Part 7
Later...
Derek and Maggie had taken their turn around the grounds, but the precept had rejected the idea of dinner... unless by room service... later. Housekeeping had come and gone, and both the maid and Maury had been generously tipped for their troubles and their silence. Too tired to change, Derek still wore his bloodied shirt. He sat, slumped in the armchair, with a mug of strong, black coffee cupped in his large hands. Maggie watched him through lowered lids as she finished tidying up. He seemed diminished somehow... as if he was shrinking in upon himself. She noticed the hand gripping the cup was still trembling.
"Darlin'," she said, stepping behind him to rub his taut shoulders. "I'm gonna finish that bath I started a couple of hours ago.... OK?" She tried to give her voice a light and cheerful air, when she felt exactly the opposite. "Maybe you should have a long, relaxing one later.... Might do a world of good."
She frankly admitted to herself that she had been scared by the PK incident, and even more so by its affect upon Derek. The ultimate "control freak" had been unable to control this. In fact, as she thought about it, it had been a very long time since he had been in control over much of anything... especially his own body and health. She was a control freak herself and could easily imagine the horrors of the past months... and... she had, like a dimwit, taken away his choice, his consent, his control over this trip.
The precept glanced up to give her a feeble smile. "I'll be fine," he assured her, but his eyes told her otherwise. They revealed a haunted emptiness like she'd seen in court in the eyes of witnesses to atrocities or who, themselves, had been victims of the unspeakable.
"Hon," she said. "I'm sorry about the way I handled the trip. I should have...."
Derek interrupted her with a shake of the head. "No, my dear," he said. "The trip is a good idea.... Sometimes I'm just a jackass for the sake of being a jackass." He brought her hand to his lips to give her knuckles a gentle kiss. "Relax... go finish that bath."
She patted his shoulder. "I won't be long," she said. Grabbing her toiletry bag from her overnight case, Maggie made sure her cell phone was concealed in the bundle as she headed once more towards the sumptuous bathroom. She needed to talk to someone... someone who would understand.
Once the bath taps were running to mask her voice, she sat down on the stool, punched in her home number, and heard the phone ring.
"Nick Boyle," said the answering voice.
Maggie could hear Marigold barking in the background. Never had she wished so much that she was back on home ground, surrounded by her things, with her big, furry baby close by.
"Hello?..." Nick's voice came hesitantly. "This is Judge Hamilton's residence. Can I help you?"
She took a deep breath, then answered firmly, "Nick... it's me, Maggie."
"Hi... you sound strange... echoing...." The young man's tone suddenly had an taut edge to it. "Is everything OK?" he asked abruptly.
"No...." She struggled to tame the break in her voice. "Derek had a nightmare... an awful one. Scared the shit outta me. He had a PK episode... while he was sleeping.... The room was trashed... stuff was flying around... glass broken. It was a mess... and... Nick... he had a nose bleed, too." She paused, then admitted ruefully, "I didn't understand... before, when you tried to tell me. I didn't realise it was that bad...." She ran out of steam.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" Nick cursed angrily. He had been sure the precept was well along the road to recovery. Obviously, he had been wrong. "It was bad at first," he admitted. "But I thought it was settling down. I thought he was getting it under control.
"I'm sorry, Maggie... I made a mistake.... I put you... and him at risk. I should've stopped this trip. It was too soon." There was a deep, soul wrenching sigh on Nick's end of the line. "God... maybe he needs help that we can't give him, but I'm terrified of what might happen if 'the-powers-that-be' get wind of the PK. Derek didn't want it known... and...."
Maggie suddenly interrupted, "Don't you go blaming yourself, Nick Boyle. Remember... I was the one who damned near kidnaped him." She paused to rest her head on her hand and to take breath that neared a sob. She wrapped her fingers in her hair, and finally confessed, "I underestimated the situation.... I only saw the odd, broken glass or flying book. I didn't want to see... or know anything else."
"But, I did, Maggie... I knew," Nick insisted. "What the hell did I think I was doing? His safety is my responsibility... mine... I was derelict in my duties. I ignored the dangers.... I buried my head in the sand and convinced myself it was all gonna be OK."
"Then it was you and me both, Darlin'," she replied. "We're a fine pair of 'nannies'.... We both had our heads in the sand."
"Is he OK?" the ex-SEAL asked with growing anxiety. "Are you? Do you want me to fly back there... bring you home? I can't get the jet, but I can go up and get the chopper... or I could charter something outta here."
One part of herself longed to do just that... go home, take Derek back where he'd be safe, cared for by her, by Nick, by his friends... maybe try this again... later. She could turn her post over to Judge Watanabe and take a leave of absence.
But the other part ruled. "No... I'm fine," she told Nick, and herself. She rose and walked over to turn off the spigots, then turned to the mirror and wiped away the steam. She examined the face that stared back at her... a quitter's face, she wondered. She winced as she touched the small cut above her eye and realised how much worse it could have been.
"Maggie?... Is Derek OK?" Nick asked more urgently.
Finally, she spoke again. "Right now... he's sitting in there with a huge pot of coffee. He's determined not to go back to sleep. How long can he keep that up, for God's sake!" Her heart ached for her friend, torturing himself about something over which he had no control.
"He's really shaken, Nick.... He keeps asking what if it had happened while we were in the air. I think, if we give up now, it'll knock his confidence... maybe for good." She considered slowly, carefully as she sank down on the edge of the marble tub. "We'll go on.... I'm going to get him... get us... through this."
