasn't able to get a coach back to Oxford until 3:45, so my weekend was pretty shot for getting work done. No real surprise.

Moss and Foster arrived mid-afternoon on the next day. I showed them around my college and the Oxford physics facilities before restoring our tissues that evening with a meal and a night about. The following day I rode with them as far as Shipton under Wychwood where we had lunch and then I reluctantly (and achingly) turned back to Oxford and all the work I needed to complete. With most of the work on the flat done, and free of friends, I managed to buckle down and finish the last of my papers, working in the college Library to avoid further distractions.

First Weekend in October

This past weekend, the weekend everyone returned to start the new term, O organized a Saturday picnic on the river for our friends. Fourteen of us signed up for punts, and others said that they'd bike or stop by once we landed for lunch. O and Foggy had some food to buy and errands to run, so I arranged to meet them at the boat station and biked in by myself.

Parking my bike at my college and shouldering my knapsack, I walked across the way to the river and the boat station by the bridge. It was a bright, mellow early October Saturday morning and the shop was doing brisk business. I scanned the lively crowd for a familiar face and spied Alicia Blyss Charters sitting on a low retaining wall in the shade.

'Grand Morning isn't it, Ali?' I said sitting down next to her, breaking her daydreams and giving her a start. She's always so lost in thought that it's hard to say anything to her without seeing her jump. 'It's a marvellous day for a picnic on the river! So how was your vacation?'

She cast me a guarded glance – funny how all these girls give me such guarded glances. However, in Ali's case, it was thick lenses with heavy, dyary equipped, frames that guarded her eyes.

'Oh, hello, Giz. Hardly recognized you. You're not so shaggy any more. whatever could have brought that about?' she asked me archly, watching me closely.

'My employers promoted me and I had to look the part of a responsible adult,' I answered, readily enough. 'Pretty horrible all around. Still, I try not to brood on it too much. You on the other hand are looking quite dashing this fine morning...'

'Right. You're awful cheerful this morning.'

'And why shouldn't we be on a sunny morning in the full flood of our youth? Speaking of the full flood of youth, you're so tanned and fit – you must've spent the entire long vacation rambling, fishing, farming and what not.'

I've known Ali Charters the whole of my Oxford career. We'd been in the same orientation group, members of the same college, lived on the same stairs, and she's reading physics as well, and probably the most brilliant of our class, despite – or perhaps because – of her air of vagueness. Always lost in thought. Still, she's a farm girl, the rather late arriving only daughter of a big farmer down Somerset way who's raised her much like a son. She can fish, hike and drive a tractor with the best, though you'd never know to look at her save for her deep tan.

She cast me a suspicious glance. 'Did you have a glass or two of wine with your Wheetabixes this morning?'

'Is this any way to treat an old friend? What's wrong with being cheerful and complimentary?'

'You're being sarcastic.'

'Am not! You are looking exceptionally fine this morning.' I protested. 'Why you're even wearing a tailored jacket and I love your dusty fedora. And as I previously mentioned, you're looking ever so tanned and trim! Dashing I said, and dashing I'll stand by.'

She did look rather dashing, for Ali, anyway. She customarily dressed like an old maid of forty from a century ago, in mousey coloured tweeds, bulky sweaters, big thick glasses and hair pulled back into a bun. This morning she was still in tweeds, but of a bright russet colour, with a tailored jacket with a pale yellow blouse, complete with a nicely matching scarf around her neck and the fawn coloured fedora. True, her pleated skirt still went down to mid-calf, but most daring of all, she was wearing light tan shoes without socks!

I'm sure her tan hid a blush, 'If you're going to tease me like this, I'll go back to my rooms and change right now,' she said, making to rise.

'Oh, sit down. I won't say another nice thing to you, and forgive me for being in such a cheerful mood. It's just that...'

She cast a quick speculative look my way and waited.

'Well, I was meaning to thank you for talking me up when Selina Beri came around last term...'

'Ahh,' she said, with a faint smile and a "now we're getting to the point" look. 'Seeing that you were so gaga over her, I thought I might as well do my part, if only to see what you'd do when the impossible happened.'

'Er...' I'd mentioned that I thought Beri was a very pretty girl to O, only once, and never said again to anyone else... 'Well, perhaps, gaga is a bit strong. It was nice of you to be so helpful. And I'll have you know, everything worked out fine. Thanks...'

'Seeing that you were kissing her on the Broad the very next day, I'd say so. I rather think I'm owed more than a thank you. I should at least get to dine out on the strength of that kiss alone... But you're welcome.'

The term's just started but it seems the kiss is common knowledge in my small circle of friends. I'll admit, however, that I could do far worse than being famous for have kissed Selina Beri on the Broad. Far worse, indeed. But all things considered, it's probably fortunate that Beri's no longer at Oxford. For her, anyway. In any event, I'd my line down pat, 'Well, to be strictly honest, she was kissing me – and kissing me goodbye at that – no doubt in a moment of girlish excitement after having just completed her last exam and Oxford career and all that. I merely happened to be handy at that moment.'

She laughed softly. 'Funny, you being so handy.' And then with a careless glance my way, 'Even funnier you should still be handy a month later to spend a weekend with her in Cambridge...'

Now that staggered me. I stared at her trying to frame a reply. She just watched me from behind her thick glasses that did nothing to hide her amusement.

'Where did you hear that? Did that rat O squeal? Does he tell you everything?'

'It's a small world, Giz.' she said lightly, clearly enjoying my alarm. 'You really can't expect to go gallivanting around the countryside with the notorious Selina Beri and not be noticed.'

'I wasn't gallivanting around any countryside. Selina Beri is just a nice girl. And everything was above board. She asked me, as a friend, to explore Cambridge with her before an interview with a Cambridge fellowship committee. And that's exactly what I did, and that's all. Still, I've not told anyone but O about it, so O must have told you.'

'Omar said nothing about it to me.'

'Then how do you know about it?'

She gave me a sidelong glance, and I think, raised an inquiring eyebrow behind those thick glass frames. 'You first.'

I shrugged. No point in keeping it secret, since it wasn't, apparently, a secret. And I might as well get the real story out and have done with it, before it got distorted by ill-informed gossip, so I told her a bare bones account of my friendship with Selina Beri.

"She called you out of the blue?'

'Yes.'

She did the eyebrow thing again.

I shrugged. 'We got along quite well the evening you sent her my way... Oh, all right, I can't explain it either. But obviously she called. Give me a break, stranger things have happened...' That's just a wild guess.

I went on all the way to the finish of my story with our decision to cool things for a while to allow her to concentrate on her school work. She studied me for a while and shrugged.

'What was that shrug for?'

'I just decided to bite my tongue.'

'I'm sure I should really appreciate that, but since you're a friend I respect, speak your mind.' I was tempting fate, for despite that woolly-head gosh-awful air about her, Ali is a keen and wickedly witty observer of human follies. O's under the impression that it takes two glasses of wine to bring this trait out, (and it amuses him greatly when he's able to get her going) but I knew first hand that two glasses of wine weren't necessary. All you had to do was to say something especially stupid.

She shook her head no. 'Oh, no. You're all grown up, Giz. I have to assume you know what you're doing...'

She clearly didn't, but well, neither did I.

'Yah. Well, it doesn't matter at the moment, anyway. Now tell me, how'd you find out about Cambridge?'

'Fay Deerridge is my first cousin but we're more like sisters...' she said watching me.

Fay Deerridge... Fay... Ah, one of the 'lads' I met Saturday night when I went along with Moss to his college for that beer or two. 'She's one of Darneby's students, right?'

Ali nodded. 'Fay and I are very close and knowing that Beri came out of Oxford, she was curious to learn what I knew of her, especially since she was offered a Darneby Fellowship more or less out of hand. Fay also mentioned one Hugh Gallagher, a physics undergrad, also of Oxford, had accompanied her. Try as I might, I could come up with only one physics student named Hugh Gallagher. And as Sherlock Holmes pointed out, when you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains however improbable, must be the truth... Improbable rather than impossible only because you'd been seen kissing her on the Broad...'

'Good morning Miss Charters,' said Foggy Phelps approaching us. "Giz, could you ascertain if Miss Charters is still mad at me for getting her skirt wet last term? You may recall that last spring I slipped on a spot of mud on the river bank while trying to lend a hand to Miss Charters during the process of boarding our punt and fell into the river with a splash and, I fear, inadvertently got her skirt a little wet. She was reluctant to forgive me, last term.'

She gave him a sharp look, undiluted by the thick lenses it had to pass through.

Seeing that look, 'Perhaps I'd best sit over here,' he added making a wide circle around Ali and sitting on my far side.

'Hello Phelps. I'm not mad at you...'

'Excellent. Still, it's not that I don't trust you, my dear, but there's a certain glint in your beautiful eyes that says 'Foggy Beware. There's a river about.'

Ali shot him another sharp look – I can say that for certain because I heard it whizz by me – with that certain glint. 'You know perfectly well that I wasn't mad at you because you got my skirt wet when you fell into the river. I was – at the time – mad because you tried to drag me into the river with you – presumably as some sort of joke – and in doing so, knocked my slate out of my hand which ended up in the river with you. If Giz hadn't been able to recover the data, I'd likely still be mad at you, but I'm over it now...'

'You see, Giz, note her tone, note her words. Still mad. No forgiveness in her hard heart. My dear,' this to Ali as he peered around me. 'I keep trying to point out to you that you dropped your slate in your haste to escape getting a little wet...'

'You were trying to pull me in with you, Mr Archibald Phelps!'

'That's absurd, my dear Charters. Why on earth would I even think to pull you into the river? The very idea is absurd. It's not something a gentleman would ever think of doing. As I've explained on several previous occasions, I was merely trying to steady myself in that instant when my dry life hung in the balance. In shaking me loose in my time of trial and, indeed, as I remember it, actually pushing me away, you sent me to my watery fate. The fact that you lost your grip on your slate and it fell into the drink was an incidental result of your haste to abandon me to the river. The whole scene is etched in my memory, I assure you,' replied Foggy.

The funny thing is that I think he winked at me while he was saying this. I'm getting to know Foggy a lot better now that he's one of my flat mates and I wonder, just a little, if he really was trying to bring her along with him. He seems to have a very droll sense of humour which, given his rather nondescript character, is not at all obvious until you're around him awhile. So I couldn't quite rule out that he actually did intend to pull Ali along with him into the drink.

'Archibald Phelps, the scene is etched in my mind as well, and I saw that very thought cross your face. And I assure you only the sight of my slate landing in the water erased the great pleasure I would have gotten watching the water and weeds close over you. A damp skirt would have been a small price to pay for that pleasure.'

'If I'm found floating face down in the river today, be sure to remember this conversation Giz. And if you could somehow contrive to discover if her socks were wet, it might help see justice be done...'

'I'm not wearing socks,' Ali replied, lifting a leg and wiggling her foot.

'With malice aforethought...' muttered Foggy.

I'd witnessed variations of this scene several times last spring and I doubt there's really any venom in it. Foggy has doggedly wooed Ali since our arrival, with no obvious effect, nor any discernible prospect of success. I think it's just a game they play. Still, I was rather glad to see and call out to some newly arrived friends and shortly afterwards, Omar, who was cheerfully greeting everyone, kissing all the girls, boyfriends present or not, and then bustling about getting our expedition under way.

I should note in passing that O made every bit as much fuss over Ali as I did and she didn't accuse him of being sarcastic. I guess I'm just Dr. Frankenstein's monster...

Ali ended up in O's punt. Foggy, Millie Rue, whose boyfriend had gone down to London to work in the city, and my friend from my Chinese philosophy courses, William Liu Yung-ching, made up the passenger list of our punt. Wil took the pole since he was far more adept at punting than either me or (obviously) Foggy and, as he pointed out, all he needed was a cone shaped straw hat to complete the picture. We joined the convoy and proceeded slowly down the river in the shade of the overhanging trees until hunger forced us to land and picnic. Omar posted our location on our social page and other friends joined us throughout the afternoon.

With everyone just back from the long vacation, the gang had plenty of news to exchange and gossip to catch up on, so the afternoon fled by too quickly, cider, wine and ale flowing accompanied by a great deal of laughter. Later, the couples in the party borrowed the punts to 'explore the river more' while the rest of us lounged in the grass and bid the summer goodbye with talk, wine and dreaming.

I should note that our "gang" consisted of a loose cloud of perhaps two dozen friends, friends of friends and acquaintances. By "our" I mean essentially Omar's. As I have mentioned, O's a social creature who moves in many circles from the posh to the artsy, easily making friends and acquaintances in a wide range of social settings. Ali, Foggy and Wil are my good friends in the group, the people I hang out with outside of the group setting. While I always enjoy the company of O's closer friends, they tend to run a bit posher than I'm comfortable with alone, so I still rarely hang out with them without O.

As the shortening autumn day began to close in, we gathered our food baskets, bottles, and comrades and loaded them back into the punts for the journey home. I went back with Millie, Dolely and Ali. Ali wanted to pole, and I was content to let her. Millie and Dolely were rather mellow, and while I was quite moderate in my drinking, I was content to enjoy the silence and watch Ali standing in the stern, vaguely lit in the glowing gloom of the fading day, move the punt with great economy of movement and efficiency up the river.

