The rest of the trip was traveled in silence as Marguerite brushed her wet hair. John Roxton kind of liked watching her perform such a simple task. It seemed so natural. Touching a woman's hair was a very sensual thing, even more so than kissing. You couldn't just walk up to a girl and start stroking her hair. He hoped someday that he could brush her hair, no matter how silly it sounded.
The tree house was quiet when they arrived, much to Marguerite's relief. As soon as the elevator reached the house she swept passed Roxton, heading straight for her room.
Challenger was down in his lab playing with one of his latest inventions, and Malone and Veronica had disappeared as well, who knows what they were up to, Roxton thought with a smile. Oh well, it is my turn to cook tonight anyway, and we have fresh raptor meat from this morning's little adventure.
An hour later the elevator began to rise, bringing with it Veronica, Malone and a stranger. Roxton grabbed his rifle.
"It's alright, Roxton. We found him camped out in a cave about a mile from here," Malone stated when he saw the gun.
"Sorry, force of habit," John apologized to the newcomer.
"It's quite alright, sir. I completely understand. You can never be too careful. My what a lovely home," the stranger said as he stepped further in the room.
"This is Reverend James Jones, Roxton. He's a missionary," said the ever-informative Malone. John studied the stranger. He was an middle-aged gentleman, about Challenger's age, with graying, thinning hair, and brown eyes. He was clean-shaven, but wore dingy, threadbare clothes, attributed to the months he must have spent in the jungle. All in all, he looked relatively harmless.
"Lord John Roxton," he introduced himself holding out his hand.
"The hunter, I've heard all about of you. All of you."
"From who?" Ned asked.
"From Professor Sommerlee. He is most concerned about you. He is a delightful person."
"That he is. We're glad to here he is doing well," Challenger said, joining the little party.
"The Professor is more than well, he is the man of the hour in London. He has probably been invited to more parties since his return than the queen. I met him at a fund raiser for a church."
"Well, it's almost time for supper. Why don't you join us and you can tell us all about how old Sommerlee is doing, and what you talked about. We're having raptor stew."
"Sounds wonderful, Lord Roxton. All I've had to eat the past couple of weeks is beef jerky," Rev. Jones answered.
"I'll just wake Marguerite, and we'll chow down."
Roxton walked down the short flight of stairs to the small, secluded area Marguerite had claimed as hers when they arrived here so long ago, almost 2 and a half years, now. He lightly tapped on the wall, standing behind the curtain that served as a door. When she didn't respond he let himself in. It was already getting dark, and Marguerite hadn't lit any candles, so all he could make out was that she lay on her back on top of the covers, fully dressed, with her arm stretched across her face, covering her eyes.
"Marguerite, supper time," he announced.
"I'm not hungry," she retorted.
"We have company, you can't be rude. He may be able to tell us how to get off the Plateau."
A sense of dread and foreboding settled in the pit of Marguerite's stomach at the mention of a guest, causing bile to rise. "I don't care, I don't feel well," she answered.
"C'mon, girl. Get up for just a little while. You'll feel better once you've eaten something."
She sighed, knowing he wasn't going to give up until he got his way, and stood. "Fine, I'm coming."
"That's my girl." Roxton stepped aside and allowed Marguerite to lead the way to the main living area. When she reached to top of the stairs she froze, staring at the man she hoped she had only dreamt up earlier. The man who haunted her nightmares, and the reason she had come on this expedition.