"You sure?" the younger man asked. The concern was evident in his voice. "Maybe I should come back... just be there... in the background. I can stay out of sight... explain to the staff that I'm a bodyguard giving my boss some room, but still on the job. They gotta be used to that sort of thing."
"No," was the firm reply.
Nick tried again. "This isn't the vacation you expected, is it? No one would think less of you, if you came home."
"You're wrong there, Darlin'... I would.... I'd wonder what sort of a fair weather friend Margaret Mae Hamilton is." Her voice had become cool, determined, nearly without accent. "We'll keep going. I know this trip is what he needs if he's going to get his get-up-and-go back. He's got to get back in the saddle, in more ways than one. He needs his spirit back... his real self."
There was a long pause on the line. "You still there?" she asked quietly.
"Yeah... I was trying to figure the best thing to do," he replied slowly.
"We'll manage," Maggie insisted. "How's my furry baby doing?" she asked, shifting the conversation to a lighter tone. Simply talking with Nick had helped.
"She's still waddling around," he replied with a chuckle, "but you should've warned me about the mommy thing... if she's not washing me, she's washing your bowling ball. You'll have the cleanest damned bowling ball in LA."
Maggie laughed. "Yep... sounds like the time's gettin' close. She gets real mommy mania. Don't worry, hon... she knows what she's doin', and if there's trouble, Hallie's number's on the fridge.... She's a good doggy midwife.
"So long, Sugar."
"Wait!... Maggie!... Remember... Derek's like a loaded gun... with the safety off. Just be careful."
"I will, Sonny-boy.... He will get it under control.... I know he will. Derek's too stubborn not to," she reassured the former SEAL, and herself. Maggie's confidence, her bravado, had returned along with her drawl. "'Sides, I'm used to dealin' with loaded weapons.... They don't go off half-cocked in my hands."
"Bye...," Nick spluttered, unsure what to read into Maggie's last remark and knowing that was exactly the effect she was wanted. "Call me, if you need me."
"I will, Nick," came a soft, determined response. "I promise... and you take good care of my fur ball, y'hear?"
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Part 8
Saint Theodore... Tuesday
Resting his chin in his hand, Derek stared from the window of the small seaplane at the tranquil paradise spread below... a sapphire sky met a turquoise sea, bejeweled with emeralds set in silver. He was beyond tired. After the nightmare, he'd been afraid to go back to sleep. Instead, he had sat in an arm chair watching CNN and sipping cup after cup of black coffee till long past dawn.
"My Gott," he murmured again, "what if that 'episode' had happened in the air?" The fear haunted him... he could have been responsible for hundreds of deaths. How could he stay awake for the rest of his life?
Derek struggled to regain his previous optimism.... This recovery was slow and hard... one step forward... followed by a set back or two... but he'd make it, because he had to make it. William Sloan's voice whispered through his mind, "No option."
Somehow he had to get this thing under control. Perhaps Maggie was right... rest, relaxation... that was what he needed to get himself back in balance, his mind on an even keel. Balance and harmony were always the dual keys to recovery. He prayed it would be so. He was determined he would make it so.
"Relax, Rayne... chill down... breathe," he instructed himself. He chuckled at the word... "chill"... that was a Nick word. Their relationship had not been a one way street... it had been a traffic circle... an exchange of so many things... both momentous and trivial.
Turning back to the window, he realised the plane was beginning its descent to the small, exclusive Caribbean island of Saint Theodore. He knew the place by reputation only. It was an elite resort where the well connected and well-heeled could relax. Maggie had thrust a brochure in his hand; he glanced down to once more read the description. "The four-hundred-acre island is quiet and peaceful. It avoids the despoiled atmosphere of the Caribbean's other islands. The resort complex is surrounded by gardens and a world-class, championship golf course. It offers snorkeling, scuba diving, sailing, tennis, hiking trails, beautiful beaches. and, of course, absolute privacy." Knowing Maggie, he smiled and wondered how much "rest" he would get.
With a change in engine tone, the seaplane banked to the left and began its final approach. "OK, folks...." The voice of the pilot echoed round the small cabin. "We're coming in to land. As you can see the water's flat as a pancake, but please make sure your seat belts are fastened and do not leave your seats until given the all clear."
"Darlin'," Maggie's voice whispered in his ear, "it's simply gorgeous, ain't it!" She reached out to take his hand as the plane kissed the water and bounced with a shudder. "I hate this bit," she said, embarrassed to admit her anxiety.
Derek gave her hand a comforting squeeze. "Me, too," he agreed as a burst of spray hit the windows and they bounced again.
Maggie tightly closed her eyes. She held her breath until the plane remained on the water, then turned to glide back toward the dock. There was a jolt as two brawny, young men pulled the plane into its moorings.
"That's it, folks. Welcome to Saint Theodore." The pilot began his routine landing speech, "Don't worry about your luggage. It'll be taken care of and promptly delivered to your lodgings. You see that pretty, young lady standing on the dock?... She's here to see you settled... take care of any problems. Enjoy your stay."
The door swung open and Derek and Maggie stepped out onto the firm planking. Maggie giggled as her knees shuddered and Derek steadied her.
