Chapter Nine: Discoveries

Lady Penelope and Parker stood on the pier and surveyed the neat little houseboat moored there.

"We could've h-asked Mister Gordon for 'is key," Parker suggested.

"We could," Lady Penelope agreed, "except that Alan requested that we tell no one of his suspicions. Gordon may not have wished us to do this investigation into his soon-to-be-ex-wife."

"H-I would've thought that 'e'd be glad of the 'elp."

"I'm of the opinion that he wants the whole affair to go away, and would rather that we didn't attempt to drag it out through the courts… Are you sure that Marina won't return any time soon?"

Parker checked the receiver in his hand. "That 'omin' device we planted on 'er car h-is miles h-away, and h-it don't look like h-it's gonna be moving any time soon."

"Good. It would be tiresome to be interrupted in our work. Lead on, Parker."

Parker led the way across the gangplank and onto the houseboat. He pretended to ring the doorbell as he examined the lock. "Looks h-a nice h-easy number. H-I would've thought Mister Gordon would've taken more care."

"Gordon probably thought that he no longer had the need of top of the range security systems. Of course, the whole houseboat may be alarmed."

Parker had placed a small electronic device beside the lock. "H-It h-is." A few key presses later... "At least h-it was..." The door swung open and he stepped inside. "Lummee!"

Lady Penelope followed him.

It was like stepping into a furnace, and her first reaction was to be repulsed by the scene before her. She'd never visited Gordon's home of the last seven years, and never in her wildest dreams had she imagined it to be anything like this.

"H-A bit h-overpowering, ain't she," Parker stated as he indicated the fiery red, orange and yellow ruffles that seemed to blossom anywhere.

This was not how Lady Penelope expected one of the masculine Tracy boys to furnish his home and she suppressed an almost overwhelming desire to call in her favourite interior designer. "Gordon's the most laid back of the Tracys, but even so…" she gave a refined shudder.

"'Ow did 'e stand h-it?"

"I don't know, Parker." Lady Penelope moved around the room examining the furnishings. "Marina bored me for simply hours at one of the Tracys' parties by explaining how she was 'improving' the décor. She explained how she was trying to achieve the juxtaposition between fire and water. I believe that she was trying to impress on me that she was an innovative interior designer in the hopes that I might bless her with my patronage."

"H-And what do you think now that you've seen 'er work?"

Lady Penelope stared at him with a grim expression on her pretty face. "That we need to do all we can to get Gordon out of this marriage."

Parker pushed back the flame-red lace wall hanging, revealing a white wall with blue trim and a replica life preserver. "Poor fella made h-an effort… Not that h-it did 'im much good."

Lady Penelope pulled herself together. They already knew of Marina's cheap tastes and lack of refinement. They were here to discover what the woman had chosen not to reveal to her husband's friends. "I would like you to make a thorough search of the living area while I'll examine the bedroom."

"Yes, m'Lady."

Lady Penelope stood at the doorway to the bedroom and took in the scene. The sight of two single beds seemed somewhat pathetic in the room of a couple who'd been married less than a year, and there was no difficulty telling the ownership of each bed. Marina's had the expected red and yellow ruffles, while Gordon's duvet was a more practical nautical-navy and white. "Now," she mused, "just where would a girl hide her secrets?"

She began to search, carefully and methodically. She started with pulling back the pillow and checking that nothing was concealed there. Then she felt under the mattress, before turning her attention to the drawers and cupboards. Just under half were filled with the sort of items that she found in her own drawers at home, albeit of lower quality. The others contained Gordon's belongings, or else were simply empty.

She regarded a drawer of masculine underclothes with distaste. There wasn't a lot of logic in the idea of Marina hiding things in Gordon's drawers, but Lady Penelope was always thorough and made a point of never leaving any stones unturned. She also did not like betraying Gordon. If these had been the belongings of a stranger, she would have felt no qualms searching through them. But now she felt like an intruder. This was a stupid, sentimental way to feel, but these belonged to a close friend...

"Parker!"

The butler stuck his head through the bedroom door. "Yes, m'Lady?"

"Would you search through Gordon's clothes? I am quite sure that if he were aware what we were doing he would rather you did it than I."

Making no comment about his mistress' uncharacteristic reticence, Parker made a quick and efficient search of the drawers. "Neither of them seem to be 'iding h-anything in there."