I've always felt a vague guilt whenever I examined my friendship with Alicia Blyss Charters too closely. She's a good, unselfish and undemanding friend, pleasant, quiet company who is always ready to help with any physics questions that baffled me. However, even overlooking her choice to dress like a middle aged spinster straight out of fiction, there's always been, a certain air about her, a vagueness and a sort of gosh-awfulness that put me on guard. I suspect she's always thinking about physics, but you never know... So, try as I might, I found myself treating her with a certain tentativeness, afraid that if I should be too nice, too friendly she might misinterpret my feelings. And well, if it ever came to anything, how could I explain to her that I had this imaginary love, Selina Beri, that I preferred to her without hurting her feelings? Not, I must hasten to add, that she ever showed anything more than friendship towards me, nor would she have any reason to – I'm no girl's idea of a cute boy. (I can only hope Beri sees something she likes in the inner me, because there's nothing to get excited about on the exterior.) anyway, what I'm trying to say is that as I sat watching Ali slowly pushing us along against the shadows of the overarching trees, I felt that old barrier begin to evaporate. Even if Selina Beri was in Cambridge and we're not talking to each other, my schoolboy crush has become real enough for both Ali and me that I needn't fear making a fool of either Ali or me with my daydream romance.

There was only a ruddy glow in the west when we tied up at the boat station. O reminded everyone that we were holding a flat warming pot luck at our new flat the following Sunday afternoon, everyone invited. O would put up a page on The Social so people could sign up and see who was planning to come and what they were bringing.

That was the original plan, anyway. Sunday dawned cold and rainy, and by mid-morning O was restless, so he hauled out his watson and called everyone inviting them to come on over now, bring their left overs from the picnic and we'd have the pot luck open house this week instead. And because it was cold and rainy, it seemed like just about everyone decided that it was a pretty good idea so we had an impromptu flat warming party which turned out to be quite a success, plenty of food and a room filled with friends. To be on the safe side and social side, we invited our neighbours from the building, the four girls on the first floor and the two couples on the ground floor to join us as well, and they drifted up and stayed, so everyone was happy. With the term starting the next day, we got everyone out the door by eight, and everything cleaned up by ten.

The pot luck part worked so well that for the last several days now, we've been discussing the possibility of going with a pot luck every week. We'd still prepare a main course, but the additional food and drink our guests brought with them, insuring that no one would go away hungry no matter how many would show up. Realistically, everybody has lots of work, study and things to do during the term so that on most Sunday evenings, I doubt that we'd see any more guests than we would if we actually invited people. The advantage is that we'd not have to choose who to invite (and who not to) each week – they could come (or not) according to their schedule, their connivance or who else is coming. We're going to try it this week and we'll see how it works out...

Well, this is getting too long, and I've run out of even boring things to say. And I've got a lot of studying to do...

Chapter 09 – Piece Nine – Ali

It was Monday evening on the first day of classes when I spied Alicia B Charters, dressed in her customary browns and tweedy russets, walking ahead of me in the twilight towards the college library where we'd agreed to meet each weekday evening to study together. This was a key feature of my new study program designed to get me up to speed and up to the level I'd need get into a PhD program. The other part of this program saw my Daydreamer consigned to the top shelf of the closet, the worlds of the Terratana were lost to me, at least until the holidays. I was determined to get serious this term, and so I hurried to catch up with Ali.

'Good evening to you, Ali,' I said, falling in step beside her – breaking her daydreams and giving her a start. As usual.

'Sorry, Ali. But isn't it a marvellous evening?'

She cast me one of her guarded glances. 'Oh, hello, Gallagher. You're awful cheerful. Again.'

'Well, it is great to be back and I'm ready and eager to get studying,' I replied. 'So why shouldn't we be cheerful on this wonderful Oxford evening in...'

'...In the full flood of our youth. Yes, I know,' She said, and with a shake of her head mumbled something that sounded like, 'A fool in love.'

'A fool?' I asked, adding, 'Perhaps. But what can I do? It's your burden in life to steer ol'Hugh Gallagher safely through Oxford. And since I'm just a naive geek in matters of the heart, you're more or less obliged to steer me clear of the reefs of heartbreak and such as well. Noblesse oblige and all that.'

She gave me a long glance. 'Seriously, do I look like a girl who knows anything about love and romance? And, in any event, I rather doubt you'd care to hear my opinion. You're on your own in this one, Hugh Gallagher.'

'This from the girl who came running to me with a waterlogged slate?' I asked.

'Yes.' she replied without hesitation.

As I've mentioned, I've rather kept my distance from Ali in personal matters, but I've come to realize some of her hidden depths. And despite her vague air of dreamy daze and dressing like a middle aged spinster, I suspect she knows far more about just about everything than I do. Including love and romance.

'I'm hurt,' I sighed, and watching her closely, asked teasingly, though I was being safe too, 'You wouldn't be jealous, would you?'

She just sighed. 'No, Gallagher, I must admit I'm not. You've failed to enthral me with all your boyish charm. Nor did resurrecting my slate do it either.'

'Still, you've been a great pal, Ali. And since I sort of liked Selina Beri right from the beginning, it's just as well... Not that I ever thought you had any romantic interest in me, but I was sort of afraid that if I was too friendly, well, I might give you the wrong idea...' I rambled on, trying to find a way to end it.

'What I guess I'm trying to do is apologize for perhaps not returning your friendship in quite full measure. I hope you'll forgive me and we can go on from here being the best of friends...'

'Oh my, Gallagher! Have you just dumped me?' she exclaimed satirically. 'Oh, my, oh my. Hopefully I'll be able to get over it, someday...'.

I gave her a hard look in the twilight.

'Seriously, Ali. I just want to start fresh with our friendship. It has bothered me that I couldn't feel comfortable with you in some areas, and I want to change that. Really, Ali, I... If...'

'Never mind, Giz. I'm being sarcastic, though you deserve it. We've been friends and nothing more. That's all I want. You're nice, if needy, but I'm not in the market for a man at the moment. I want a career out of uni not a husband. Nothing has changed.'

'But it has for me. Getting to know Selina Beri means that she's no longer just a schoolboy dream now...'

'Really?' asked Ali.

'Well, yes, in a way. Now at least I can say she's a friend, and well, I've some reasons to hope for more...'

'Really?' she asked again, giving me a hard look. 'I thought you were broken up...'

'Only sort of. We both need to concentrate on our studies, and being so far apart, trying to keep up some sort of relationship would put a strain on everything,' I explained. 'You do see how it makes sense, don't you?'

'Oh, I see how it makes sense, all right. But maybe not the way you're seeing it,' she replied. 'You've been dumped.'

We'd reached the library steps by now, so looking around, I spied a bench and said, 'Let's sit and talk a bit, Ali. I know you've more to say on the matter than just that. I could tell you bit your tongue the other day. And you see I'm not all upset, or anything. I do want to hear your take. I want your advice, and don't tell me again I'm on my own. I know you've an opinion, so out with it. You'll never forgive yourself if you don't at least tell me what sort of fool I am.'

'Perhaps not. But you won't want to hear my opinion.'

'I do, even though I know it isn't going to be one I'm going to like. But I do know I need some balance, and you'll provide it. You've a head on your shoulders and I know you see a lot more than you let on to... Besides, you're dying to tell me anyway. Now that I'm asking for your advice, I can't get mad if I don't like it.'

She sighed. 'You're right. Let's get this out of the way now. Then we can get down to the important things, like our studies,' she said as we walked over to the bench along the walkway.

'So you think I'm a fool?' I asked.

'You know Beri better than I do. I know her mostly by gossip. But based on that gossip, I must say I think you're fooling yourself. She's out of your league.'

'Well, maybe...'

'No maybes about it. And it looks to me that she was just using you. And now that she doesn't need you, she's dumped you, as she has many other fellows. Indeed, it would seem that she's actually dumped you twice already. One after your night together...'

'It was just an evening and we only talked...' More or less.

'Oh, I believe you, Gallagher. I know you. I'm certain all you did was talk, if only because she was just using you for your dyary expertise.'

'She doesn't need me and anyway, she's different now...'

'So you say. And maybe you're right, seeing that she relented after that first time. Or perhaps, you're different from the rest of her would-be suitors. But nevertheless I'd argue that she was merely using you for her own purposes, your expertise in dyaries, and someone to hold her hand in Cambridge. I suspect that having rather neglected her old friends, she would've felt uncomfortable calling on them and you were handy and biddable,' she paused and added, 'Had enough yet?'

'No,' I said defiantly. 'This is exactly what I want. A cool, detached view.'

She sighed, 'What more can I say? If you're willing to go on believing there's more than utility in your relationship, there's not much more I can say.'

'She says she's not ready for another serious relationship,' I said, 'And as I said, she's very concerned about settling in and making a success of her fellowship. She feels she has so much physics to learn to be useful. So you see, there are good – easily understandable – reasons for her actions too.'

'Perhaps. But there are phone calls, texts and emails that would allow you to keep in touch without too much disruption in her life, if she really wanted you in it.'

'She doesn't want any distractions. And she wants to start fresh...' I said, rather defensively. It did actually sound pretty thin saying it out loud.

'Well then, how do you explain your charm, Gallagher? How are you different than all the rest?'

I thought for a moment, 'I think I'm different because I did just let her go, and was still there when she needed me. I think she knows I'm hers, loyal, loving and trustworthy – kind'a like a pet dog, I suppose. But that also means she can just be herself around me since there's no passion on her part. On my sunny days, I can kid myself into believing that she thinks that some day she could come to love me, but not too soon...'

'And on the darkest days?'

'On the darkest days, I realize that I can never actually picture Selina and myself together in the real world. As you say, she's out of my class in half a dozen categories. Our worlds are very different. And really, looking ahead, I can never place her and myself in the same city for the foreseeable future. So, Ali, assuming I'm more right about her than you are, is there any hope for me?'

She shrugged. 'I should tell you, no. But I won't. If only because I don't have first-hand experience in matters of the heart, so I can't speak from any authority. However, I've read a lot of a romance novels and in them things always seem to work out at the end. So it'd seem anything is possible, even you and Selina Beri...'

'You read romance novels?'

'Don't you say another word,' she snapped. 'And promise me you'll never say a word about that to anyone else either. I don't want this getting around – it's all I need is another reason to be dismissed as some sort of woolly brained fluff...'

I grinned.

'Promise me Gallagher or I'll...

I put my arm around her and pulled her close – which startled her, of course.

'I'm sorry Ali,' I said, 'I'm not laughing at you or your romance books. It's just that you always struck me as the type of girl who, well, seemed most likely to read romances. It's rather nice to know I had you correctly pegged as a romantic creature...'

'I'm hardly a romantic creature, Gallagher. I swear all the worst traits of Omar Singe have rubbed off on you...'

'Well, those of us who know you would never confuse you with some woolly brained fluff...'

'And cut the flattery. I want your promise this goes no further.'

'Of course. I promise. So you read romance novels, the ones with half naked people on the covers?'

She sighed. 'I read all sorts, from the classics to the latest eBook lists – but mostly during my holidays. I've too much work to waste time reading such trash during term...'

'But you do read them...'

'Just like you guys read comic books. They're silly, stupid, trashy, but addicting...' she shook her head. 'And I tear through them...old ones, new ones, trashy, stupid, silly... read them all...' She glanced across to me.

I was grinning.

'You're a romantic creature, Ali. And so with your vast knowledge of affairs of the heart, may I engage you my as consulting romantic? Someone who will give me a girl's insight into what's going on?'

She gave me a look, but then shrugged, 'As far as I can see, Gallagher, nothing's going on. But, well, I suppose I'll take your case, if only out of curiosity. It'll be like a rather lame book... Though I'll offer no guarantees. You're likely to be hurt, I fear. And, if I were you, I'd certainly question the transmitted wisdom I've acquired from reading a thousand trashy novels. So never forget all these words of advice come from trashy fiction, not real life. Take it with a great deal of salt.'

'Well, it's still better that what I have to work with. So let's give it a try. What do your trashy romance novels suggest is going on here?'

She considered me for a moment. 'Well, first, I believe it is my duty to remind you that mathematicians, as a class, are rather notorious for their propensity to go around the bend... And if Selina Beri has any romantic interest in you at all, it's a possibility that must be considered...'

I laughed. That's Ali with her talons bared. And it didn't take two glasses of wine.

'Then perhaps she is recovering her wits. But from your reading?'

She closed her eyes as if examining her unseen library. 'From what I can recall at the moment, I'd say that you're lucky she didn't send you off to Australia to earn your fortune in the gold fields or the opal mines. I seem to recall it being quite popular in one age for the heroine to send her lover over the seas to earn his fortune and win her hand. However, making you stay in Oxford and study, can perhaps be viewed in a similar light. It keeps you out of her hair while at the same time looks to making your fortune.'

'In physics? Right. So what should I do?'

'You need to study, Gallagher harder than you ever have, and try to be worthy of her.'

'Hmm... That sounds more like Ali B Chambers than a trashy romance novel, but well, I guess that's why I'm sitting with you now, isn't it? I was sort of hoping for some, well, more romantic ideas...'

'As you have pointed out, you're broken up, so I don't see anything you can do now with romantic ideas. Indeed, I'd simply suggest that you stick with your determination to honour the terms of your agreement, at least for this first term,' she said. 'I'm serious. You don't want to go back to your lover without making your fortune, or its equivalent in your case. I'm certain of that. She's going places, and you'll have trouble keeping up if you don't work twice as hard as you have been.'

I nodded. 'True enough, I suppose. But consult your library and see what other ideas you can come up with for me after this term ends.'

'When I've the time. I'm sure you know I hope things work out for you...'

'For Beri and me?'

She shrugged. 'I don't really have anything against Beri, except her reputation. Still, I think you'd best proceed with modest expectations and with your eyes wide open. You seem to understand that, on some level, and then just ignore it. My personal advice is simply, Don't. Be honest with yourself and face the facts. You know them. Now I believe we're here to study together. I think we should start.'

'Of course. Thanks Ali. I guess we'd best be going in and getting to work. I looking forward to tackling the advanced mathematics I need to get into grad school.'