"Mr. and Mrs. Bernard? I'm Rosa, your personal liaison," said an exotic, young woman with an island lilt. She was strikingly beautiful in her flower print sarong with a scarlet bloom pinned into cascades of dark, curly hair. A dazzling smile lit her face as she extended her hand. "Welcome to Saint Theodore. Your accommodation is all ready for you. If you'll follow me, please."
"Mr. and Mrs. Bernard?" Derek hissed. "Really, Maggie... or is it Marigold now?"
"Hush now, Darlin', I thought that would be more discreet... that's all." They followed Rosa along the rickety, but suitably picturesque, dock. Stirred by the plane's pontoons, waves slapped against the pilings, throwing the scent of salt water into the muggy air. A canopied golf cart, a surrey with the fringe on top, waited at the end of the pier.
Maggie halted. "It's only a half-mile along the beach... shall we walk?"
"Yes... let's," Derek replied eagerly. "My legs need a stretch... and we can walk in the sand." His voice and sudden lightness gave him the aura of a small boy given permission to play.
"We sure can, Darlin'," Maggie agreed, as she stepped out of her sandals, onto the hot, white beach.
Derek scarcely took a moment longer to pull off his shoes and socks, and roll up his trouser legs, before he joined his companion in the deep, soothing sand. He wiggled his toes in delight and felt the tension begin to ebb away like the shimmering waves beyond.
Rosa smiled. "I'll see to your luggage and meet you at the cottage." She thought she recognised Mrs. Bernard, but Mr. Bernard appeared to be a new and improved model... taller, much thinner. A nicer one, she thought as she watched them stroll hand in hand along the beach. A "keeper," perhaps?
* * *
As they walked along the hot sand, Maggie struggled to keep up a flow of light, inconsequential conversation, when, in truth, she was afraid she was out of her depth. The thought mocked her... Judge Margaret Hamilton, who daily sat on some of the most difficult cases, who had dealt with murderers and the worst sorts of human refuse, was out of her depth, but Derek's nightmare had been a frightening experience. She could cope with the paranormal phenomenon of psychokenesis... Derek had always been different... and she was not unaware of the Legacy and its work... but she feared the physical and emotional strain that it placed upon her friend. She squeezed his hand tightly... poor boy. What has he been through, she wondered. Am I the right person to help him?
Shit, Maggie-mae, you're probably the only one who can, she lectured herself. He needs to loosen up... he's wound tight as a watch spring.
Their eyes met; Derek reached out to touch the small band-aide above her eyebrow. "Maggie... I'm so sorry," he sighed as he delivered a gentle kiss to the spot.
"I know, Sugar. It wasn't your fault," she assured him. "We'll get rid of these ol' nightmares of yours. Just you wait and see! We'll banish them for the nasty, ol' ghosts they are."
"I think maybe you will," he agreed. His arms encircled her and this time he kissed her lightly on the lips. He pulled back for a moment to stare intently into her sapphire eyes. The next kiss was deeper.
"My, my, Mr. Bernard... what will the neighbors say?... Smoochin' on the beach like a couple of teenagers," she teased. "Come on, Dr. Rayne... we're nearly there."
* * *
They completed the remainder of the walk in silence as both absorbed the tranquility and soft beauty of the place. Tropical greens bled into white sands, which trailed off into ripples of pale, sea foam green, thence to aqua to turquoise and on to azure and ultramarine, a sequence of hues that bespoke a slide towards the depths of the sea.
"That's it... the end cottage. Isn't it great!" Maggie asked with excitement. The shuttered, whitewashed house sat behind a picket fence in its own well-tended garden, mere yards from the beach's edge. Honeysuckle and bougainvillea draped its porch, while large trees and low, bushy palms sheltered it from prying eyes.
Maggie held tightly to Derek's large hand as she pulled him up the wooden steps. Pausing to take in the scene, the precept smiled at the delicate, glass windchime that tinkled in the gentle breeze. Their nearest neighbors were in a similar structure three-hundred yards away. Behind the cottages, there was a small service road upon which the golf cart was now parked.
Seeing her charges arrive, Rosa, hurried through the house to meet them. She swung open the screen door. "I'm sure you'll find everything you want inside," she explained, ushering them in and beginning her tour.
The interior was plain, but comfortable... a polished, wood floor contrasted with pristine whites and airy pastels. A ceiling fan whirred above, while the warm sea breeze wafted in through a multitude of French doors. First, she showed them a large living room with a comfortable, chintz sofa, armchairs, and a cupboard that concealed a large screen TV and music system.
"The master bedroom's through there, and the bathroom is here," Rosa said. "Second bedroom... there, and kitchen through here." She pushed open the louvered doors for them to enter. "I think this is the nicest room... as much a tropical, summer parlor as a kitchen... and if you leave the doors open, the sea breeze blows straight through the whole house."
She smiled and continued, "We always deliver breakfast, once you ring and say you're ready... or, if you prefer, it can be at a set time. The main complex has two cordon bleu restaurants.... There's no need to book, and, of course, if you choose, you can have meals from either delivered. But should you wish to cook," she said, opening the cupboards to display racks of spices and various utensils, "then everything's here... simply let us know what fresh ingredients you require.... And, finally... my favorite place on the whole island...." She led them out the back door, to a secluded garden, ablaze with flowers, scented shrubs, and a trickling fountain. "I don't know why, but this garden always has the best flowers. It must be the location."