"No…" Lady Penelope was examining a waste paper basket, which she put down. "Did you notice anything odd about the drawers?"

"Odd? Can't say H-I did."

"I searched Marina's and they are not as full as I might have expected. Almost as if, like Gordon, she has deserted her home..."

"'Cept she's giving the impression she's coming back?" Parker hypothesised. He checked the homing receiver. "She ain't moved. Maybe she's shifted out into this h-other place?"

"Maybe... Have you discovered anything of interest?"

"Not really," he admitted. "She likes 'er fruit juice. There's bottles and bottles h-in the recyclin'. And she likes reading cheap romances. There's a 'ole shelf of 'em in there." He jerked his thumb in the direction of the living area. "But what's really h-interesting h-is some notebooks on the shelves."

Lady Penelope spun to face him, her eyes alive with interest. "Notebooks?"

"Yeah. The funny thing is, they h-all look well thumbed like, as h-if they've been used, but they're h-all h-empty."

"Empty?"

"Yeah. D'ya want to 'ave a look?"

"I do indeed, Parker."

Parker showed the way to the bookshelf and pointed out the irregular line of notebooks. Clearly Marina wasn't a neat freak. "That's the way H-I found 'em," he explained. "I used the laser line to make sure H-I put 'em back into place." He switched the laser line on, and Lady Penelope removed one of the notebooks.

She carried it over to the light. "I see what you mean by well thumbed." She examined the notebooks at an angle. "The pages appear to have been written on."

"You think she used 'em to lean h-on when she wrote on a blank page?"

"No… I think she'd written in these books themselves?"

"Using h-invisible h-ink?"

"Probably. The question is which type?"

"H-I can't see a h-air'ead like Marina using one of the more h-exclusive ones, such h-as you'd use, m'Lady," Parker confided. "Where'd she get 'er 'ands on it?"

"Exactly," Lady Penelope agreed. "It would have to be something readily accessible."

"Lemon juice?"

"Not always the easiest to obtain…" Lady Penelope had an idea. "What type of juice bottles were they?"

Parker shook his head. "Sorry to burst yer bubble, m'Lady, but they weren't lemon."

"There are other, er, shall we say more earthy, but easily accessible media."

Parker snuffled a laugh. "I can't see 'er soiling 'er 'ands."

"No, neither can I," Lady Penelope admitted. "Maybe we're according Marina with more intelligence than she deserves."

"M'Lady?"

"Can you see her making her own invisible ink?"

"No."

"Exactly." Lady Penelope was rifling through a cup on the desk beside the bookshelf. "If we are going to think like Marina, we are going to have to think of the obvious… Ah!" She pulled a pen out of the cup. It looked relatively full of ink, but the label on the side had been worn away. "Where's my notebook?"

As she rummaged through her handbag Parker took the opportunity to examine his mistress's find. "Looks like h-a normal pen to me."

"And, if I am correct, it behaves like a normal pen." Lady Penelope accepted it back and signed Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward on her pad.

"Does h-it fade h-in time?" Parker asked.

"If you give it a little help." Lady Penelope placed the notebook on the desk and rubbed the page. Her signature disappeared.

Parker was impressed by the demonstration. "Ow'd you do that?"

"Friction," Lady Penelope replied. "This is a thermo-sensitive gel ink pen. The heat created when you rub the paper causes the ink to disappear."

"H-And to make it reappear you cool h-it down again?" he guessed.

"Yes. I believe that you have to cool it to minus 20 degrees Celsius."

Parker looked at the row of notebooks; then he checked the homing receiver. "She ain't moved yet. But look h-at 'em all, m'Lady. H-It'll take 'ours to cool all those books h-in the freezer, h-and then re'eat them so she doesn't know we've been 'ere."

"Then we shall stop talking and make a start," Lady Penelope declared. She reached back into her bag and retrieved two further objects. "Put the books in the refrigerator, Parker. When they have cooled enough to reveal their contents you can photograph them and I'll," she held aloft something that looked like a tiny hair dryer, "warm them up again."

"What h-is that?" Parker asked, nodding in the direction of the 'hair dryer' as he started loading the notebooks into the ice compartment of the refrigerator.

"A hair dryer."

"H-Ask h-a stupid question," he muttered.

Lady Penelope responded with a laugh. "A girl always tries to look her best, and being this close to water I didn't like to take any chances."

"H-Of course."