She gave me a piercing appraisal. 'I had not realized that the kiss of a mathematician was like the bite of a vampire.'

I laughed. 'I wish! Then I'd be a mathematician and would have no need to spend long evenings in the library studying mathematics, a thing that I do not seem to have any intuitive feel for.'

'We'll find a way...' she said, getting up. 'Let's start.'

As we headed for the library I asked, 'Say, Ali, if you have time, maybe you can make up a reading list from your collection of romance novels that I can study from...'

She gave me a look that cut clear through her thick glasses, 'If you want to study in that big spooky library all by yourself, just keep it up...'

Chapter 10 – Piece Ten – Romance in the Air

Things have worked out well in our new digs. Foggy is easy to get along with and after the last two years I'm used to O's social whirl. Since I'm not actually around on week nights, and Foggy does a great deal of studying in the evening as well, O mostly has our digs to himself and his friends on the weekday evenings, so everyone's happy. O and I do most of the cooking – making meals three or four times a week – and Foggy's not a fussy eater, and doesn't mind clean up, so all in all, we're a pretty happy little clan.

The Sunday evening gathering seems to be working out fine as well. We usually have perhaps a dozen people stopping by each Sunday. At O's insistence, Ali has been named as our official hostess, and our closest friends, Millie, Wil and Dolely are regulars, and most of O's other friends and acquaintances have stopped by once or twice as well. Some only stay for an hour or two to eat, while others stay and talk until we turn them out at 10:00. Everyone brings something to eat or drink, save the odd new friend that O brings around to introduce to the gang. Some of these new friends are invited back, while others we decide don't quite fit. O brings all kinds. As I may have mentioned, he has a steady eye on the future and is leaving no stone unturned in order to make the contacts now that may, someday, in the future prove useful which means some of the people who he brings around are not a very comfortable fit, even in our rather eclectic group.

One aspect of the Sunday gathering that I've been enjoying is studying our version of the eternal triangle, Ali, O and Foggy. Our quiet, oft times fuzzy and old maid-ish Ali seems to be catnip to both O and Foggy. Foggy makes no bones about wooing Ali, though the more I know Foggy, the more I believe he's just teasing her rather than any serious effort. Even Foggy, I think, realizes that dragging her into the river is not the way to woo a girl.

As for O, well, he's teasing too, but perhaps with a more serious purpose. He seems to find something in Ali fascinating. Which is, in a way, rather curious. O never lacks for pretty girls to pal around with, so Ali, who seems indifferent to the need to look pretty, is, as I say, a curious choice for O to expend his charm on. And he does turn the charm on full force when around Ali. He still pals around with a lot of very pretty girls, as he's always done, but unless I've missed something, it's more pals than around, especially considering he has our bachelor pad to himself many evenings.

Of course all that could be simply my imagination. I still have a touch of whatever it was in the air this last summer that brought Selina and me together. And yet, it was O who insisted that Ali be installed as our official hostess, under the pretext that as three inept bachelors, we're not capable of looking after the social niceties of our Sunday evening pot luck. Pure B.S., as there aren't many niceties to look after – guests bring food or wine and everyone just settles comfortably in to eat and talk. (Though that might, on examination, perhaps prove O's point, now that I think about it.) At any rate, Ali sees that everything is a bit more organized – we have proper places to eat with silverware and everything.

And our rather shy, fluffy and very serious Ali, who I'm certain would have told me to soak my head if I had asked her to look after us, had readily accepted the role when approached by O and plays it quite well, in her own quiet way. And though I can't say for certain that she dresses differently than she always has, her tweeds and jumpers seem, well, better tailored when she knows she'll be around O. I can't say she goes any further than looking slightly more fashionably spinsterish to please him. And it still takes two glasses of wine to get her sharp wit going on one subject or another, but that, too, may be a game, since, as I mentioned, it doesn't take two glasses of wine. All this could be a product of my imagination, and probably is, but it's making for an interesting term.

I did get in trouble last week with Ali, luckily after all our guests had gone. We were washing up in the kitchen and thinking that we were alone, I asked, kiddingly, if she had time to do the research in her romance collection on my problem. Unfortunately, O happened to have just arrived with more dishes...

'Ah, a fellow romance novel fan!' exclaimed a beaming O. 'Why you have such deep and hidden depths, my dear Ali.'

Ali exploded with an angry 'Gallagher, you promised!' and a deep blush.

My 'Oops! Sorry.' didn't seem to settle her down and by that time, it was too late.

'Not another word out of you Omar Singe,' she shot back at him.

'But my dear, we're kindred spirits,' protested O. 'Why I've read hundreds and hundreds of romances, historical, and modern, every one of Georgette Heyer's and Susan Carroll, Ida Pollock.... (and he went on and on, naming names. He could have been making up them up as he went along, as far as I knew, but a glance at Ali proved she was following him with a rather wide-eyed look.) .... I think my favourite writer of them all is Rosie M Banks... Her "A Red, Red Summer Rose," and a "A Kiss at Twilight" are my absolute favourites. But here I am going on and on. Who are your favourites, my dear Miss Chambers?'

His dear Miss Chambers turned to me. 'You told him!' she accused. 'You promised.'

'Giz didn't tell me anything. I know them all. Just quiz me on any...' O assured her.

'I don't believe it,' Ali said. 'You're just teasing me again.'

'Well, I can't have you thinking poor Giz here is a poltroon or that I'm a liar, so I'll explain why I happen to be so familiar with that, and indeed, any genre,' O replied. 'I can only say that I've not made anything of this talent of mine because I dislike tooting my own horn...'

At this point, Foggy, who had drifted in, drinking a cup of tea, seemed to choke and spray the contents about and started coughing...

O stopped to glare at him.

'Sorry, sorry. Go on, O, we're dying to know what you haven't tooted your own horn about...' said Foggy when he could get a word out, adding to me, 'He's such a modest fellow...'

'As I was about to say,' continued O, haughtily, 'I was born with, well, a sort of a savant ability to read. I was reading by the age of three and by six, I was able to read anything and everything, and spent many long hours doing so.

'As you know, my parents are in the diplomatic service, and they took me with them on their various assignments. This often meant that I spent a great deal of my time growing up confined to various embassies and diplomatic compounds. I was privately tutored, but I was often forced by the circumstances of my parent's deployment to spend most of my day alone, since they were not stationed in countries and cities that I could freely roam about and there were few children that I could associate with in these compounds. The result was that being able to read at an adult level, and having days on end to read, I read constantly, and I read everything. I certainly didn't understand everything I read, indeed, probably very little of it, at least in the way an adult would,' he laughed, adding, 'I will sometimes come across a book I read in my youth, and reading it now, be amazed at how weirdly different the story reads today.

'Anyway, at my tender age, I was not a discerning reader – the gaudier the cover, the more attractive it was to me back then, so I can't claim to have confined my reading to the immortal classics. Many of the embassies still had paper libraries back then, and my parents subscribed to several eBook lending libraries, so I was never at a loss for something – anything – to read... And so to cut a long story short so as not to bore you...' he paused to glare at Foggy, who seemed, once more, to be having trouble with his tea...

'I continued to read today, every night and whenever I have down time. And I still read anything and everything I can find, good and bad. I haven't lost my fascination with words and how they're put together. So you see, I actually have read all those authors and those books. And I'd be delighted to discuss them with you, my dear Ali. You do believe me, don't you?'

Ali gave him some sort of stare, hard to read through her thick glasses from where I was standing. "Perhaps, with serious reservations."

O, however, took it as a yes.

'We must start a book club. A romance book of the week club! Choose a book, old or new, and we'll read or re-read it and we can discuss its finer points each Sunday,' he said with growing excitement, and seeing her with less than growing excitement, added, 'We can discuss the book before the gang arrives, if you wish to keep your guilty secret, secret... Our lips are sealed, aren't they, mates?'

'Of course,' I said.

'Well...' said Foggy, adding a hasty, 'Why yes, of course,' as he leaped backwards to avoid Ali's lunge with outstretched arms in a, hopefully, playful attempt to strangle him.

'I have my studies,' replied Ali as Foggy prudently retreated to the far side of the breakfast bar. 'I don't have time to read in term. It is something I do on holiday to clear my mind...'

'Oh, one small book wouldn't hurt your studies one bit. And as you say, it would clear your mind. We both certainly can fit one romance book in each week, and think of our glorious discussions... Lord Bletchmore's awakening social conscious in "Only a Factory Girl" and so many more wonderful stories of love triumphant.'

She gave him another look. 'I need to be going.'

'Right. Let me get my coat and drive you home,' he said turning for the door.

'That isn't necessary.'

'Yes it is,' he replied, donning his coat. 'It's late, and as you'll recall, I always drive you home.'

He drove her home.

This past Sunday, as we got ready for the potluck, they were carrying on a discussion about whether some Lord Reginald deserved the love of sweet Ida... I didn't pay any attention, so I don't know if he did or didn't.

All in all, an interesting term, so far.

Chapter 11 – Piece Eleven – Ghosts in the Dyary

Be careful what you wish for. Wishes occasionally come true. I know. I've had several come true.

Lately I'd been wishing I had more interesting things to write about than my current life, of attending Q & A sessions, labs, viewing lectures, researching and writing papers while spending hours studying in the library with only a daily bike ride and several hours each day to eat and hang out with friends.

It seems my wish was granted. I've something more than the commonplace to write about. But it's something on the quantum edge of where the occult and theoretical physics seem to merge. I hesitate even to set it down since I promised Ali I'd tell no one. But no one will read this, and with no definite ending, it just hangs fire like so many things in life. Fits right into the rambling nature of this work.

A Monday Evening in Mid-November

I caught sight of the time on my watson, past ten and we'd not taken our break. Usually I'm bugging Ali not long after nine. Must be getting the hang of this studying thing.

I texted Ali, 'hot cocoa?'

She was sitting beside me in the next study cube over, but I'd long since learned that if I reached over to tap her on the shoulder she'd start and maybe yelp as well. Texting her was safer.

She didn't look up but held up two fingers.

Good enough. I turned back to my desk's cube enclosure to pack my watson and input-slate in my knapsack and waited for her to finish her work. I pushed my chair back and looked around the college library. Every book in the building was accessible digitally via our watsons, but I had to admit that the physical presence of the rows and rows of books provided a quiet, studious ambience and very few distractions...

We're regulars now, these two study desks are recognized by our fellow regulars as ours. Only the occasional "casual" would dare to take our places on weekday evenings. Using the watson's pico projector, I'd been viewing a recorded extra-curricular mathematics lecture and its associated Q & A session projected on the white wall of my cubical enclosure, listening with my earphones and taking notes and analysing the formulas on my input-slate.

Allie introduced me to a wonderful app called "FormulaFlowLogic". It takes any mathematical formula and constructs a flow chart graphically detailing each logical step in words and diagrams in the formula. Standard physics formulas are already programmed in, but new factors, variables, constants and such can be described and introduced to its mathematical vocabulary if needed. I've found it a great way to understand the underlying logic behind the maths by plugging each formula I run across into the app and studying the flow chart it generates – each element can be clicked on to expand the explanation and the chart provides a wealth of visual clues as to how the elements worked together. I find this very helpful since it speaks to me as a programmer. Ali said I should just use it as an aid, but I use it as a translator, having no great hope, or truth be told, any great desire to think purely mathematically. These days I use it constantly when I'm reading in my field, inputting each formula as I come across it and find it makes understanding far easier for me. It also means that I don't have to bug Ali for explanations (as much). It doesn't, however, make you mathematically articulate, and seeing that mathematics is the language of physics, it is still a crutch that I will have to fling off, sooner or later. Maybe.

Ali packed her gear and we headed out of the library into the cool, black autumn night. She seemed even more preoccupied than usual, so I just tagged along silently. I thought we were going to the Old Kitchen Bar for our usual cup of hot cocoa, but instead I found myself following her to the steps of a familiar staircase.

'Are you forgetting I'm here?' I asked her.

She turned to me 'No. I want...' almost inaudibly and then trailing off into silence. She stood indecisively at the steps. Very much, unlike her.

I waited, watching her in the dim light with growing apprehension. 'Is everything okay?'

She shook her head 'no', but said, 'I don't know. I want to show you something. This is just between you and me. No one else must know...'

'Of course, anything I can do...'

'Oh, just come up and I'm make hot cocoa. It's nothing important, really...'

We went up the stairs to her room. She unlocked the door and turned on a light. I followed her into her familiar college quarters. She absently took off her coat and made a vague gesture that I was to make myself at home. I swung my knapsack into the corner by the door, unbuttoned my jacket and settling on the arm of the chair, watched her go about the process of making hot cocoa, filling the electric kettle from the bathroom tap, selecting two mugs from the top of the bookshelf and measuring the cocoa mix from the canister into each. For all the attention she paid me, it seemed that she'd completely forgotten me, save the two mugs. I didn't know what to make of this, or of her. Ali, despite her rather woolly abstracted air, is usually the most level-headed person I know. She seemed quite distracted.

As the water heated in the electric kettle she turned to me. 'This is just between us.'

'Yes, you told me that already.'

'I want your promise, Giz. Everyone thinks I'm strange as it is. I don't want this bandied about...'

'Everybody doesn't think you're strange, Ali. All of us reading physics know you're the most brilliant scholar in our class and all our friends like and accept you – I've never heard a catty word about you. And you can trust me, I owe you so much.'

She gave me as sharp a glance as she could through her thick glasses and snapped, 'I want your word. And don't think I didn't catch that 'everybody doesn't' hedge either. Promise to say nothing about what I'm about to show you. Not to anyone. Not to Omar or Foggy. Do you understand? No one.'

'I promise. My lips are sealed,' I said throwing up my arms. 'So what is it?'