Concluding her orientation, Rosa pointed and said, "The hot tub's just over there... and there's a wonderful hammock in the arbor. If there's anything you want... anything at all... just call and someone will be out within minutes. But if you want privacy... peace and quiet... you're guaranteed that as well. We even have patrol boats out at sea to guarantee no tawdry, unwanted visitors." She looked round to satisfy herself that all was in order. "Remember... anything at all... call me at any hour... just hit eight on the autodial... that's me. Bye now," she said, heading for the gate.
"Thank you," Maggie called, then turned to Derek. "Look at those orchids," she exclaimed, reaching over to touch a cluster of exotic, purple flowers that rested on a low, wrought iron table, "Aren't they gorgeous, Darlin'... so delicate?"
The precept smiled, stepped behind her, and wrapped his arms round her waist. "They are beautiful, but beside you, 'Darlin',' they fade away."
"Oh, hush now, you sweet talker, you.... I know what I am and so do you," she protested, twisting round to look him square in his hazel eyes. "I'm a forty-something-year-old battle ax, who enjoys a little fun and a lotta sex, specially with you, Sugar... with never a string in sight." Maggie's smile lit her entire face. She was pleased with the compliment, but was more delighted with the way Derek seemed to be relaxing... relaxing enough to offer the compliment in his old, gallant, European style. This had been a good idea, she thought, as she brushed his hair from his brow and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. "Come on, sweet talker... we both need a nice, long afternoon nap... and I do mean a nap... as in sleep."
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Part 9
Early evening...
On the Caribbean island of St. Theodore, a cacophony of birdsong filled the air as species of every shape and color sought their evening roosts and told each other of the day's events.
A gentle sea breeze wafted through the open doors of the cottage to tickle the diaphanous mosquito netting, which draped the bed. Maggie lay beside Derek with her head propped on her hand. He'd been asleep for nearly three hours. She gazed down at the straight nose, dimpled chin, and strong bones, then reached over to gently toy with a wavy lock of salt-and-pepper hair. More salt now, than pepper, she noted. His sleep had been peaceful, for which she thanked God. He needed it so badly. Life could be ironic... not so very long ago she had stood beside Derek's sickbed, afraid that it was his deathbed, praying that he would awaken, now here she was lying beside him and thanking God that he was asleep.
She winced as she traced her finger down the long, white line on his chest, the reminder of a bullet next to the heart three years ago, and the small, round scars that told of feeding tubes and surgical interfaces. "What have you been through, Sugar?" she murmured. Hell, she thought, pure hell.
Hazel eyes slowly opened. A lazy smile crossed the full lips. "Hi," he said as he focused upon Maggie's freckled face.
"Darlin', you had a good, ol' sleep. No flying brik-a-brak this time. How do you feel?" she asked, continuing to play with the curl.
"Goot," Derek replied as he breathed deeply and stretched beneath the soft, cotton sheet. Smiling again, he was pleased with the truth of the statement... he was feeling good... rested... interested! "So, what now, Mrs. Bernard?" he asked as he gazed into her blue eyes, which sparkled with mischief.
"How 'bout a swim?" she suggested as she planted a quick kiss on his forehead, then rolled off the bed.
"I'm not exactly dressed for swimming," he said. "Unless this is a clothing optional resort."
"Not to worry, Honey Bunch. Judge Maggie-mae's got that covered," she responded with a wide grin. "We wouldn't want to end up in jail on indecent exposure charges.
"Let's just see where Rosa put our things." Maggie opened the dresser drawers and began to rummage through. "Here you go, Darlin'." She tossed him a pair of flowered swim trunks that looked like something left over from the psychedelic era of his youth... they spoke of Jimi Hendrix, free love, and Woodstock. "Nick picked these up for you," she explained with a smile. "I hope he got the right size."
"Thanks," Derek murmured between gritted teeth. Surveying the gaudy garment, he vowed revenge on his chief of security. "Remind me to thank him... properly." A job cataloging potsherds for the museum might be about right, he thought. Let him spend a week or so with a few thousand bits of clay... trying to figure out, which, if any, goes with another... describing each one in descriptive detail for the inventory... that should do nicely.
+
Derek stretched again as he stepped onto the veranda. His joints cracked, but the taut motion felt sublime. He took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly, allowing any remaining tension to float away on the tropical breeze.
"Come on, Darlin'," said Maggie, grasping his hand and tugging him down the steps to the flower-lined path. The whitewashed gate creaked as they pushed it open to step onto the ivory sands.
Beyond the reach of the trees' cooling shelter, the sands seared bare feet. "Ow! Ow!" Maggie yowled. With a giggle, she hopped joyfully from one foot to the other. "Come on, Professor, I'll race you." She dropped his hand and ran towards the surf. Sprinting after her, Derek stayed close on her heels, but didn't catch her. Let the wild mare have her head, he thought.
As they reached the gently lapping sea, they rushed headlong into the warm, clear water. Relishing each other's company, they skipped and hollered, giggled and splashed one another like carefree children after the last school bell of the year.
"You can't catch me, Mr. Bernard!" Maggie teased as she took a shallow dive and swam towards a raft that lay moored off shore.
"Oh, I can't?" Derek shouted back and swam after her. His long, powerful strokes soon brought him to her side. As they reached the raft he planted his feet back on the shallow bottom, wrapped his arms around her, pulled her to him, and gave her a firm kiss on the mouth. "Maggie, thank you," he whispered breathlessly, "for being here for me... for being such a good friend. God's been good to me in the friend department, and I've no logical reason why."