While they waited for the notebooks to chill, Lady Penelope took the opportunity to continue examining the houseboat. "If you asked me to guess which of the Tracys dwelt here, I should not have guessed Gordon. There is no humour in the place."

"H-I know what you mean, m'Lady. That Marina's taken h-over h-everything."

"Not quite everything." Lady Penelope pointed to a small square on the wall that appeared to have escaped Marina's touch. "Do you suppose that's where Gordon displayed his medal?"

"H-If h-it was, I 'ope 'e 'ad the good sense to take h-it with 'im. H-I wouldn't put h-it past 'er to sell h-it."

"I'm afraid to say, Parker, that I totally agree with you." Lady Penelope opened the door of the refrigerator. "Let us see what Marina has to say."

They worked diligently for what seemed to be hours; until the last of Marina's notebooks was lined up next to its brethren in the same untidy state that they'd been in when they started.

"Didya 'appen to read h-any h-of h-it?" Parker asked, as he cast his burglar's eye around the room to ensure that nothing was out of place. He shifted a figurine a fraction of a millimetre.

Lady Penelope replaced the camera and hair dryer back into her bag. "Enough to think that there may be some interesting reading contained in these books."

Parker checked the homing device receiver. "She's on the move, m'Lady."

"She has timed it perfectly," Lady Penelope smiled. "Let us depart, Parker."

As the Rolls Royce rolled out of the carpark, a scarlet convertible drove in. Marina's eyes widened at the sight of the shocking pink car. "Some people have no class," she sniffed.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

It was late when Kyrano dialled the videophone; the optimum time for his caller to speak to him. He'd made this same call at the same time each day and he knew it would be a while before the person at the other end would be able to answer. He was a patient man, and he would have to draw on this patience to ensure that this conversation went smoothly.

At last a face appeared on the phone. He was treated to a lopsided smile. "Hello, Kyrano."

Kyrano smiled in return. "Hello, Mr Tracy. Has it been a good day?"

"It has, and I think we've achieved plenty. Have you survived the first week of mayhem?"

Kyrano bowed his head. "There is not so much mayhem as quiet optimism," he recited. "Your sons returned from Thunderbird Five today. They report that all the equipment is working well. Now they hope to be able to concentrate on repairing the other Thunderbirds."

Jeff let out a sigh of relief. "I'm glad to hear that. I had my doubts that they would be able to get operational in time when they told me about the damage to the craft. How are the boys?"

"They are all well. They ask me to tell them how you are each morning."

"I wish they wouldn't worry about me," Jeff growled. "I'm all right. I'm more worried about them."

"I worry too. They are working hard; perhaps too hard. I only sometimes see Mister Virgil at mealtimes. He is always working on Thunderbird Two."

"He won't be able to fly her if he doesn't look after himself."

"I tell him this. I tell them all, but they will not listen. His brothers, Mister Brains, and my Tin-Tin are just as bad."

"That's what worries me. I'm scared that they'll overdo it and burn out. Or worse!"

"That is my concern. There is much at stake."

"You've got to make them realise they won't be able to do anything if they make themselves sick."

"I tell them this. I even try to drag them to the meal table if I do not think they have had adequate sustenance or rest. But," here Kyrano offered a wry smile, "there is little I can do when they have abseiled halfway down a Thunderbird and are beyond my reach."

Jeff couldn't find any humour in the situation. "They should listen to you. I not only asked you to go to Tracy Island to be my eyes and ears, but also to be my voice. If you think someone needs to slow down and they don't listen to you then call me and I'll talk to them."

Kyrano nodded. "I will remember."

Jeff let out a breath and tried to turn his attention to less worrisome thoughts. "Has Virgil cut his hair yet?"

Kyrano shook his head. "Nor has he shaven."

"Not sha..." Jeff pulled himself up short. "I suppose I shouldn't worry about a triviality like that, not with everything else we've got to deal with. Has Gordon heard anything more about the divorce?"

Kyrano shook his head again. "No."

"How's it affecting him?"

Kyrano hesitated. He didn't want to upset his friend unnecessarily, but he'd promised him a full report. "He seems anxious. I believe that he is not sleeping."

Jeff's brow creased. "Has he mentioned it to Brains?"

"We have moved one of the slow-wave sleep generators to his room. We are hopeful that that will help."

"That's good. Let me know if it works. How's John? Did he lose much weight in space?"