She gave me another hard look and turned away to watch the kettle on the bookshelf.

Well, talk is cheap, and I could tell she was really upset, so I stood up, stepped behind her and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close.

'I don't know what's wrong, Ali,' I said quietly. 'But you can count on me to do everything I can to help.'

She said nothing, but neither did she start or struggle to get away, so I just held her.

After a while, she said quietly, 'Sorry about the drama. Either I'm losing my mind, seeing things or I've come across something very strange. In any case, I don't want it bandied about. I realize people already see me as a strange bird, but at least they take my work seriously. The last thing I need is for it to get about that I'm some sort of kook who sees ghosts...'

'Oh' I breathed out and held her tighter. I'll admit there's a wee vein of superstition running through me. Blame it on my Irish ancestors. Her mention of seeing ghosts should have brought out a relieved 'Ha!' instead of that 'Oh.'

'Oh, Giz, don't get so freaked.'

'I'm not,' I lied.

'Besides, I didn't actually see the ghosts. They just appeared in my dyary record. I'll show you as soon as the water comes to a boil.'

I took a breath to relax. 'Well, that I can deal with, I think. But I have to remind you that a watched kettle never boils.'

'Fine. Let me go and I'll set up my watson,' she said and I let her go.

The water came to boil as she was setting up her watson to project on the wall so I filled the mugs and brought them over to the small sofa next to the coffee table she had the watson resting on. I sat down beside her and handed her a mug.

'Oh! Thanks, Giz. Well, here's what's driving me crazy,' she said after taking a sip of the steaming cocoa. 'Last night I was reviewing some of my dyary videos from this past summer. I was checking out scenes from my walks in Galloway which I'd bookmarked with the idea that I might use the scenes for some watercolours,' she began. 'In one of the bookmarked sections I came across a recording with two people walking towards me. Two people I'm absolutely certain were never there.

'I remember that day and would have remembered them if I'd seen them. And according to my dyary recordings, I couldn't have missed seeing them. And then, the strangest thing of all is that they disappeared into thin air right in the middle of the recording... It seems I'm either not seeing things I should see, or seeing things that I shouldn't. So I want you to tell me what you see...

'I've queued up the recording to a point just before the people should appear. At this point in my walk I'm just taking in the scenery with the idea of using it for my paintings...' She touched the slate and a rural scene sprang to life on the opposite wall.

She was on a single lane road looking downhill to a bend that took the road out of sight behind the line of a hedge and trees. On her right, was a ragged hedge and fence line, beyond which lay fields falling to a loch at the foot of a tumble of purple hills in the distance. She was panning around the scenery, moving her head slowly to take in the complete scene, occasionally framing a vista with her hands like a film director. Her view drifted to the road in front of her and she paused the dyary.

'Do you see them Giz? There, down the hill, just coming around the bend in the road,' she stopped the recording and pointed. 'Two people. A couple.'

'Yes, of course I see them. Plain as day.' They were small in the distance, but clearly a couple walking along the road, perhaps a hundred metres away.

Ali, next to me, sighed and slumped a little.

'You all right?'

'Yes. I'm just grand. Well, at least I'm not totally off my trolley and seeing things in the dyary that aren't there.'

'Now watch,' she said and started the recording again and I watched as the couple, in animated conversation, walked up the lane towards Ali. She, clearly unaware of the couple, was still considering the scene, slowly looking this way and that, so that the couple slipped in and out of the video frame as she moved her head around. At no point did she appear to focus on the couple, which, given the apparent isolation of the road, seemed odd.

'Didn't you see them walking towards you?'

'I have no recollection of them at all. And yet how could I have not seen them? They're as plain as day in the dyary recording.'

She froze the recording when the couple was less than twenty metres away. 'Now look closely at them, Giz.'

The couple appeared to be about our age, the man tall and having a fair amount of whiskers – the woman was softly pretty. They were dressed very peculiarly. Overdressed. The woman in an ankle length dress, jacket and hat, the man in a tweedy suit and hat. Styles of dress come and go and come again and not everyone conforms, so that while the pair had the air of people out of a history book, they could almost have been, well almost, contemporary but very eccentric dressers. But really, they looked like costumed characters out of a period piece show. As for the image, well, their colours seemed a bit faded or washed out or perhaps just dull, somehow off slightly but it'd be hard to notice this at a glance. Frozen in place they seemed subtly wrong.

'Weird. They look out of place...'

'Out of time, more likely. They're dressed in Victorian era walking outfits. Now watch...'

She restarted the recording. The pair unfroze and resumed their walk and conversation as they slowly drifted to the left of the frame as Ali moved her head. We were looking at the countryside again, and then the image swung once again to the left, to the side of the road, the couple was almost abreast of Ali on the other side of the narrow lane. And then they simply faded away. They were gone before the dyary frame swept away from them. Ali kept the scene running, she seemed to have been staring at the spot where the couple vanished and back down the lane, but there was no sight of them. Then the view swept around again as Ali looked behind her, up the empty road showing a glimpse of a whitewashed cottage behind the hedge, but no couple. She looked back and we were looking down the empty road again. Ali reached over to the watson and stopped the recording.

'Did you see how the couple on the lane that just seemed to vanish?' she asked softly.

'Yes,' I said.

'As far as I know, I never saw them. I certainly never saw them vanish into thin air. And yet, here they are on my dyary recording. What did we just see, Giz? You're the expert on dyaries. What's going on here?'

'I haven't a clue.'

'But you did see them, the couple in the funny clothes?' she asked earnestly, pale and worn. 'You're not just humouring me?'

'Yes, of course, as plain as day,' I assured her. 'But I can't explain what happened.'

'Could my dyary have picked up part of some sort of historical drama being broadcast on the telly? Something playing in the cottage – wirelessly – and mixed it in with my recording?'

'Never heard of that happening. And I can't begin to imagine how any stray recording could fit so seamlessly into the scene you were recording.'

'Could the people be relics or artefacts from a file on my watson that wasn't completely erased before being overwritten by my dyary. Work with me, Giz. Give me a technological explanation which I can live with. I'm not all that tech savvy, so just come up with something plausible so I can sleep tonight,' she said earnestly.

'You and me both. Let me see your watson, Ali,' I said.

I first went over the metadata of the file to see if it had been somehow altered. Any sort of alteration would automatically create a second copy of the file to preserve the authenticity of the original dyary recording, but we were viewing the unaltered original.

With the watson on my lap we went over the clip, zooming in on the couple, slowing it down to a crawl – over and over – looking for some clue as to what was going on in the dyary recording.

'They seem solid, and yet...' I muttered. 'sometimes there seems a hint of the background through them... Can you say if the light is striking them correctly...? Yes, I know it was rather overcast, but still, are the shadows right? You're an artist, you should know...'

'Look, you can see that some of the background sometimes doesn't quite match,' Ali said, stopping the recording. 'Here and here, it sort of fades in and out of the real one.'

It was hard to tell, since the landscape hadn't changed much, it was mostly different in colours, though the trees and bushes were not the same, but because they faded in and out it was hard to see their shape as distinct from the present day.

We went back over the clip for an hour. In the end, we decided that we were looking through some sort of window – though its edges were not sharp or constant, they seemed to fade into a mixture of old and new changing, almost like a curtain, blowing in the breeze.

'Did the dyary pick up any of their conversation?' I asked. Dyaries automatically dampen wind noise, so that the recording was all but silent. 'Have you cranked up the volume to see if it picked up anything?'

Ali shook her head no, so we cranked up the sound to the max, but only picked up the muffled distortion of the wind and Ali's breathing, with the occasional call of a bird.

'Their image only,' I said. 'Have you looked through the whole day's file? Find anything else out of the ordinary?'

Ali shook her head. 'I stopped and viewed a few bookmarked spots, but otherwise just skipped ahead. I suppose I should go through the whole day, but that takes time, even at double or quad speed... And well, I'm not sure I'm ready to do that, yet.'

'Yah. I was just curious if this was confined to this specific time and location, or whether it was a more wide-ranging phenomena, something to do with the weather or something...' Lord knows what.

'I, well I don't really want to spend a great deal of time on this now, I need to be studying...' she said, not quite meeting my gaze. She was clearly too close to this to be looking on it merely as an interesting problem. In time, I'm sure, she'd come around to seeing it as such, but there seemed no need to be in a hurry.

I sighed, pushed my glasses up and rubbed my eyes. 'Well, all that can wait. I don't think it would make a difference anyway, since I doubt more data would lead us to a rational explanation for this phenomena. Indeed, the most rational explanation is that someone somehow altered the file. But who'd have had access to your watson? And why? And even if we ignore those two big questions, I'd have to say that inserting the figures and background consistent with the countryside into that dyary record in such a way that they consistently appear to be realistically "in place" even as you were moving your head about would be a very demanding video editing feat. And adding in the fact that the file's security tags shows we're viewing the original, unmodified version, I don't see how it could've been done by anyone who wasn't very technically adept. And then there's the Why?

'In short, I don't think there is, well, a simple Newtonian explanation. It's some sort of quantum event, Ali. Sorry...'

She just shrugged. 'Great.'

'I'll tell you what I'll do. If I can make a copy of that section, I'll go over it tomorrow and see if I can discover something we've missed. But you shouldn't hold out much hope. We'll just have to put it down to experimental error, I guess,' I said, trying to sound more casual than I was feeling.

'Thanks Giz. I didn't really think there was going to be an easy, satisfactory explanation. I just wanted to know I was still sane. But you can see why I don't want this getting out. I want to be a physicist, not a paranormal investigator.'

'Technically you didn't actually see the ghosts – your dyary did. But mum's the word. I don't need that reputation either. I guess it's too late for more studying, so I'd best be on my way,' I said.

I gathered my gear and headed for the door. As I opened it, I remembered that it was night out and that I had to walk to my bike and then ride home in the dark. And I suppose I hesitated.

'Do you want me to walk out with you to your bike, Giz?' Ali said from behind me.

I considered her offer. 'Oh, I'll be fine, but would you feel safer if I spent the night here with you?'

She gave me a shove in the back and shut the door behind me.

I made it home safely.

Tuesday Evening

Ali was sitting on the library steps waiting for me as I wheeled my bike up to the rack. She watched me approach with as much intensity as her thick glasses would let out.

'Evening Ali,' I said as I got close.

'Good evening, Giz,' she replied though her entire manner asked, 'Well?'

'I've an idea. Do you want to wait until our break, or hear it now?'

'Let's find a place to talk,' she replied, climbing to her feet.

'Here's the deal. I went over that file every which way I could think of and I just can't for the life of me see how the dyary recorded those people. I did the internet search on ghosts caught by CCTVs, as I'm sure you did too...'

She nodded. 'For all the good it did.'

'Right. We're not dealing with strange lights and such. If these people did not strike you as queerly dressed or completely out of place, if you didn't actually see these people vanish into thin air, you'd never know that you were looking at something inexplicable.

'It occurred to me that I'll be seeing my boss, Brad McCullum, one of the owners of Surveillance Security Consultants Thursday afternoon to conduct a design and estimating interview with me at a facility of a potential client here in Oxford. He wants to show me how to do it on my own. McCullum has been in the business of security and surveillance for over thirty years and has doubtlessly spent days and days going through CCTV records over the years. If there's such a thing as people showing up on surveillance records that shouldn't be there, he's as likely to have run across them or at least heard of it happening as anyone you could find.

'I'd like to show him your dyary record. I can keep your name out of it and swear him to secrecy. I'm certain we can trust him. Keeping secrets is what his business is all about. I don't know if he'd be able to tell us what's going on, but I think he may be able to give us an idea if this sort of thing happens, or if it's a one-off occurrence. I don't know about you, but I'd feel more comfortable knowing this sort of thing was a known mystery rather than a completely unknown one,' I said earnestly.

'What do you think? It's your decision. How bad do you want to know? Right now our only option is to try to forget it just as soon as we can... Speaking of which, do you want to drop in at the Old Kitchen Bar and begin that process?'

'We've work to do tonight,' she said automatically, absently, as she considered my other request. Then with a shrug, 'Show it to your boss. Really, what have we to lose? Just keep my name out of it.'

'I understand. But, I don't think you have to worry about that. It struck me this morning that what makes your clip weird is that it comes unaltered from your dyary. Really, anyone with a little video editing expertise and actors dressed for the part could put together a clip like that. It's inserting it into your watson's dyary record and making it look like an authentic, unaltered recording that makes it weird. That's what we have to worry about – that people will think you did it.'

'But I didn't...'

'Of course, Ali. But someone who doesn't know you might believe the record is a simple hoax. The real threat to your reputation would not be that you're seeing ghosts, but pretending to see them...'

She gave me a startled look. 'I never considered that. Oh, Giz, you're right! That would be terrible! You know I didn't do that? You believe me, don't you?"

'Of course I do, Ali. You don't seek attention or notoriety. Plus, I doubt you've the skills to do the video editing, and faking the security tags. I'm convinced I'm seeing an authentic dyary recording. Believe me, I wouldn't offer to show it to my boss if I'd any doubts as to its authenticity. But if word did get around outside our circle of friends, it could prove very damaging to both of our reputations – if only because some might suspect I've the technical skills needed to fake the dyary metadata, which I don't, by the way, but that would suggest the possibility of a hoax.'

'Maybe it's best just to let it go – I'll erase it and be done with it.'

'I'm curious as to what he'll say, and I'm certain we can trust him. I'll only show him the clip and testify to its authenticity. As far as destroying it, well, it's your clip and your call. I'll only say that as a scientist, I'd like to push the investigation just a little further. Then, after we, or I, if you'd rather not be involved, hear what McCullum has to say, you can decide what to do with it.'