Marveling at his self-depreciating naivete, Maggie laughed and returned his warm hug. "Oh, Darlin' Dr. Rayne... because you're you... that's why.... But hush, now.... You and me... we don't need thanks... nor reasons." She kissed him gently on the tip of his nose. "Come on, Sugar... give me a leg up."
With his large hands firmly positioned on her derriere, he pushed her up onto the rough planking.
"'Leg up,' I said! You watch where you put those eager, little hands, buster," she said in mock anger, "or I might just find the right place to put 'em."
Derek laughed and swept the water from his dripping hair, then climbed up beside her to stretch out and bask in the warmth of the sun's last rays. Turning his head, he watched the edge of the great, golden disc kiss the horizon, then sink below. The sky, the sea, the sparse clouds shone scarlet and orange. The island itself sank into wine-dark shadows, while the chatter of the birds seemed to reach a crescendo.
The beauty of it, the God-given, simple immensity of it, lifted his soul. Smiling, he reached out to clasp Maggie's hand. Sometimes life was very good... at those moments there were no doubts, no fears, no demons nor creatures of the night... only pure joy in God's masterpiece.
"Did you know, once upon a time, Dutch pirates used this island as a base?" Maggie asked. "Maybe one of your disreputable ancestors hopped about on his wooden leg along this very beach... complete with Polly Parrot on his shoulder!"
Derek laughed again. "I don't think there's a 'Long John van der Silver' in the family tree... and the Raynes were far too devious to be mere pirates."
"No maps leading to buried treasure?" Maggie feigned disappointment, but was interrupted by a loud grumbling emanating from Derek's stomach. "Come on, Cap'n... you got thunder in the tummy... gotta get some meat on your bones. Let's go back." Gratified by his disappointed expression, she smiled secretly as her happiness bubbled. "I ordered a picnic. We can hike down along the beach.... I know a place where we won't be disturbed," she added as she pushed off the raft in the shallowest of dives.
+
Later...
The fat, round moon bathed the world in wash of luminosity. Across the vast, black sea ever-moving pinpricks of silver and pearl bounced and glinted... fairies' tears kissing the breathing, life-blood of the planet. Strands of silver beads swooshed and broke onto pearlescent sands as gentle waves slapped the beach.
A fragrant breath of air drifted from the dense, tropical growth that sheltered the tiny cove. Flickering luminarias sat along the edge of a red, linen cloth, upon which lay the scattered remains of a picnic, while two champagne bottles rested upside down in an ice bucket. "That was very goot," Derek said, speaking over-loudly. The second bottle of champagne may have been a mistake... or a blessing.
Maggie smiled at the thickness of his accent. "Sure was Cap'n, sir," she teased gently. "I'll bet you're one over the pieces of eight... or is it four sheets to the wind?"
The precept grinned boyishly and snatched up a red napkin, from which he fashioned a pirate's head scarf. "Shiver me timbers... mate... avast there me hearties...." Brandishing a plastic knife, he tried to remember suitable phrases from old, swashbuckling films. Suddenly, he pushed himself to his feet and hopped toward Maggie on one leg.
She giggled in delight... Derek playacting, even with an excruciatingly bad accent, was pure joy; he really was getting better. "You don't make a convincing buccaneer, Darlin'," she declared. "Where's your parrot?"
"It's your treasure I wants, me wench," he growled. "I'll make you walk the plank to get it." He dropped to his knees beside her. "Or perhaps some other punishment?" he suggested with a hungry gleam in his eyes.
"Oh my! Cap'n! Whatever do you have in mind? Surely you wouldn't ravish poor, innocent, li'l, ol' me?" Maggie responded as she pulled him to her. Gently, she began to kiss his neck, and then moved up to his ear. She nibbled the ridge, licked his inner ear, sucked on the lobe. She felt the skin beneath her fingers quiver.
"Ohhh, Gott," he groaned. His eyes closed as he stretched his neck back, exposing it, offering Maggie more to snack on. "I surrender, wench... have your wicked way with me."
"Mmmm, Darlin', you taste scrumptious," she murmured, kissing her way down his throat, stopping at the hollow at the base of his neck. "You can have my treasure, any day!"
He reached for her, pulled her face to his, deeply inhaled the sweetness of her. The moonlight illuminated her sharp features, softening them in a gentle, silver light. Beginning with a tender kiss, he sucked on her bottom lip, and slowly ran his tongue over her teeth and into her mouth.
The kiss deepened and they fell back onto the sand. Spending long minutes kissing, caressing, they each once more learned the other's body. Maggie's hands sought his hair, grasping it, stroking it, while his long, musician's fingers set her flesh aquiver like the vibrato of a violin string.
Slowly, enticingly, he slipped the orange, spandex suit down her body, then pulled it over her legs and tossed it aside. "You look... lovely," he murmured, his voice husky, "my Texas enchantress."
"Sweet talker," she whispered.
His hand reached for her breast, held it gently, and, for a moment, he rested his head on her chest. He then drew an erect nipple into his mouth. His tongue caressed it, swirled around it, danced over it.
"Oh, Darlin', that's so...," Maggie breathed as she again ran her fingers through his hair and sighed with absolute pleasure. She rolled on top of him, then responded in kind. He moaned as she gently bathed his chest with her tongue, kissing first one small, pink orb, then the other.