This time Kyrano nodded. "He jokes that he can now fit into his exercise clothing, so he can regain the muscle tone that he lost in space, so he can exercise to lose the fat that he still carries."

Jeff chuckled. "Tell him not to worry about the company. He's got a gem in Emma and we're getting on well."

"He will be pleased to hear that."

"I'll bet," Jeff thought. "How's Scott coping with running everything?"

"He rules with a bar of iron buried beneath a mattress of velvet. But..."

"But?"

Kyrano frowned. While he'd waited to make this call he'd debated whether or not he should broach this subject. He decided that the Tracy patriarch would want to know. "He appears less sure of himself and less trusting of the others."

"Scott?!"

"Yes. He questions all decisions he makes and double-checks all the work of his brothers."

"Any ideas why?"

"No."

"Well, keep your ear to the ground and let me know if you hear anything," Jeff requested. "Did Alan enjoy his first flight in Thunderbird Three?"

Kyrano offered a benign smile. "I do not know if the enthusiasm he showed upon his return was a result of the flight or meeting my daughter again."

"Knowing Alan, it'll be a big helping of both... Talking about Tin-Tin, is she enjoying the new challenge?"

"She is working hard, and it is making her tired, but she is happy."

"Good. And how'z Brains?"

"Mister Brains has not changed. He still forgets that he is human and must eat."

Jeff laughed out loud.

"How is the new cook?" Kyrano enquired, hiding his concerns behind his calm method of speech. His twin loyalties to his friend and to International Rescue had been tested in coming here, and it had only been because Jeff had asked him personally that he had agreed. He knew beyond doubt that none of his friend's sons would have thought of asking him to leave their father.

But Jeff was well aware that those concerns existed. "Adecwate, bud not up to your s'andard'."

"And the gardener?"

"I could uz the zame anza that I di' fa Marda." Kyrano noted that Jeff's speech was becoming harder to understand. "I don' thin' she'll be spryin' weed k'ller aroun' reglessy, I dou't that yo' plan' will thri' as well as th' do unda your gare."

Kyrano grunted his approval. "Are you tired, Mr Tracy?"

Jeff looked annoyed. "Wad a 'm z fed up 'n frustra'ed with thi body v mine. I 'vy you, m' frien'."

"You are tired. I shall call you again tomorrow."

"'m zwy, Gyrina. I…" Jeff, beyond annoyed, growled in frustration.

"I shall tell your sons that you are well and that you expect them to ensure that they are the same."

Jeff nodded. He barely appeared to have the strength to lift his head before letting it drop. "Dank…"

"Good bye, Mr Tracy."

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Would you like a hand, Virgil?"

Virgil smiled at Scott. "I'd love one. The CNC guillotine keeps jamming."

"Have you set it up correctly?"

A slight frown of annoyance clouded Virgil's smile, but his voice remained pleasant. "I'm pretty sure I have, but you're welcome to check it." He watched as Scott read the plans and ran through the CNC guillotine's checklist. "I actually think that something's jammed in the works. It was operating perfectly yesterday."

Scott grunted and pushed the start button. The guillotine groaned, attempted to pick up a piece of metal, and then ground to a halt. There was a clunking sound as the machine shut itself down.

Virgil checked his watch. Then he frowned before turning back to the machine. "Can you give me a hand to open this up?"

Reaching for the off switch to remove the power connection, he heard a voice behind him. "Make sure you switch it off first."

Virgil ground his teeth together to bite back the retort that was waiting to burst forth.

Together they unscrewed a panel and exposed the CNC cutter's interior workings. Virgil got two torches and handed one to his brother. "Can you see anything?"

Scott, his head obliterating Virgil's view, was peering into the machine. "This might be out of alignment..." He reached inside and nudged a component and they heard that clunking sound again.

Virgil checked his watch.

Scott shot Virgil a curious look. "Is it moving freely now?"

Virgil pushed at the feed unit. "No."

Scott adjusted something else. There was another clunk.

Virgil started, raised his arm, saw Scott watching him, and lowered it again.

"What's wrong with you? You're all jumpy."

"Uh..." Virgil indicated the watch. "Gordon said he might want my help and I don't want to miss his call..." He gave an unconvincing grin. "Let me have a look in there."