'As scientist... oh well, I guess I need to be as brave as any other scientist in pursuing the truth, so go ahead and show your Mr McCullum the clip. Let's see what he has to say.'

Wednesday Evening

I met Ali as usual on the library steps.

'Well?'

'Good evening to you too,' I replied.

'Did you talk to him? What did he say?' she asked, glaring at me, as best she could through her thick glasses.

'Mr McCullum said that, assuming it's not fake, and I assured him it wasn't, it was a phenomenon that is extremely rare, but not unheard of...'

'What's its source, its cause?'

'Give me a minute, Ali,' I pleaded. 'He said that he's seen some twenty-three examples of the appearance of something, usually a figure or figures, but not always, in a surveillance record that defies any explanation. He has come across two examples on his own. He's seen others that his friends in the security, police, and special branches have collected and shown to him. Apparently there's a small informal group that shares these videos strictly amongst themselves, since, like you, they're concerned that being associated with anything that can be considered the occult and could damage their reputations in their fields. He'd be able to share his two examples, but not the others for this reason, unless you wanted to join their little society.

'He suggested that I invite you along for supper after our meeting tomorrow afternoon and we could discuss your dyary ghosts over the meal,' I continued. 'He said to tell you that there's no strings attached, you'd not even have to tell him your name. He'd be happy to discuss what theories there are to explain them and would be able to show you his examples, which might make you feel more comfortable. And if you wanted, you could join their little group, a scientist is always welcomed and as I said, they don't make their discoveries public, so you needn't fear about that, they all fear it...'

I paused as she considered her options.

'I've known Mr McCullum for five years now, and I believe we can trust him to keep his word. I can talk with him and relay the information to you, so you needn't appear at all, if you choose. But I think you can meet with him without any concern.'

'Oh, all right. I suppose I need to know more. I shouldn't be afraid of the unknown, should I?'

'Great. I'm sure you'll feel much better afterwards, Brad's a good guy and it sounds like the other people are very respectable people, too, so I'm sure you're risking nothing. And well, I want to find out what's going on myself...'

Early evening, Thursday

'I'm very glad you decided to join us, Miss Chambers,' said McCullum as I introduced them outside the Chinese restaurant on the Broad we'd chosen. 'I assure you our conversations will be strictly between the three of us unless you decide otherwise. All of us try to avoid the limelight for the same reasons – we've careers and reputations to protect.'

'I'd appreciate that,' said Ali.

'I'm also very glad you decided to let me have a look at your dyary record. It's always an eerie delight to see another sample of what we in the trade refer to as enigmatic recorded events, or ERE's. I only wish I could promise you an explanation, but at best I can only offer some theories... But let's go on in and order. We can talk over supper.'

Brad McCullum is a large, easy to talk to fellow who started out in the police force and then decided to get into the security surveillance business, or rather the anti-surveillance business. Being a good salesperson, he quickly put Ali at ease with his small talk and stories while we waited for our meal. We were early and the restaurant was mostly empty, so we had a table where we could talk without being overheard.

'You realize that though we live in a very surveillance orientated society the vast majority of these records are never actually viewed. It's only when a particular incident of interest, criminal, security, or commercial occurs that they end up being viewed. Plus, many of those searches are automated, using computers to search for programmed faces and or actions. So we really don't know how often EREs appear in the surveillance records,' McCullum began, after we were served.

'Most, but not all the people in our little ERE club are the people who actually search surveillance records for very specific things as part of their job. There are half a dozen police inspectors, some people whose exact position in HM government is not publicly defined, and some private security people like myself. But we also have several scientist friends who are, for one reason or another, curious about the phenomena. I believe you'd be familiar with one of them. So if you should decide to join our group, you'd not find yourself alone. That's entirely up to you. This meeting may be all you need to answer at least some of your questions.'

'Thank you,' said Ali. 'I really don't know what to think or what to do. It's entirely out of my sphere of experiences and of expertise, so I'm at a complete loss.'

'I understand. I'll briefly outline what I know about the phenomena. Feel free to interrupt me for any clarifications or questions.'

Ali nodded. 'Please, I am curious as to how my dyary could see two people, I've no memory of seeing.'

McCullum took a sip of his tea and leaned forward, 'First of all, I've seen only twenty-three such EREs' not counting yours, from over a dozen different people who spent years going over surveillance footage. So you can see authentic EREs are quite rare. Or more precisely, they are very rarely identified. EREs may well be a daily occurrence, but because so little of the footage is ever viewed, we can't say how often it happens. And even when viewed, an ERE would likely go unnoticed unless the viewer is familiar enough with the locale to know when something is not right.

'Who's to say how many photo or videos people take every day and have, on later viewing seen something or someone that the photographer doesn't remember being in the scene? Unless the ERE is too out of place, most people will just scratch their heads and move on. Someday, once people go back and look at their old dyary recordings, these unexplained events may become common enough, if EREs are actually pervasive, to become a widely known phenomena. But until then, we're keeping our heads down,' he added with a laugh.

'Now, take for example, bank lobby footage I'm going to show you. It's only the fact that in the ERE event, the man in question is dressed like he doesn't belong, which calls our attention to him. If he wasn't dressed so out of place, I may have never noticed him at all. So you see, only the most extraordinary EREs are likely noticed and identified as such. It's possible, EREs happen every day and are viewed by everyone, but because they fall within the normal range of expectations, they aren't noticed.'

'But that's all speculation, let me show you my little gem of an ERE that is similar to yours,' he said, pulling out his watson. He cued up the clip and handed it across the table to Ali. I pulled my chair around to watch as well.

'This was taken from a CCTV looking down on a London bank lobby, one of the old bank buildings. Once you press play, in about five seconds a gentleman will appear on the right side of the screen. You'll recognize him by his clothes, and I'll say no more until after you've seen the clip.'

I leaned closer to Ali and watched as she started the clip. It showed a lobby viewed from above with four lines of people standing, waiting before the teller windows, their backs to us. Then, as McCullum said, a man in a tall top hat and a black suit cut in a fashion of a hundred years ago or more, hurries into the frame. He stops and looks around. A contemporary person passes close by him as he lifts his hat and runs his fingers through his pale hair, before continuing on his way. The line on the left hand side of the frame was longer than the others, so that the top hatted man, appears to walk right into the woman at the end of the line. And then, having walked through her, he quickly fades away. The clip ended. We looked across to McCullum.

'Go ahead, rewind it and play it in slow motion as many times as you like,' he said. 'Note that our gentleman in question appears to be solid on the footage. And as in your recording Ali, his colour is somewhat more muted and perhaps off a bit. Notice, too, how close the man who walks by him is to him as he stands there. Unless that man's a pickpocket, he would have violated the personal space of our top hatted gentleman, assuming he'd actually seen him standing there. And. of course, most curious of all, note that when he seems to pass right through the lady at the end of the line, she seems not to react, to flinch or shiver...'

As we watched it again, McCullum added, 'I noticed in viewing your record Ali, that from the movement of your head, it almost seemed as if you were searching for something when the couple was next to you. Previously, you were looking about the countryside, but as they neared you and then faded away, you seemed to be searching the road for something. Do you recall anything like that?'

'I've no recollection of doing that or thinking anything amiss,' said Ali. 'But, yes, from the recording it did seem that way since my dyary camera was in my glasses and followed my head movement.'

'Right. Well now that you've seen my clip, and how close it is to your experience, why don't you tell me your story, Ali. I'm very curious to know if you recall feeling anything at the time. I've never had a chance to talk to anyone who was actually present when the ERE event occurred. It's always been remote cameras.'

She shook her head, 'I'm going to disappoint you, I'm afraid. I've gone over that day, that walk, a hundred times in my mind, but I can't find any distinct memory of it, beyond knowing I did it. It was, after all, several months ago now, and nothing seemed to strike me – either then or now – strange enough to remember. I am rather preoccupied at times...'

I laughed. 'All the time...'

'Well just tell me about the day anyway. Maybe we can dislodge a memory by talking out loud about it,' McCullum said.

Ali told her story and McCullum asked several questions, but nothing seemed out of the ordinary, so he continued, 'No matter, just curious. I'll show you my second clip, hit the next button. It's not as dramatic, though in a way even more strange. It's taken outside a loading dock in Glasgow just as the skies are beginning to lighten on a misty summer's morning. Look at the buildings beyond the yard gate and street as the first light touches them,' he said, adding. 'Just watch for a while and take in the architecture, and then, around the thirty second point, you'll have to decide if that was that a horse drawn dray which passes in front of our alleyway. It seems like it, but with the mist and the quality of the recording, it's hard to say for certain. And it's also not completely impossible that it was a present day horse drawn dray... But then, look again at the buildings. These are the buildings across the street as they stand today, but are they the ones we saw in first light?'

We watched the clip again, there were two lorries parked beneath the camera that pointed outwards to a gate and a high brick wall. The gate was closed, but we could see over it to the buildings that lined the street beyond. The light was dim and coming from behind, so that the yard was in deep shadow. The mist softened the image of the buildings beyond the wall, but as the gathering light touched them you could make out their shape and window patterns, a ragged row of buildings perhaps four stories high. At the thirty second mark, a shadowed form appeared from behind the wall at the left and crossed the space where the lower gates allowed a glimpse of the road beyond. It was a fairly murky shape, still in shadow, and half hidden behind the gates, but it did appear to be the top of a horse pulling an open dray with a driver sitting high on the seat forward. The mist seemed to thicken after that, and when it brightened, the buildings beyond the wall were noticeably taller, more uniform, and definitely far more modern.

'Have you ever gone back to past recordings or ahead to see if these EREs reoccur?' I asked. 'Might they not occur in some sort of pattern?'

McCullum laughed. 'A good point, Hugh. And one we've discussed. The problem is twofold – we don't have the time or resources needed to devote to monitoring a locale for a repeat ERE. It could be years or decades between appearances. Essentially, we're little more than curiosity collectors. And secondly, we often don't own the records or equipment – we just come across them when we're called in to find something else. But it is a good idea... Someday maybe we'll have an opportunity to do it.'

'I'm sure Ali could show you the spot where her ERE occurred. Since she was in the road at the time, you'd have to put a camera in the hedge somewhere, but still... with software tailored to pick out a repeat event...' I suggested.

'A possibility, but we're not even certain that the ERE could be recorded from any other than the original viewpoint – it might well be a very narrow window or opening...' he replied. 'We simply don't know.'

'So how do you explain them?' asked Ali. 'You must have come up with many ideas...'

He leaned back. 'Oh, we've many ideas, but not one we all agree on, if only because we are dealing with such a small sample, and a variety of phenomena that a single one doesn't seem to exactly fit every ERE. The one I go with involves parallel worlds or multiverses, as they're called now. I'm sure that if I start talking about multiverses, I'll be hauling coal to Newcastle with you folk, so I won't go into details, though it is, as I understand it, a contentious topic in your community as well.'

'Aye,' I admitted. 'I haven't give the various theories much credence, but after seeing these, well, I'm rather open to some sort of explanation along those lines.'

'Well briefly – you can fill in the details from your own far greater understanding of multiverses – the idea is multiverses arise out of options. A nearly infinite number of options creates a nearly infinite number of multiverses, and that the further away in whatever direction or dimension you go, the less these multiverses have in common from your starting point because of the accumulating number of options that are different from the starting point. The theory that our physicist uses for his suggestions, postulates that multiverses arising out of each other share common attributes – one tiny change might create a new multiverse, but it would still share most of the other attributes of the one that it arose from. However, with each of these micro steps, the universes diverge and become less and less similar, sharing less and less attributes from the starting point.

'Now, if you take into account quantum randomness, then you might be able to imagine that the gradient between these receding multiverses need not be completely uniform. There could be, well, flaws in the succession of these multiverses, which might cause parts of the more remote and otherwise unavailable multiverses to partially be detectable. It is these flaws, these bright spots in what would otherwise be invisible multiverses that the sensors in our digital cameras are detecting.

'They seem to be seeing, with their sensors and perhaps processing chips, a spot of a multiverse that either our human eye can't detect, or that the inner working of our brains beneath a conscious level, edit out as a matter of routine to make sense of what our eyes see.

'Now, because we're dealing with billions of years' worth of multiverses, small variances in time might cause some of these quantum flaws to have a noticeable temporal difference, which might explain the time-slip aspect seen in some of the EREs we have identified,' he paused and looked around the table.

'In short, the theory is that we actually overlap billions of these multiverses without noticing it. When we do occasionally notice one of these flaws, one of these bright spots, we might experience a rare sense of deja vu and nothing more. It's only when a camera image sensor or microchip picks up data from one of these quantum flaws that an image from an otherwise out of range multiverse becomes viewable, and because it is something so out of tune from the normal range of overlapping multiverses, that we notice it and register it as an ERE.

'Now, I'm certain you know far more about these things than I do, and I can assure you that my scientific friend who offers this theory can just as easily punch holes in it as well. But, until a better explanation comes along, one that does not involve even more unknown unknowns, that's pretty much the theory I go with. There are, of course, other theories floating about too...' McCullum said and went on to outline several more.

Well, I suppose I'd best just say that between time loops, worm holes and the like, there are plenty of opportunities for a science fiction writer to come up with an explanation for the people in Ali's dyary record, but if you want answers, you are going to be disappointed. As I said at the beginning, I've no satisfactory end to this piece.

As for Ali, she took some comfort in the fact that her experience was not unique, save that she actually was present when the EREs were recorded by her dyary. The fact that she recalls nothing out of the ordinary is, in its self, a little piece of the puzzle that Brad McCullum and his friends did not have before. Ali decided not to join the club right now, though she did give McCullum permission to share her dyary record with the other members anonymously and allowed him to go over the original recording on her watson so that he could verify that it was not modified in anyway – a requirement of the group to keep their collection above reproach.