"Now, about this plank...." Smiling, looking into his deep hazel eyes, she suggestively raised both eyebrows as her hand crept beneath the waistband of his flowered trunks.
Beyond the red cloth's edge, one of the champagne bottles burst with the pop of a firecracker. Neither Maggie nor Derek noticed, or if they did, the surprise of it was insignificant compared to the feelings of an eternity encased in the moment.
%%%%%%%%%%%
Part 10
On the Beach... the next morning
Derek woke feeling uncomfortable... his neck ached and he was cold. Shivering slightly, he opened his eyes to find himself wrapped in Maggie, and both of them wrapped in the red picnic cloth, snuggled deeply into the sand. He smiled at the recollection of a most enjoyable night... well worth a few aches and pains.
The sun's rays were beginning to lighten the eastern horizon. Rainbow-hued clouds were slowly drifting apart to reveal the soft blue of the early morning sky. Chatter arose from the jungle vegetation as the first birds of the day took flight. "Another perfect day in paradise," Derek murmured to himself as he wriggled free from the red cocoon.
He had no trouble locating his gaudy swim trunks, which were still slightly damp and heavily impregnated with sand. "Yuck," he shuddered as he slipped them on.
Maggie's bright, but more tasteful, suit lay nearby. He shook out the sand and placed it beside her. She still slept. Her hair, free from its constraints, tumbled over her shoulders and across her face. He swept the curls aside and gently kissed her forehead, then set about gathering the remains of their picnic, and the fragments of the shattered champagne bottle.
"Mornin', Darlin'." He heard the familiar drawl. Maggie stretched and yawned, then uttered a little groan. "I'm gettin' too old for this," she murmured.
"You! Never," Derek responded gallantly.
She treated him to a sleepy, but dazzling smile as she felt her damp suit, rejected it, and tossed it into the picnic hamper. "Let's get back... I need a hot bath, a toothbrush, and some breakfast... not necessarily in that order."
Maggie quickly fashioned a sarong from the tablecloth. "You wanna wear the napkins again, sweet thing... on the other end this time?" she teased. "Might be more comfortable. Me Jane... you Tarzan?"
Derek's eyebrow rose, then he chuckled and reached down to pull her to her feet. "I'm not the Tarzan type... couldn't do the yell if I had to," he confessed. "Hope I got all the glass... damned, scary nuisance."
"Look at the bright side, Sugar," said the judge as they began to walk back along the strand. "You get that thing saddle broke and we'll never need a corkscrew." Maggie shivered and snuggled up to Derek's warm body, he wrapped his arm protectively round her shoulder and gave her an affectionate squeeze.
They meandered on in silence, absorbing the fresh, morning air, the freedom of the waves, the splendor of the rising sun. Finally, they paused to watch the antics of a pair of young, playful gulls.
"Derek," Maggie said softly, looking up into his face... hoping she had chosen the right moment... had gauged his mood correctly. "Tell me what happened... last year. When I visited you... it was awful. You were so sick." She gnawed at her lower lip, then regained her composure. "You were wasting away in that coma. I knew in my heart it was the last time I'd see you."
Staring first at the sun, then down at the sand at his feet, the precept was silent for long moments. She thought he would not respond, but finally, without looking at her, he began to speak. Pain echoed through his every word. "It's a long... long story. Some of it... I don't know... don't remember... will never really understand.
"I was doing a favor for a friend... nothing to do with the Legacy." He gave poignant chuckle. "It was so mundane... I was just going to give a lecture at a junior college in the foothills east of Stockton. I'd had a long couple of days in London and a worse flight home, so Nick drove me... but we took a wrong turn at the wrong time... got caught in the Sierras in a blizzard.
"Some strange things happened and, by the time they got us out, I was in pretty bad shape.... We thought it was going to be OK, but suddenly it wasn't.... It was like Alice Through the Looking Glass," he explained.
Again he paused to stand, silently searching the pastel clouds for the right words... the right memories. At last he cleared the huskiness from his throat and began again, "While I was in the coma, somehow, I was linked to another me... another world. I lived another Derek Rayne's life for eight months... shared his body with him. It was like having a twin for a room mate. He was me... but not me... we... saw death claim dear friends... so much pain... suffering... such horrors that we of the Legacy must battle... but so far beyond mere demons and ghosts... the gates of Hell itself were threatening to burst open. In the end, we had to risk everything... our lives... our souls. We had to destroy everything... the House... everything! I don't know what became of the 'other' Derek... his world... his friends.... I think he somehow survived, but at the moment of destruction I was torn away and hurled back into my own life."
Maggie nodded, unwilling to interrupt him. She saw the pain in his face, the haunted look deep within his hazel eyes.
"My father...." Derek hung his head in pain, grief, shame. "My father was not the man I thought he was... but even there, I don't really know the truth from the illusion."
Feeling a slight tremble, Maggie slipped her arm around his waist and pulled him closer. She had long ago formed the impression that Winston Rayne had been a tyrant, a man driven by his own demons... one who used his son mercilessly to achieve his own ends. But she also knew how much Derek revered his memory, so she held her tongue, took his hand, and squeezed it tightly.
"Then," he continued, "when I woke from the coma... my health was gone... totally shattered.... When I first saw myself in a mirror, I thought of the photos of the people at Auschwitz. It was such a shock. My 'Sight' was gone too.... Things were all mixed up. What was my own memory?... What was a memory echoing from that 'other' world? I couldn't tell."