Scott stared at him in a way that said he wasn't sure about all this, but stood back. Virgil shone his torch inside. "It all looks oka... Hold on! I think I see something." He pulled his head out of the machine and went around the back. "Help me with this." They pulled another panel off the back of the guillotine and Virgil lay down on the floor, shining his torch inside. "Can you get me an adjustable face spanner wrench?"

Scott selected the tool "Here."

"Thanks." Virgil reached back inside the CNC machine and a piece of metal fell free, making a clunking noise. As if it were echoing the sound his watch started beeping and he sat up suddenly, banging his head on the inside of the guillotine. "Ow!"

"Are you all right?"

"Yeah. Ah... Gordon's calling me."

"So I hear..."

"I'll go and see what he wants. Back soon..." Virgil took off at a run; barrelling into Thunderbird Four's bay. "Are you all right!"

Gordon looked surprised at the speedy entrance. "Yeah. Course I am."

"Are you sure?!"

"I just wanted some help. You didn't have to panic, Virg."

"Panic! I thought you were having another attack." Virgil took a breath to get his nerves back under control. "I've just about brained myself on the guillotine trying to get here to help you!" He rubbed his sore head.

Gordon looked chastened. "I'm sorry, but I'm okay. You don't need to worry about me 24 hours a day."

"I might not have to, but I do. It would be a lot easier on my nerves if we just told someone else what happened."

Gordon looked alarmed. "You said you wouldn't!"

"I know I did, but the CNC guillotine had a jam and every time we moved the feeder it would make a noise. The pitch was exactly the same as my watch alarm." Virgil made a hopeless gesture. "I've been on edge all afternoon, thinking that it was you calling me."

"I thought something was wrong." Both men turned at Scott's voice. "So, what is it?"

"Nothing." Gordon treated his eldest brother to an ingratiating grin. "Virgil's in a hurry to get back to his machine and I'm holding him up. Now that you're here you can give us both a hand and he'll be back with Thunderbird Two in no time. Right, Virg?"

"Uh... Yeah... Right." Virgil agreed.

He got the quizzical look again. "You're working on installing the Hexorhombi, Gordon?" Scott asked.

"Yes. I just need a hand getting started."

"Okay."

Virgil watched as Scott marched away towards the neat stack of hexagonal shaped honeycombs. "Tell him," he mouthed.

Gordon shook his head. "No!"

"Yes!"

Scott turned back to face his brothers. "Are you two going to help, or am I going to do this all by myself?"

"We're helping," Gordon told him. "Right, Virgil?"

Virgil made the hopeless gesture again and grabbed a sheet of Hexorhombi.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

Tin-Tin examined the laboratory's calendar and frowned.

Brains blinked owlishly at her. "Is s-something wrong?"

His assistant let the calendar fall back against the wall and smiled at him. "No, Brains, all is well. I just cannot believe that we have been working for nearly one month. The time has flown."

Brains removed his spectacles and rubbed his tired eyes. "It's flown f-fast, Tin-Tin," he agreed. "Too fast." He replaced his glasses.

"You have been working too hard," she admonished.

"So have you," he retorted.

"We all have," Tin-Tin sighed. "When I think of all that we have still to do… And that we have only under two months to do it in..."

Brains looked down on the plans that were spread on a work bench. "It is worrying, isn't it? We've only just, er, finalised the design of the acoustic concussion generators. We've still got to build a p-prototype..."

"Test it..."

"M-Modify it..."

"Build three units..."

"As well as the lead missile for Th-Thunderbird One..."

"And build and design the booster rocket to deflect Arnie..."

"A-And the mechanics for the deployment of the b-booster..."

"And the mechanics for the deployment of the acoustic concussion generators from The Mole and Thunderbird Four." Tin-Tin sighed again and sank onto a stool. She rubbed her eyes; as tired as Brains'. "Do you think we can do it?"

Brains removed his spectacles and rubbed his reddened eyes again. "We don't have any ch-choice, do we?"

"No."

Brains pushed his glasses back onto his nose and straightened. "Then we can do it!" He picked up a list, which he peered at short-sightedly. "We need more materials. H-Has the supply plane arrived yet?"

Tin-Tin looked at her watch. "It should have. I'll go and see, shall I?"

Brains, already buried deep in his work, didn't reply.

Tin-Tin took this as a yes and hurried through the complex. She had another more personal reason why she wanted to see the mail plane's contents.

She found piles of parcels, pallet loads of goods, and a small bag of envelopes in the hangar. Gordon was standing in the middle of it all, reading. "Gordon?"