'If you should change your mind about joining our little group, be sure and let me know. You'd be welcomed,' said McCullum as we parted.

'Thank you. I'll not rule it out, but my studies require nearly all my attention at present. Perhaps in the future...' replied Ali.

'Well, good night then, and thanks again for your clip. It will be, I'm sure, very much appreciated and studied. If we have any questions, I'll get in touch with Hugh, so that you needn't fear being drawn in.'

'Thank you for all your information and for helping me come to terms with, well, this rather strange event in my life. I do feel much better knowing, well, that people take what I discovered seriously...'

'What do you think? Have you seen a multiverse?' I asked as we walked towards the library.

'I don't know. Multiverses are fine and useful for mathematical calculations to get things to come out the way you want, but I'm not certain I like them real – real enough to see. But then, Giz, you're not into string theory and multiverses. Has this changed your mind?'

'No, not at all. Oh, I think we're dealing with a flaw, but I think the flaw's in the code, in the script that describes the universe. That's why I was wondering if the EREs repeated. You'd think it might just be looping around... But what do I know?' I replied. My grand theory is little more than a gut feeling. There are dozens of them to pick and choose from. I was only beginning to pick and choose, and design my own, however unwelcomed another one would be... 'anyway, I hope you're feeling a little more comfortable.'

'Yes, much more so. Just talking about it, making it a part of everyday conversation helped a lot. However, Giz Gallagher, I never want you to even mention it again. I'm serious about this, if you want to continue to be my friend, you'll never say a word, never hint to anyone – got that – anyone about this. Am I making myself clear?'

I glanced aside. Ali B Chambers was not her usual vague self. She was watching me with a level of intensity that she kept well hidden. 'I shall never intentionally say anything about it again unless you bring it up,' I said trying to buy me some margin of error.

'If you ever say anything, intentionally or unintentionally, I will never forgive you. I advise you to begin erasing it from your memory starting now,' she replied.

I almost believe her. I'm certainly going to operate on that assumption, anyway.

'Right. What were we talking about?' I replied, and to change the subject asked, 'Are we going to study tonight?'

'Of course we are. Why, it's not even 8:00 yet,' she replied.

'Right,' I sighed. The world spins on, the planets follow their orbits, and the multiverse, well, who knows? And we study week nights until sometime after 11.00 pm.

Chapter 12 – Piece 12 – December

I've been very good at keeping the last several pieces largely free of Selina Beri. Seeing that she's in Cambridge and I'm in Oxford and we're not communicating, this omission is largely one of necessity rather than choice. However, seeing that I think about her and dream of her every day, this omission is also a bit of a charade. Life's messy that way. I cannot, however, avoid talking about Selina Beri in this piece, because she's returned to my life.

Though unbidden, Moss had kept me up to date on whatever Cavendish gossip concerning Selina Beri has come his way with infrequent, but often alarming, text messages.

'Noste is not very happy these days, what with the time Beri is spending with the American Simonette chap... The Cavendish Lab Jazz program has suffered...' would be a typical message from him on October.

By November they were running like, Beri and Kate have gotten to be best friends... All to the good, of course, but it means that Kate is far more guarded in her comments about Beri – shares less with me – not that I see Kate all that much these days, what with all my work – but Gallagher, my lad, whatever you feel about Noste's chances, – and you've seen him operate as Fiddler Green, he can be decisive if he wants, so don't discount him completely, he might just well be the canary in the mine... But of course, my hands are tied. otherwise my instinct would be to accidentally bump this Simonette chap into the path of an approaching bus...

Knowing Beri's reputation at Oxford, I was not greatly alarmed, though during my time at Oxford Beri pretty much avoided company... Still, if I was to survive my last two years at Oxford, I'd have turn a blind eye to all of this and just trust my quantum entanglement. A boyfriend was pretty much an eventuality, in any case, or so I told myself. Indeed, if I was to be jealous of everyone who fell in love with Beri – with everyone who enjoyed her company while I could not, my life would be very unhappy. I would just have to live on trust and hope, and physics. Lots of physics.

The thing to keep in mind, I told myself, was that Beri, Noste and Simonette were working intensely together on Darneby's project – they'd naturally be spending a great deal of time together, not just in the lab, but socially as well, so I thought Moss was taking a needlessly alarming view of things. He tended to do that since I believe he felt he had his Sunday morning predictions to protect.

I'm trying to get Beri to commit to coming over to Oxford for the Li Qui lecture, but so far, no go. Will keep trying.

'Good luck with that,' I wrote back. I doubted she would come, given her insistence that we remain apart for at least one term, and her unwavering policy to date.

The Li Qui lecture Moss mentioned was to be a special guest lecture to be given on the first Friday night in December by Professor Li Qui of Beijing University on the quantum qualities of dark matter. It was a new and fascinating field of investigation in which Dr Li Qui was the leading figure, and his lecture was promised to be one of the highlights of the term. Moss was organizing a gang of Cavendish grad students to drive over on Friday afternoon to attend the lecture and then make a night of it afterwards. I'd agreed to find accommodations for his crew, lining up friends to offer sofas and floors where the Cambridge gang could crash for the night. Knowing my limitations, I, in turn, begged O and Ali to help me make these arrangements, as modest as they were. O, of course, jumped into the fray – this was something quite up his alley, an opportunity to widen his circle of acquaintances... Ali graciously agreed to find places for the girls to stay, while O and I arranged accommodations for the guys once we had solid numbers. O also insisted that we make arrangements to entertain our guests at college, dinner before the lecture, and a meeting room afterwards, for discussions. I delegated these arrangements to O.

Late Sunday night, the weekend before this lecture was to take place, I received this email from Moss.

Kate had a group of my friends from the lab, including Selina and Simonette over for dinner tonight, Gallagher. You've met Simonette, so you know he's a pleasant enough fellow – has a sense of humour, on occasion. Handsome in a Clark Kent sort of way – which is to say he could be handsomer than he usually is when he wants to be... Thinks in 24 dimensions, if you know what I mean, and talks in 24 dimensions as well. I can stand him for 20 minutes at a time, without a pint or two... I might even come, in time, to sort of like him. But you've met him, so I needn't go on. What you've been spared, Gallagher, my lad, is seeing the way Beri acted in his presence tonight at our dinner... Very unnerving. Revolting, really. I'd never believe a girl of Beri's intelligence could act so silly around a man. Any man. She simply was gaga around him and he was soaking it in. Even Kate noticed it, but refused to talk about it afterwards. That unnerved me even more. Something's in the wind, Gallagher. Something that needs to be snipped in the bud before it gets out of hand. I'm telling you this not merely because I've got my reputation as a prophet on the line in this affair, but as a friend – you need to do something – heaven knows what. Untie my hands and I'll put him under a bus.... I don't think I want to spend a week with Simonette and his kids... I hope I'm a hysterical old maid on this...

Moss was alarming me now – but what could I do? For all of my 22 years, I've lived a life that a monk would have little to blush about – not that all these years are monkish by choice – so what do I know about women? I had succeeded with Beri so far by letting things well enough alone. Like it or not, I could think of no better policy.

The next evening, I got a further note from Moss.

Asked about the lab. Common knowledge about Simonette and Beri. I'm going to have to have a long talk with that young snip of a girl of ours, Gallagher.

I hastily wrote back, Whatever you do, don't do it! Repeat, don't do anything!

He wrote back the following day. I had a rather long, and, I'm afraid, a rather contentious and unpleasant talk with Beri today. The good news is that she's agreed to join us for the Li Qui lecture. It'll give you a chance to talk to her yourself. Lord knows what it'll accomplish, but then she must see something in you that the rest of us don't, so I'll not despair just yet. Remind me never to play the prophet again...

Well, if the prospect of hosting a dozen Cambridge grad students for a weekend hadn't made a nervous wreck of me already – and it had – the prospect of seeing Selina under what seemed to be dire clouds, certainly made a complete job of it.

I considered asking Ali to ask her cousin what was going on, but realized that I'd no right to spy on Selina. (Moss was doing so already, uninvited, and I'd know soon enough, anyway.) We were friends and nothing more, no matter how much I wished otherwise.

It was the longest week I can remember ever living. Only the fact that O and Ali had arrangements well in hand saved me from complete despair and bolting. I never thought the prospect of seeing Selina Beri would be so frightening.

An early December late Friday afternoon

We stood in the deepening gloom of the Friday afternoon awaiting the arrival of the caravan of three cars from Cambridge. Moss had been sending updates every five minutes as to their progress, so we knew we had not long to wait. There were eight of us in the parking lot. The welcoming committee consisted of Ali, O, Foggy and I plus five other friends who had agreed to host our fellow physics students from Cambridge. O had looked after all the practical arrangements, so that everything was well in hand. After our guests had settled in to their host's rooms, we'd all meet and have dinner at the college before the lecture, and then we'd all go back to the college after the lecture for a reception and discussion period over pints until they turned us out.

The cars glided in even as Moss was sending his last report. He waved to me from the first car as it pulled up. I waved and braced myself. It wasn't Moss that gave a twist to my gut as the cars parked before us. Things got a little hectic – at least for me. It was all pretty much a whirl of greetings and short conversations – I'd met just about everyone already at the Chess Club picnic, if not before – an exuberant Moss followed by a much more subdued Noste and the rest of the gang. Ali's cousin Fay was amongst the passengers and Ali hurried over to greet her. I caught a glimpse of Selina getting out of the same car and my heart lurched, as of old, but I was in the midst of introducing my Oxford friends to the new arrivals and it was only when Selina stepped over with Ali and Fay to greet O and meet Foggy and the others that I found myself standing next to her. She'd briefly met O, of course, and exchanged a few words with him and shook hands with Foggy and the others before turning to me.

She looked to me. 'Hello, Hugh,' she said and leaned in to give me a little kiss. 'It is good to see you,' she added, but if her eyes were not exactly guarded, they were wary. And she said "Hugh" without a catch, I'd have preferred the old "Gallagher."

I smiled and said, 'It's wonderful to see you, too. I'm so glad you decided to come along.'

She smiled faintly, shot a hard glance at Moss, who was watching us closely through the press of people about us. 'Phil can be very persuasive,' she said quietly, and then added, 'But he was right, of course. We've got a lot to talk about. But not now, not tonight. Tomorrow. Perhaps we can go for a long walk and talk in the morning before we leave.'

'Of course, I'd love that. And well, seeing that I'm the nominal host here, I've a lot to look after tonight anyway. So as much as I'd like to be with you at all times, I'm afraid duty calls...'

'I'll not keep you from your duties...'

At which point, Ali with Fay at her side called the girls to get together so they could get settled in before the dinner, and we all went our own ways.

Besides Moss, we were putting up Lewis Noste, Bill Foster and Asif Ranaut. The cushions of our various sofas and chairs can be removed and laid out on the floor for ad hoc mattresses and we had plenty of room in our sitting room to turn it into a makeshift dorm.

Dinner at the college went well – we were joined by a number of other students from both Cambridge and Oxford, many who knew each other already, and so the meal was quite jolly without me having to put more effort than a short, half minute welcoming speech, as required. Selina sat with Fay and Ali, so I didn't have a chance to talk with her over the meal.

Li Qui's lecture on the quantum characteristics of dark matter was quite interesting, though many (as in almost all) of the proofs he offered went over my poor addled undergrad head. Afterwards everyone, students and professors, including Professor Darneby and my tutor Professor Aparin hung about the hall for an hour, after which we drifted back to the college room we'd rented for our refreshments and pints.

Selina and I managed to walk back to the college together so we had a chance to talk about our how our terms were going, my flat, our Sunday gatherings, my flatmates and my new study program and about her adjustments and her studies and a lot about Darneby's project that was taking up a great deal of her time and thoughts. Everything in general terms, everything if not quite free and easy, at least comfortable.

'Are you happy in Cambridge?' I asked.

'Very much so, Hugh,' she replied, softly.

'I'm very happy that everything has worked out so well,' I said, and in the dark could pull it off. It wasn't that I wasn't happy, it's just that, well, I'd a feeling I wasn't happy with the cause of her happiness...

Darneby and Aparin, and several other professors from other universities joined us at the college and the resulting discussions were both entertaining and enlightening, thanks, at least in part, to the pints freely indulged in by most. There was a piano in the room, so towards the end of the evening, we convinced Selina to play and had a sing-along before the gathering broke up well after midnight. For the most part, I was content to catch a glimpse of Selina every now and then, just to feel my heart lurch. Until we had our talk, everything was still in a quantum state, nothing definitely defined. I'd a feeling that was the best I could expect.

'When would you like to get together?' asked Selina when we were donning our coats at the end of the evening.

'Name your time, I'll be there,' I replied. I rather doubted I'd get much sleep, so it didn't matter.

'Would 7:30 be too early? I'd like to be up and out before everyone else is stirring. We're all going back after lunch, so there's not a great deal of time.'

'That would suit me fine. We're hosting the lunch at the flat, so the earlier we meet, the more time I can spend with you. I'll call for you.'

I didn't sleep well, as expected.

Saturday Morning

I was outside the stairwell fifteen minutes early and Selina was waiting for me. It was a dreary, grey morning, not too cold, but damp and quiet, smelling of wet stones, and falling leaves.

'Good morning, Selina,' I said after my heart jumped when she stepped out of the doorway in her long, grey, tweed coat, collar turned up with a brown felt hat.

'Good morning, Hugh,' she said. I noted again that she could say Hugh now without any hesitation, likely because it didn't matter any more.

I couldn't think of a way to begin a conversation, couldn't think of anything, actually. We stood awkwardly for a moment, at a loss.

'It is good to see you again, Hugh,' she said tentatively.