"I should have come up," said Maggie. Her soft joking lost in a wave of guilt. "But they all said everything was going well."
"No...," he replied with a shake of his head. "I had to keep everybody at bay... even you. They were doing as I asked." Suddenly, he looked up, directly into her discerning, blue eyes. "I swear it was real... I swear on my own soul, on yours, on Ingrid's, on Nick's.... It was real."
"I know, Darlin'," Maggie said softly. "I see it in your eyes. I'm a judge... and a damned good one. I believe you, Derek Rayne."
A weak half-smile flitted across the precept's face. "Since then it's been hard, Maggie... so hard... to get back. Everyone's tried to help, but I'm not sure I'll make it.... I'm not sure I'm strong enough or young enough this time... maybe what's inside me has been changed permanently. I've been... afraid," he quietly admitted. "Now this 'thing' that I can't control. When that old man came into the room and thought that I'd hurt you... it made me feel what I felt like as a kid... at school... a bloody freak. Because I 'saw' things they couldn't... the other boys... they called me schizzoide, crazy... Verrückte, kook... and fenomeno da baraccone, a circus freak. But, Maggie... what was worse... they were scared... of me!"
In his eyes, Maggie saw the hurt of a little boy taunted by his classmates, before he began to erect his "protective walls." "Shhh, Darlin', it's OK. Everything's going to be fine now." She took the wicker basket from him and set it on the sand, then wrapped her arms round him, hugged him, and tried to draw the pain away.
He returned her embrace, nestled his face into her neck, while she soothed him like a mother easing a child's whimper. "Sshh, it's all over now. You're here... you're well... you're getting stronger all the time. You'll get that 'bronco' saddle broke. It's us old geezers that have the stamina to win out. Everything will be OK.... Margaret Mae Hamilton of Briscoe County, Texas gives you her word on that... and Texicans don't go back on their word."
Derek looked up at her and read the loving concern in her face. "Promise?" he whispered.
"Cross my heart and hope to die."
"Don't say that, Maggie," Derek protested. "Please, don't ever say that again."
"OK... I promise... twice over."
They remained locked together, sharing each other's warmth and courage, for several minutes. Maggie ached for her friend, for the horrors he had suffered... glad... even honored... that he had confided in her. She needed to know, to understand the darkness that still lived behind his eyes. She wanted to lighten his mood... to get her "happy boy" back again... the one that came out to play when he was with her... away from San Francisco... away from the Legacy.
Maggie took his face between her hands, then pulled it down to kiss him gently on his forehead. "Darlin'...." She finally broke the silence. "Do you know why squirrels swim on their backs?"
"No," he answered hesitantly, feeling slightly embarrassed at having displayed weakness before his friend. What did squirrels have to do with anything, he wondered.
"To keep their nuts dry," she informed him with twinkle in her eye, but a totally straight face.
"To keep?..." Derek suddenly grinned, then a blush came, then a series of suppressed chuckles. Finally howls of laughter burst forth. "Maggie, what would I do without you?" he asked between gasps. "Please don't ever change... and keep that pin handy to prick my sad, old bag of hot air when it needs it."
%%%%%%%%%%%%
Part 11
the Kitchen... the next morning
"Come on, Darlin', please, for Maggie!" her Texas drawl wheedled, "It's fun... really. I can show you how." She paused to brush the last crumbs of croissant from her lips.
"It's not my sort of thing," Derek replied, barely glancing at the leaflet on windsurfing before tossing it aside... it seemed a frivolous activity at best. "You go... enjoy yourself... meet some bronzed Adonis."
She smiled... men! "You're Adonis enough for me, Darlin'... and I want you to come," she pouted. "You need some damned fun in your life... just plain fun! That's why we're here."
"I had another type of 'entertainment' in mind." He treated her to a lecherous leer as he set his empty coffee cup down. "Besides, I want to work on my 'problem'. I hate not being in control... it's dangerous."
Clearing the table, Derek neatly stacked the breakfast dishes on the serving tray, then rose and set the tray aside on the counter. Housekeeping would be by to get them later. He picked up his test subject, a plastic measuring cup that he'd found in the cupboard and hefted it in his hand. It was perfect... not overly hard, nor heavy, but with sufficient weight and sturdiness for his needs.
"You'd best move back, Darlin'," he warned as he placed the cup on the table. Returning to his seat, he focused on the object and, after a few seconds, was pleased to see it slowly slide across the glass surface. Suddenly, it shot forward with all the force of a rocket and slammed against the cabinets, nicking the paint.
Scheisse!" Derek cursed as the plastic cup bounced across the tile floor.
"Sugar, we're gonna owe a bundle on damages... and they ain't never gonna want to see another Mr. Bernard," said Maggie, giving his hair a fond tousle. "At least you gave up with the pewter salt and pepper... that could've cost us a window or two... or maybe a concussion.
"Come on... windsurfing will help... really.... You still need to work on your strength and flexibility... and that's a real sweet way to do it... and you'll have to concentrate like hell to stay on the damned board... that'll help you focus, which will help your PK.... Pleeease!" she implored, brows raised and eyes wide with expectation. When she got no response, Maggie persisted with the next plea. "Besides, I need my 'hubby's' protection... from all those bronzed Adonises that are gonna be chasin' this saggy, ol' fanny down the beach."