"Huh?" He looked up. "Oh… Tin-Tin."

"Have you got a letter, Gordon?" Tin-Tin, ignoring his distracted manner, started delving through the parcels.

He gestured with the document in his hand. "Papers I've got to sign for my lawyer." He indicated all the highlighted sections. "I'm only getting a divorce and I've got to sign enough papers to authorise the invasion of another country..." He noticed that she was still ferreting through the pile. "Are you expecting something?"

"Yes." Tin-Tin straightened. "Have you seen something addressed to me? It is probably a small box?"

"Oh!" Gordon retrieved something from his pocket. "Sorry, Honey. I was going to bring it up to you, but I was side..." Tin-Tin grabbed the parcel from his hands and ran for the exit. "...tracked..." He shrugged. "Must be something important." He shoved his letter into his pocket and started stacking the recently arrived goods onto a pallet truck.

-I-R-

-F-A-B-

"Penny!"

"Hello, Jeff. I thought it was high time I visited you."

Jeff indicated the chair next to him and closed the newspaper. "Take a seat."

"Thank you." Lady Penelope claimed the stool next to the hoverchair that Jeff was sitting in. She looked around the summerhouse. "I do so love it in here. The flowers are beautiful; although perhaps missing Kyrano's touch?"

Jeff grinned. "He'd love to hear you say that." He looked about the garden as if he'd never taken the opportunity before. "You're right though."

"How have you been?" Lady Penelope enquired.

"Me? I'm fine. How are you?"

Lady Penelope gave a light laugh. "Oh, you know me. I just muddle along."

"Muddle?" Jeff snorted a laugh. "That's Creighton-Ward speak for: 'I'm in the middle of something daring and exciting and I'm likely to have my head blown off by a crazed spy at any moment.'"

Lady Penelope took a moment to analyse what he'd said. Creighton-Ward had sounded more like "gradenfor" and the rest of the sentence had been equally garbled. While she had a reasonable grasp of Jeff's speech's sounds, she hadn't spent enough time in his company over the last few years to be a totally confident in her interpretational abilities.

"What's your latest project?" he asked.

"Now, Jeff," Lady Penelope admonished. "You know better than to ask me things like that. My work is totally hush-hush." Especially from a subject's father-in-law. "But 'The Firm' has kept me busy this last month." Too busy to examine Marina's diaries in detail.

"I wish you could tell me more. You would add some excitement to the life of an old man."

"You are not old!"

"Yes, I am. I'm old and decrepit."

"Jeff Tracy! I will not listen to you talk this way!"

"I'm only stating the facts, Penny."

There was an element of truth in what he said, so Lady Penelope decided to drop the subject. "Are you enjoying being in control of a multi-national conglomerate again?"

She was delighted to see Jeff's face light up. "I'd forgotten how exciting it could be. I've been out of the corporate world for too long."

She indicated the newspaper. "Is this research, or relaxation?"

"A bit of both," he admitted. "I notice they've stopped begging for International Rescue's help."

"I don't know that that's taken any of the pressure off. I doubt that they will have taken the time to peruse media reports."

"Have you been out to the island lately?"

Lady Penelope shook her head and her blonde curls danced. "No. I decided that I should leave them free to concentrate on what needs to be done."

Jeff's smile faded. "Which leads me onto another subject. Would you do me a favour, Penny?"

"Of course, Jeff! You know you need only ask."

She was surprised to realise that he almost seemed reluctant to speak. "You know how disabled I am..."

"Yes?"

"There is a procedure, an untried procedure, which may go some way to rectifying it."

"An untried procedure?"

"Yes. I've researched all I can about it, and I've decided that I'm going to try it."

"Jeff? Are you sure that is wise?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. That's why I'm telling you. I don't want my family to worry about me, so I wasn't going to mention it to anyone. But someone should know, someone I trust, in case something goes wrong. If that happened I want you to tell them that I underwent this procedure of my own free will. In fact I turned down the opportunity the first time it was presented to me, but things have made me change my mind."

"What things?"

"Work mainly. Things that I used to do so easily, like writing and talking on the phone, are now next to impossible. It's incredibly frustrating, Penny."

"I'm sure that it is. And this, er, procedure..." Lady Penelope placed a gentle hand on his arm. "I take it there are no guarantees of success?"