'It's good to see you too,' I said and couldn't stop myself from adding, 'I've missed you.'

She smiled faintly. 'I've missed you as well...'

And the conversation died again.

'Which way shall we walk?' I asked.

'Oh, along the river. It's been a while now since I last walked it, and it was always my favourite walk.'

So we crossed High Street and started down the tree lined, leaf littered path.

Our talk got off rather slowly and we walked for several minutes in silence, huddled in our jackets for warmth.

'How much do you know?' she asked, at last.

'Nothing really. Just that when Moss and Kate had you over for dinner last weekend, you, well, you rather alarmed Moss, Moss the prophet anyway... By the way, I'm sorry about Moss. I assure you he was acting on his own. I've told him time and again just to leave everything alone – for all the good it did.'

'That's just Moss being Moss. Oh, I wasn't happy with him, and gave him a taste of my temper, but in the end, he was right. I'd been acting the fool again, and hadn't even been aware of it. I'm sorry, Hugh. Really I am. I should've called weeks ago, but until this week I was still uncertain how Edward felt or how things would turn out. You, of all people, know that the idea of falling in love – with you or Edward or anyone – was the very last thing I wanted. But it happened.'

'So you've fallen in love with Simonette?' I asked with a sinking heart.

'I'm sorry, but I believe I have. Head over heels, in fact, though until this week, I thought that was my secret. And feared – and sometimes, hoped – that it would just fade like all those other times I've fallen in love when I was younger. I was afraid I hadn't grown up as much as I thought I had. And after all the fuss I made about you and me. If you want nothing more to do with me, I'd understand.'

'No, of course not. I'm not angry. You've every right... We're friends. We had a clear understanding that I'd no claim on you or your heart, beyond friendship, and I know too well falling in love is not something you have much of a say in.'

'I'm sorry if you heard any gossip and rumours. That had to have been hard on you.'

'No. I only heard from Moss occasionally, usually thinly veiled warnings, but in any event, I gather he really didn't know what was going on.'

'Oh, Moss is clueless. Everyone but him – and I – knew what a silly fool I was over Edward. I only found out this week, after talking to Moss, and then with my friends, what an idiot I've been. I feel terribly embarrassed, horrible in fact...' she said, and looking at me added, 'Please believe me, I'd have told you myself if I'd known about the gossip, but I didn't. And though I knew what was going on in my poor heart, I thought it my secret and didn't want to worry you over what could have easily turned out to be nothing... It seems that I can never do right by you.'

'Oh, I expected something like this sooner or later,' I said as carelessly as I could. 'So it isn't so bad. It was what might be called, a known unknown. You're just too beautiful and sweet not to attract admirers, so I'm not surprised or angry. I'm sure it's better for you to have one boyfriend than a pack of, well, puppies as you used to call us, trailing you around.'

She gave me a questioning look.

I laughed, 'Oh, I'll admit, however, the step from theory to practice was sooner and steeper than I'd anticipated. But I'll have to come to grips with it. It's just a matter of having to take my chances, however slim, which is what I've always had to do.'

She sighed. 'Gallagher, I think that you're going to have to do more than that. You're going to have to come to accept that I love Edward Simonette and he loves me.'

I shrugged. 'Perhaps. Until this spring my romantic aspirations were just daydreams. Walking with you now, talking with you, is still something extraordinary. So you see, I'm well insulated. I've sheltered that ember for years when I hadn't an ice cube's chance in hell of even talking you. One Edward Simonette more or less doesn't really matter.

'Besides, you said plainly last summer that you didn't love me. I believed you. I never considered you obliged to me in any way, so I don't feel betrayed or angry now. So I think we're fine. I mean that. I'm happy for you, and I'm happy with you as a friend, which I hope I still am...' I held my breath.

'Of course you are, Gallagher. I was afraid you'd want nothing to do with me,' she said, turning towards me.

'Never. Your friendship is worth much more than a silly daydream.'

She smiled slightly. 'I wasn't sure how you'd take things. Maybe I should've known, my heart had no doubts, but I still wasn't sure. But you're the first, the dearest of my new friends, I'd not want to lose you.'

'Then we're still friends, Selina, like we have been since the summer,' I said. I'd never settled on what I could've – realistically – expected in a relationship with Beri. But as long as my heart skips a beat when I see her, I'd never choose to live without her, if only as a friend.

'Falling in love with Edward didn't change how I feel about you either. Maybe in a way it's even better, since now that I don't have to fear falling in love so I won't be pushing you away all the time...'

'You've found an interesting way to dodge that bullet....' I said with a bitter-sweet laugh.

'It's not like that, and you know it,' she replied. 'It was never the fear of falling in love with you, but the fear of falling in love at the absolutely wrong time for both of us.'

'I know. I agreed to breaking up only because you seemed to think it possible, a possibility I found wonderful. But now we can just be friends. A fresh start. So, as your good friend, tell me all about you and Edward. I'd like to know. All I've heard are vaguely alarming accounts of a rather frantic would-be-fortune-teller.'

'Oh, I can bore you with all that later, though I must warn you that despite your friendly intentions, you'd end up wanting to strangle Edward after hearing me go on and on about how wonderful he is....' she said with a laugh.

'What I'd really like to explain to you, is how it happened. It must strike you strange that after being so terrified of falling in love with you that I should do so a few weeks later.'

'It's not that strange. I fell in love with you the instant I saw you.'

'Well, that's happened to me, too, lots of times,' she replied with a laugh. 'Do you recall me mentioning my teen years and all the crushes I had?

I nodded, with a smile. 'I seem to recall you mentioning something, but refusing to go into details.'

'And I'll not this time either,' she replied with a grin. 'You'll have to ask Grace when you meet her. I've always considered my impulsiveness, my intuitiveness, the caprices of my heart. My head is my logical, rational reaction to these instinctive impulses, though I know they're both aspects of how my mind works. I find that being intuitive, impulsive, and logical, may be my greatest strength in maths. I'll often leapfrog logic to arrive at a possible solution to my problem, then have to work backwards to connect it to my starting point, which is often easier than finding my way forward.

'The trouble is that even though my heart and my head cooperate nicely in maths, they're usually at loggerheads when it comes to relationships. As a shy teenager I had Grace around to keep me from making a fool of myself. Outside of getting strange looks from me, most of those boys never knew I'd a crush on them. It was not until I met Richard Marten my second year at Oxford, that I had a crush on a boy who seemed to have a crush on me.

'Marten is very handsome, very smart, very social and very ambitious. He is just the type of young politico who hung around our house when I was growing up, a type, I might add, that I had disliked intensely, and yet, I fell in love with him anyway. My parents liked him and Grace did too, at first, so no one applied the brakes. And by the time Grace got wise to him, I'd not listen to her any more. I was in love the whole school year, but that summer I discovered that Marten wasn't so smart after all, because I discovered just how much more social he actually was. And when I confronted him, I found out that he was far more ambitious then I'd thought, too – too ambitious, in fact, to settle for the non-heiress daughter of a party official and a civil servant.

'Well, Grace kept me in the social circle the following school year, even with my heart in shards though I wasn't a very nice person. Those were the days that I used to enjoy stringing along the hounds I told you about, the ones who were queuing up to take Marten's place. I enjoyed toying with them and then dashing their plans. But during this past year with Grace gone on to Cambridge, I'd grown tired of those games, so I froze everyone out, even my remaining friends...

'Anyway, in the three years since I fell for Marten, I'd been free of those impulsive crushes, until, that is, the last evening in trinity term.

'When I showed up at your door last June I'd only intended to spend an hour discussing dyaries with someone I'd gathered had spent a lot of time thinking about them. You know how that turned out – modelling my intimate apparel for you – which is something quite out of the ordinary, I assure you!' she said with a laugh.

'I believe you,' I said, 'Though it seemed like a sweet, and silly thing to do. But then I don't know anything about women.'

'So you say, Gallagher. And save your protest, the point is moot.

'Amazingly it never struck me that night that my old impulsiveness was back – I was too busy worrying if I'd unintentionally insulted you. It was only towards the end of our walk after my exam that it dawned on me that you meant far more to me then could readily be explained by gratitude. At that point, I acted instinctively, giving you the shove as nicely as I could, and ran.

'Back in London I tried to devise rational reasons for liking you too much. I'd tell myself that I was just so worn down from all my study for my usual wariness to work. Or maybe I'd begun to realize that freezing out my friends had been a terrible mistake, so I was open to making new friends. And, well, since Alicia assured me that you were a nice fellow – and since she was comfortable with you, I didn't think I'd have much to worry about – I may've been more open to simple kindness than I'd been for ages. Of course the fact that you were nice, helpful, easy to get along with, had a crush on me, but didn't push it, and seemed to understand where I was coming from, made it too easy to like you. In short, I could think of lots of reasons why I might like you, but they could never quite explain why I liked you, well, so very much. Or why I couldn't get you out of my mind... It was like old times, except, and this is important, I wasn't, well, infatuated with you, at least in any way I recognize. I didn't see you as my lover. My heart was still broken.

'So of all my impulsive crushes, Gallagher, yours is unique. Rather than falling in love with you, I just liked and trusted you, but a lot. I knew intuitively that you'd not take advantage of me, you'd not hurt me, and moreover, that I could count on you even as my logical mind, tried as usual, to dismiss these feelings. But my heart, always wins in the end, so when the Cambridge trip came up, I turned to you, despite hardly knowing you, because you were my heart's best friend.

'Having surrendered once more to my heart and after Cambridge, I began to hope, and fear, that the trust I was feeling was really the beginning of mature, adult love and that, in time, I'd find myself in love with you. Now if this happened too soon, before we'd finished our studies, before we could be together in one city, the distractions could very easily wreck our careers. I couldn't take that chance... Well, I'm telling you nothing now that you don't already know, but I wanted to tell you how you were always very dear to me, even when I was pushing you away.'

I was touched and struggled to find the words. 'I shall always try to be your friend, Selina. A lifelong friend, I hope. And you know, you can always count on me.'

'I have, since I've met you, Gallagher. And I know this sounds so trite, but I'm sure we'll always be best friends.' she said with a smile.

'So now tell me about you and Edward Simonette,' I said after a short pause. 'I really do want to hear your story.'

'Well, if you insist!' she replied with a laugh. 'On your head, Gallagher. Just stop me when you've heard enough. Let's see, I first met Edward the night of the physics department's grad student reception at the start of term. Later that evening, as I lay awake thinking about the reception, it dawned on me that I'd spent most of the party hanging around this rather quiet American doctoral candidate. Of course, we were going to be partners in Professor Darneby's project, but still, I vaguely realized that it wasn't that which kept me near him all evening. And the prospect of working with him suddenly seemed rather wonderful. But looking back, I had a sinking suspicion that I'd acted more like a star struck school girl than a soon-to-be colleague.

'Indeed, I'd more than a sneaking suspicion I'd made a fool of myself. My only hope was that since most everyone didn't know me, no one would realize I was gaga over him and just assume I was a natural silly, giggling idiot,' she laughed. '"Sellie," I told myself sternly that night, "you've fallen down the rabbit hole yet again". But this time I knew what was going on, it had that old familiar feel to it, and I was sure it would pass like the others if I just kept my wits about me. I vowed to protect my shattered heart and let my shy and guarded nature keep me safe. And I did try, for a week or two, even as I knew I was failing deeper into the rabbit hole of love. And even when I gave up and gave in during the weeks that followed, I actually thought, I swear to you, that I was acting so cool, so casual, so altogether professional when I was around him that no one could possibly suspect how whipped I was over Edward Simonette.'

'Ha!' she gave a depreciating laugh.

'After Moss and I had our little conversation on the subject, I raced to my girlfriends from the lab to ask them if they'd noticed that I was sort of interested in Edward. They burst out in hysterical laugher. They assured me that if I walked around in a sweatshirt with I'm in Love, I'm in Love, Lord Love a Duck, I'm in Love on it in big bold letters, I could not have been more obvious!' She laughed.

'I was so embarrassed. I turned beet red and started crying and everything. They had to assure me over and over with a lot of kindness and cheerfulness, that while everyone knew about it, everyone thought it was all too cute and since they realized I was trying to be so coy about it, no one said a word to me. But I'm sure they lied when they assured me nobody thought I was an idiot since I was and am. I was just too whipped over Edward and, well I still am, as you can see.'

I could indeed. I could see her happiness, unguarded in her eyes. And if it wasn't for me, at least she was sharing it with me. I'd have to have been a cad if I wasn't happy for her as well, even if it hurt me somewhere deep.

'When I asked them how they knew, since I'd told no one – not even Grace or Kate, they proceeded to compete with each other to demonstrate just what I look like when I'm around Edward, with even more shrieks of laughter. From what I could gather from the girls, I look like this, (Her face fell into a sort of slack-jawed blankly adoring look.) And then I sort of simper and giggle,' she said, and proceeded to demonstrate. I'm certain she exaggerated it quite a lot. She was just having fun now. 'So you see Gallagher, the fate you've dodged...'

'I'll admit it's some solace...' I laughed.

'If I could help it, I would. But he's just so charming, and quiet and nice and his mathematical mind is just so, so wonderful. He's a genius... I can't wait for you to meet him, so you'll know...'

'I've already met him, Selina. That's the problem. I found him to be a pleasant chap, a friendly, modest sort, with a good sense of humour to boot. I don't know anything about his mathematical mind, but I do know he's quite a star ship pilot. So, in short, I can't find anything about him to warn you about. Drat.'

'You met him! Where? When? I didn't know that!'

'A weekend in late September. Moss invited me up for a bike ride and picnic. I hesitated, but he assured me that Noste had already asked you and that you were going down to London for the weekend, so that I needn't feel that I was, breaking my parole as he put it.'