"None. But at least I'd give myself a chance of something closer to a normal life."

"Is this the time to take such a risk?"

"Is there a better time? They tell me I'll only need to take a week off work and there are people more than capable of taking over from me for that short a time. John need never know."

"Don't you think he would rather know? Don't you think they all would?"

"It would only add more stress to their already stressful lives."

Lady Penelope could see his point. "When is the operation?"

"I don't know. The quacks are still doing tests and finalising things. They haven't made the decision yet."

Lady Penelope paused for a moment. "Why the change of heart?"

Jeff considered her question. "I know there's not much that's good that can be said about it, but Doomsday has given me a new perspective on life. If John had suggested that I take over Tracy Industries without that cloud hanging over our heads, I would have dismissed the idea outright. But 'having' to take over has forced me to re-evaluate my life. And I realised that I was missing out on so much. I'd become mired in my own self pity."

"Yes, you had," Lady Penelope agreed. "I'm surprised that the boys didn't take you in hand."

Jeff seemed taken aback by her forthrightness and he stared at her for a moment before continuing. "They tried. Many times. John kept on inviting me to work functions. I don't know how many times an employee I've respected has been honoured for sterling service, and I've always been too ashamed to let them see me this way… Scott invited me to celebrate Stewie's achievements and I never went. If he hadn't brought the boy around here I would never have met him. The way things stand, Stewie's probably the closest I'll get to having a grandchild, and I missed out on that experience… I never went to any of Virgil's exhibitions, or Alan's races. I've never even seen Gordon's houseboat; before or after that woman got her hands on it."

Lady Penelope remembered the horror that was the houseboat's décor and said nothing.

"When the boys were young, I cursed every opportunity I missed in sharing their important moments; and now that I've got every opportunity I've been too scared to be a part of their lives. I've missed out on too much, Penny, and it's all been my fault, because I've been too ashamed to step beyond the boundaries of my home."

"But is it necessary to take such a risk? You can push out those boundaries as you are."

"No. This isn't me. Besides, I figure that it's because I became ill that International Rescue was terminated. Now that they're working to get it operational again, shouldn't I make the same effort?"

"It's not exactly the same thing," Lady Penelope remarked. "May I read the literature on this procedure to reassure myself that you have made the right decision?"

"Of course. I'll get Sara to give it to you before you leave."

"Thank you…"

"And I'd appreciate it if you'd promise me something."

"You know me, Jeff. I'd do anything for you."

"If this operation goes wrong and something bad happens... If I should die..." Jeff looked Lady Penelope in the eye. "Don't let the boys give up on what they're doing. It's so much more important. I don't want any big commemoration ceremonies or memorial services. All I want is for them to forget about me and get International Rescue operational and to do their best to save the world. If they succeed, that'll be enough of a memorial for me."

"But you are their father. I think you know as well as I do that they could never forget you."

"That may be, but my life counts for nothing when placed alongside the billions that will perish in Doomsday if International Rescue doesn't succeed." Jeff placed his hand on hers. "Don't let them give up, Penny. Please."

Lady Penelope smiled. "I won't, Jeff, you can count on me."

"Thank you." Jeff straightened and appeared to steel himself for the upcoming challenges. "The time for self-pity is over! Now it's time I took a stand and did something to improve my life!"

Lady Penelope refrained from applauding his determination. "And I will support you every step of the way."

-F-A-B-

Parker, lounging in the kitchen, glanced out the window towards the couple in the summerhouse. Then he sipped the steaming mug of brown liquid. "This h-is h-a good cup o'char, Martha."

The cook giggled at his exaggerated Britishness, put on for the American's benefit. "Thank you."

He looked back out the window. "I see they're still yammerin'."

"Shouldn't we take something out to them?" Martha asked. "They've been talking a while."

"Nope," Parker responded. "They ain't ready yet."

"How can you tell?"

"I can read 'er like h-a book. When 'er Ladyship want's 'er cuppa, that's when she'll get it. And I'll know when that h-is." Parker tapped the side of his nose.

Martha giggled again at what she saw as a visual pun. "How?"

"The way she sits. The h-angle of 'er 'ead," Parker expanded. "Little things like that tell me when she wants to be h-alone." The truth was that Lady Penelope had sent a signal to his cuff buttons, which had changed from mauve to navy blue, as a warning that she had wanted privacy while she talked with Jeff Tracy; but Parker wasn't about to let the cook know that. He preferred to maintain the air of exclusive mystery. "That's the h-art o' bein' a good butler."

"More tea, Mr Parker?" Martha asked.

"Don' mind h-if I do."

Martha poured the tea. "Have you known Mr Tracy long?"

"Donkey's ears," he told her.

"Pardon?"

"Years 'n years. 'E's a good bloke. One h-of the best. So's 'is boys."

"Oh…" Martha put the kettle on to boil again. "I haven't seen any of them and I've been here for two and a half weeks."

Parker made a show of glancing out the window. "They've been busy." He straightened the cuffs of his jacket and fished the teabag from out of his mug.

Martha pursed her lips in disapproval. "So I've heard."

Parker noticed the change to her demeanour. "What 'ave you 'eard?"

Martha hesitated a moment. She didn't like gossiping. Well, she said she didn't like gossiping; she had no problems with listening to gossip. "That they've gone off to be playboys on this island somewhere."

She was somewhat disconcerted when Parker burst out laughing. "'Oo told you that? Them? Playboys?" He laughed again.

Uncomfortable at his reaction, Martha studied her mug. "That what I was told."

Parker sat forward. "Lemmee tell you somethin' about them Tracys h-and their h-island. 'Ave you seen photos o' h-it?"

"No."

"Well, just h-imagine a typiecal tropical paradise. Golden sands, palm trees, h-and blue lagoons. The forest h-is filled wiv brightly coloured buttaflies, h-and the parrots h-are so tame they'll h-eat h-out o' your 'and."

"Sounds beautiful."

"H-It h-is," Parker agreed. "Luverly! And the 'ouse, seven years h-ago, was the most comfortable h-and modern one you could 'ope for. H-And believe me, when you work h-and live h-in a mansion that's h-older than your country," he pointed at Martha, "you get to h-appreciate a bit o' modernity."

"You live in a mansion?" Martha gasped; wide-eyed as she allowed herself to be sidetracked.

"Yep. An' I'm proud to do so. 'Er ladyship h-is the best. But still, when you get to my h-age, you start to h-appreciate a modern 'ome, like the Tracys had."

"You've been there?"

"Yep." Parker nodded. "Many times. H-And like I said, h-it's bee-u-ti-full. But h-it's not a place that a man 'oo can't walk properly could stay."

"You mean Mr Tracy?"

Parker nodded. "H-And 'is sons have gone there to lay ramps, put h-a boardwalk down to the beach, h-and h-install lifts so that 'e can move h-about."

"Couldn't they employ someone to do it for them?"

Parker laughed again. "Not them. They're 'appier doin' h-it themselves. They're not the sort to snap their fingers h-and h-expect to be waited h-on. H-And once they've got the villa sorted, they'll send for their h-old man h-and they'll see h-out the h-end o' the world together."

"But," Martha was trying to reconcile this new version of the Tracys with the old. "There's five of them, isn't there?"

"Yep."

"Then couldn't four of them do the work, while John stayed here and continued to run Tracy Industries?"

"They could, but h-if I know Mr Tracy, 'e told Mister John to go."

"But why? Now Mr Tracy's got this huge workload."

"H-And I'll bet you h-all the cakes h-in your h-oven that 'e's lovin' it, h-and they're both 'appy h-as Larry. You see Mister John's h-an h-astronomer…"

"What!"

"'E trained h-as a professional astronomer. Check h-out the library h-and you'll find a couple of books 'e's written. But these past few years, 'e's been stuck in the h-office h-and 'asn't h-even looked h-at the stars for a bit o' fun. Mr Tracy wanted him to 'ave a chance to h-enjoy 'is 'obby before the world h-ends... H-As a way of sayin' thank you for h-all 'e's done to keep the busyness going."

"So he sent him away?"

"H-In a manner of speakin', yeah."

"Oh..." Martha gazed out the window.

So did Parker, just in time to see his mistress sit back. He glanced at his buttons and noted that they were mauve again. "She's ready for 'er tea," he announced. "Betta get h-out there." He stood, poured the freshly boiled water into the teapot and waited a moment before swirling the liquid about. Then he picked up the tray. "I h-enjoyed the chat, Martha." And puttin' you straight on them Tracys. "Thanks for the cuppa." And with all the dignity that one would expect of a top class butler, he carried the tray out to the summerhouse.

To be continued...