'I didn't know, or at least forgot, that Moss invited you up for the Quantum King's Hunt picnic...'

'How'd you know that! I was told that the Hunt was a deadly secret, even one's better half wasn't to be told! Were they pulling my leg, or did someone blab?'

She laughed. 'Maybe I best not say.'

'What am I to do? Who's the traitor? Wait, don't tell me... What'll they do to you if they find out you know about them... They can be quite ruthless... The Hunt plays for high stakes...' I said, in mock panic.

She laughed. 'You could forget I said anything.... But how do you know about... it?'

'Moss invited me to fill in for one of the regular members of the Hunt that couldn't make an important game, the weekend you came back from your holiday and surprised me. Since I'm at least an auxiliary member, I was invited along for the picnic. Edward was a guest of one of the members, I believe. After the picnic, most of the Hunt members and some of the guests, including Edward, spent a long evening duelling with Starfire fighters in the Terratana Worlds game, so I had a chance to play with and against him in these games, which is a good way of getting to know someone.'

'Boys,' she said, rolling her eyes.

'Yes, boys,' I said with a smile. 'Still, Edward is, quite the Starfire fighter pilot. He actually outscored Noste, our best, that evening, which I don't think exactly endeared him to your fiddle player comrade. Come to think about it, maybe Terratana Worlds is the hidden variable in all your crushes...'

'Don't even joke about that, Gallagher,' she laughed. 'And yes, Edward isn't one of Lewis' favourites, though the three of us have worked together all term. I think, however, being better at computer games is the least of their issues...'

'Well, yes. Even before the term started, Moss was promoting Lewis Noste as a rival for your heart. I'd seen the way he watched you during your performance at Darneby's garden party, so I wasn't surprised, nor, I must confess, much alarmed even with his math and his fiddle...'

'Poor Lewis. We spent a lot of time together in the beginning, working on music and physics and I'd seen the look too often not to know. Still he's quite prim and proper and since I like him, I felt it best just to be blind to his feelings. When Edward came along and I began to spend less time with Lewis, he got it in his mind that Edward was making a play for me. Ha! Lewis eventually took me to task for letting Edward take up so much of my time. That should've set alarm bells ringing, I mean, if Lewis could see what was going on. Even if he got it backwards. But it didn't... Duh. I'm such an idiot! Just because I'm good at maths people think I'm smart. Don't be fooled, Gallagher.

'Anyway when he complained about Edward trying to cut him out, I pointed out that if he thought it was being a cad to cut in on another fellow's would be girlfriend, then he might want to consider what he was doing in regards to you, just to put everything in context. He didn't have much to say after that...'

'I think after that he rather gave up hope, though, as I said, things are pretty icy between him and Edward. Still, we get work done...'

'By the way,' I said, 'I do believe you owe me a small debt of gratitude, Beri. When Edward Simonette first entered the picture, Moss suggested that since Edward had just arrived from America and not yet used to our traffic going the "wrong way", it might not be all that unlikely that he'd end up under a bus. At the time I thought it a bit over the top and said so, knowing Moss was taking his fortune telling reputation rather too seriously...'

'Thank you, Gallagher,' she said with a smile. 'I'm not so sure about that "at the time" bit though.'

'And I really have warned Moss more than once just to stay out of things, but you know Moss... You might want to hint to Edward that if he finds himself walking along a street with Moss, he should be on the inside....'

She laughed. 'I think I'll just have a word with Philip, instead.'

Then she turned more serious. 'I know I'm in that first stage of love, my feet hardly touch the ground and I'm overflowing with happiness. I know too, I'll settle down in time. But I want you to clearly understand that I'm in love, we're in love, and I believe he's the man I'm going to love all my life. Just as my heart picked you as a dear friend, it has picked Edward as my lifelong mate. And if it was just my heart, I might harbour some doubts, but there's so much more to him, he's kind, even-tempered, funny and mature.

'Most importantly he's a true mathematical genius. Maths used to be my refuge. But as I worked with Edward and then later, hung out with him outside of study, I found it a wonderful experience to explore maths with Edward. I know this'll sound silly, but much of our, well, courtship, is spent exploring our ideas of mathematical theory. We've spent hours and hours discussing mathematical ideas. Mathematical ideas have, for me, a great beauty, Gallagher. Exploring this beauty with Edward, who's always open to my ideas and treats me as an equal though he is so much smarter, is my great joy. We work so well together! I love being with him, talking to him. I just love him. Silly, but who'd have thought that love could be like taking an advanced seminar in m-theory math? So instead of love distracting me from my studies, its helping me ever so much.

'Yet all term I never quite knew where I stood with him. He can guard his feelings every bit as well as I can....'

I laughed, and she joined me.

'I mean every bit as well as I can except in regards to Edward. anyway, I was never sure what he really thought about me, and after all these weeks he never gave me a clue as to what he thought of me. I was on pins and needles the whole while, wanting him to love me, wanting to get over him, wanting to love him and wondering just what he thought of me...

'You see why I couldn't tell you anything. There was just nothing definite to tell. It changed by the minute in my head. It was only this week, after my conversation with Moss that I decided I needed to find out where he stood, and well, I managed to actually talk to him about my feelings and we admitted our mutual love...' she paused and smiled staring off into space a moment before turning to me.

'I really think you should begin to, well, dismantle your daydream, even as we remain friends...'

'Don't worry about me. Even if I could evict you from my heart, which I don't think I can, why would I want to? What good is an empty heart? You know how that feels. If I was in Cambridge and had to often see you and Edward together, well, maybe then I'd have had to evict you from my heart to remain friends. But since we're likely only going to see each other a few times a year, I don't think it really matters – I've never been able to, even in a daydream, realistically see the two of us together. We're simply too far apart in many ways. You're a fantasy to me, and I know it. Someday another girl will come along and just slip into your old spot, but like you, I hope not too soon. I have too much work to do if I'm to get into grad school and be successful if I do. Trust me I'm not looking for anyone, so I don't need to make room for someone else any time soon.'

'Okay, Gallagher. I can't say I don't understand...'

'And just so you know, you needn't worry about me and your love, either. I'd never try to come between you and Edward. It'd only make you unhappy, which I'd never want to do and I know I'd have no chance to succeed anyway. But should I unintentionally make more assumptions than our friendship allows, please tell me and I'll stop. I don't want to lose your friendship by acting stupid.'

'Don't worry, my intuitive heart has vouched for you. I know you mean that, and that I can trust you in that too. However, I suppose we should turn back. We don't want people talking too much about us...'

'And I have to get things underway for our lunch...'

We turned about and slowly walked back through the grey morning, the trees dropping big wet drops on us, joggers and bikers passing us by as we talked of our experiences since we parted ways. With Selina at my side, nothing she had said had managed to wound my heart all that deeply. When you're walking with the dream of your life, life is a dream.

I arrived back at the flat just after nine and the gang was still just beginning to stir to life. I quietly went about making preparations for our lunch for all the Cambridge students and their Oxford hosts.

As I was working in the kitchen, Lewis Noste came in to get a cup of coffee. He hung about for a bit and we talked a bit about the lecture and all.

And then, after a pause and with an effort he began, 'It was my understanding, Gallagher, that you and Selina Beri were merely casual friends, and if there had ever been any sort of romantic involvement – you were no longer in that relationship, and indeed, in one sense or another had broken up when she came to Cambridge. The nature of your relationship was not made all that clear to me. I will add in my defence that until yesterday, I had not seen you and Selina together, and so I had never been able to judge the level of affection you and Selina might share,' he began in his usual roundabout way.

'Well, as you may have gathered from Moss, I found myself very attracted to Selina Beri. And, as I said, unaware of the depth of your affection for her, or her for you, I felt that I was free to pursue her. I will candidly admit that in the first month or so she and I were able to see each other without Simonette, we seemed to get along quite well, playing our music and exploring physics. I didn't make much progress, romantically, but I entertained hopes that our relationship might evolve romantically over time.

'And then this American, Edward Simonette, appeared on the scene and I found my time with Beri to be suddenly rather limited, and her, rather distracted by this Simonette chap. I have to say that seeing you and Selina together this weekend, gives me some hope that my fears are unfounded,' he added as an aside, and then continued, 'That is neither here nor there, in any event. I do, however, feel I owe you an apology, Gallagher, for trying to poach Selina Beri, however unintentionally. And I do apologize for doing so.'

'No apology's necessary, Noste,' I said as lightly as I could. 'Selina Beri and I are just dear friends. And I hate to disillusion you, but I have to tell you that your fears – and indeed mine – are quite in line when it concerns Edward Simonette. I rather fear we're out of the running...'

He sighed. 'An American... We can't let that happen, Gallagher.'

'I don't see what we can do,' I replied. 'Moss suggested pushing him under a bus, but I think that's rather drastic.'

'It has a certain appeal, but as you say, rather drastic. A career in a penal institution does not appeal. Still, he goes back to America this spring, and Selina still has another year of study. We must bide our time; I fear...'

I hadn't thought that far ahead. 'That's a thin ray of hope, I suppose,' I mused.

'Indeed. And our only one.'

There was perhaps little more we could've said on the subject, but Moss rolled in, so we dropped it.

Ali brought the girls, bright and lively, around at eleven, while the guys were only beginning to come alive again. But between O and Moss driving the gathering, things soon became lively enough and we all had a good time. As I said, it's hard for me to feel sad with Selina close by. We talked about getting together over the holidays in London since Simonette would be going home to Virginia for the holidays.

She added, 'We'll set a date. And just so you know, Hugh, you're a regular friend now, so I'm not placing stupid limits on you. You know what irritates me. Just follow your instincts and I'm sure we'll get along just fine.'

'Since we're likely to be able to get together only rarely, I think I'd like to send you an occasional email, just to keep in touch. I won't expect an answer. I'd not want us to, well, drift apart.'

'Emails would be fine. I can't promise regular letters... but I'll keep you a part of my life, no fear.'

Moss also cornered me, as everyone was packing and getting ready to take off. This late in term everyone had papers and projects that could no longer be put off, so their weekend had to be cut short.

'So, have you set that little shrimp straight?' he asked when no one was about.

'We're friends. She's in love with Simonette and he with her, and there's nothing to be done about it. Got that, Moss? Nothing to be done about it....'

'Just as I feared. Well, he'll be gone by spring, and will no doubt spend the rest of the year writing his thesis and landing a job, so we'll be clear of him yet, Gallagher old boy. I'm counting on you... Keep your powder dry and we'll see...'

'Stay the hell out of it, Moss,' I warned him again, for all the good it would do.

'Right. We'll just bide our time...' He was hopeless.

Then it was time to say goodbye.

I kissed Selina goodbye, and the other girls as well, for form's sake, and watched their car pull out of the lot and disappear beyond the buildings.

I found myself standing next to Noste.

'Strange that a fellow like Edward Simonette, so grown up still plays Terratana Worlds,' Noste said in a quiet voice. 'I would imagine it's a lingering fragment of his long past feckless youth. Did you know he's an admiral in the Lost Fleet of the Empire?'

'Ah,' I muttered. 'No I didn't.' The Lost Fleet is a well-known mercenary outfit in the online game. Its various players are all quite up to snuff, as good or better than the Lamp Black Star pirates. To be one of its admirals meant that he was very good, indeed.

'Yes, he happened to mention it when Moss was around one afternoon. He's a very senior admiral in the Lost Fleet, in fact. Though it seems almost all of them are admirals of one sort or another. anyway, we fell into talking about our experiences in the online Terratana game. Edward Simonette is every bit as modest as he is brilliant,' Noste paused and then continued in his usual around about way. 'Moss did most of the talking on our side – he kept his wits about him for once – and kept his exploits vague and never mentioned the Hunt or our avatars' names at all – so it was largely left to Edward Simonette to entertain us with a few of his modest triumphs as a High Admiral of the Lost Fleet. During the course of our conversation, he happened to mention his avatar's name – Admiral E.S.C. Danger – and the name of his star ship battlecruiser, the Glory Game...' Pause. 'I'm not overly fond of mercenary admirals, Captain Kee,' he said in a low voice and gave me a dark, bitter glance.

I nodded. 'Count me in, Fiddler,' I said.

He returned the nod, 'I'll be in touch.' And looking back to the empty street added, more to himself than to me, 'But then, I suppose, he hasn't much time to play Terratana Worlds these days...'

And broke my heart.

P.S.

Though broken, it continued to beat. I took a breath, then another. Said goodbye to Moss, Noste and the guys. And returned to the flat.

We hosted our Sunday gathering as usual. I walked Ali home. At her request. She asked how I was, and I told her fine. She didn't believe me, but said that she had a nice chat with Fay and Beri and had come to see that I wasn't a total fool. She said Beri was concerned about me and had asked her (Ali) to continue to look after me. Ali assured her she'd make a physicist out of me. They likely said more, but what, I needn't be told.

I finished the term in good order, thanks to Ali, and I'm looking forward to seeing Beri, Kate and Moss in London over the holidays.

Noste called today.

'Simonette is home for the holidays,' he said in his terse in game, Fiddler Green mode. 'I've a new Black Star Alloy ship I'd like to try out. I don't know if he'll play online or not, but I've obtained a spy-tag from Jasmine Night that can be installed in his ship. It'll alert me to when he is online playing and will track where his ship is in the game. However, I need an agent to infiltrate the Lost Fleet's planetary star base, break into his ship and install the spy-tag. Care to have a crack at it, Kee?'

Simonette's a few years older than us, and he may have put away the toys of his youth. But then again, maybe not.

I glanced up at the Daydreamer half hidden on the top shelf of my closet. 'Yes, I'm in,' I said, after all, she was, once upon a time, my White Queen.