Derek sighed... how could he resist an image like that? He was a good sailor... he had learned to handle small sail boats on Lake Lucerne... and big ones in the Bay.... This should be child's play. The thought of impressing Maggie with his easily achieved prowess appealed to his masculine ego. He imagined her speechless with wonder... no, he smiled inwardly, Maggie speechless... impossible!
He picked up the cup and placed it on the counter. "OK," he surrendered. "Let's go... but next time it's my choice... deal?"
"All depends what you've got in mind, Sweet Pea." Maggie hurried off to call the concierge.
* * *
Standing on the hot sand, Derek glanced down at the second swimsuit his security officer had procured for him. It depicted a yellow, cartoon figure baring his rear end with the motif "Eat my shorts". Nick was going to pay... big time. Potsherds would be too easy on him. Maybe sifting for bone fragments out in the desert somewhere with lots... and lots... of ants. The precept smiled at the thought. Behind him, he heard Maggie once again stifle a giggle.
He turned to look into her red face, which was absolutely expressionless. "Yes, madam?" the precept asked coldly, as his left eyebrow arched in annoyance. "You have something to say about my attire?"
"No... Darlin'... you're shorts are... are... very fetching," Maggie replied as tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. "Our boards are here. They said Jason would be along at ten... and here he is... right on time."
An extremely well built young man drove up in a golf cart with a "tropical" paint job and a palm frond canopy. Two surfboards were strapped atop its roof. Derek eyed the driver suspiciously... he was a specimen that would make Adonis himself look like Woody Allen.
Maggie watched as Jason effortlessly unloaded the boards, connected the rigging, and checked the sails. "There you are, folks." Glancing towards Derek, he smirked at the swimsuit. "I know you've surfed before, Mrs. Bernard. I recall admiring your form last time."
"Please... call me, Maggie," she interrupted with the hint of a simper.
"Maggie...." He offered a dazzling, heart-stopping smile. "What about you... Mr. Bernard?... You want a lesson?"
"No, thank you," Derek responded, pulling himself to his full, lanky height. "I'll simply keep an eye on Mrs. Bernard's 'form'," he added with a frigid gaze down at the younger man.
"Right." Looking the precept up and down, Jason gave as good as he got in tone and manner. "You folks stay inside the buoyed area and you'll be fine. The currents further out are tricky... only for experienced windsurfers. So long," he said hopping back into the buggy. "Take care... have fun. Just give a ring when you're done and we'll be down to collect the boards."
"Please... call me Maggie," Derek mimicked darkly, as they watched the "jaunty jalopy" drive away.
"What'd you say, Darlin'?" she asked. "Your Dutch is a bit thick... I didn't catch that?"
"Nothing... Judge Hamilton... nothing at all." Derek wandered around the boards, surveying the contraptions. He touched the rigging with is toe. "Let's get these 'things' into the water," he said at last.
"Hold on, Sweet Pea.... We need to try some basics first... on dry land."
"It can't be that difficult," he protested as he watched others out beyond the bay. Holding to their bright, triangular sails, they seemed to skim across the waves with ease.
"OK, Professor, if you're sure." Maggie knew her boy... his obstinate streak had emerged in full force... time to learn a few lessons the hard way. "Let's get them out beyond the surf line," she instructed, dragging her board into the warm, blue water. "Lie flat... face down... and paddle... like this." She gave the board a forward shove as she pushed off the sandy bottom with her feet and launched herself up onto the slick, fiberglass surface. Strong, sweeping strokes that pulled at the water maintained her momentum.
Derek followed her lead. He wasn't up to full strength yet, but he managed to keep up.
* * *
Once they reached slightly deeper water, Maggie treated him to a congratulatory smile. "Now... keep the strap to the sail in your hand... like this." She demonstrated her grip. "That's it," she added as Derek followed her directions. "Try and stand up with a foot on either side of the mast." She slowly, cautiously rose first to her knees, then to her feet, and balanced on the gently bobbing board.
Following suit, Derek carefully pushed himself to his hands and knees. He waited a moment as the board wallowed and bucked slightly. Once it settled, he attempted to stand, over-balanced, and splashed backwards into the water. He spluttered to the surface and grabbed for the board. "I think a wave caught me," he explained, searching Maggie's face for a hint of amusement. Feeble excuse, he thought... a wave? What wave? The bay's as calm as a pond.
Nevertheless, he was gratified to see Maggie nod solicitously... poker face to the fore. "OK, Darlin', climb back on the board. Try again," she told him.
Derek felt the board momentarily sink beneath him as he hauled himself back atop. Once more on his hands and knees, it seemed to wobble much more than Maggie's had.... Was this one of the judge's practical jokes? Had she had Jason rig the board to teach him a lesson for some unknown offence? Slowly, he once more began to stand... the wobbling worsened... turning into a back and forth swish. Suddenly... splash!
"Dammit!" the precept swore under his breath, but with a smile plastered on his face. Again he dragged himself up onto the board, then tried to rise from a kneeling position.
Maggie had drifted a few feet away. "Balance," she shouted. "Keep your weight centered... think of skiing or riding... the board is your horse. When you were a kid, did you ever stand on a nag's back when he was on the move? That's what this is like."
Too late... his right foot slipped on the wet surface, shot out from beneath him, and he sat down... hard... his legs splayed out either side of the board. "The damned horse wasn't slick as ice," he retorted as he angrily swept his wet hair back.
Maggie winced and gnawed at her bottom lip to ensure a straight face. "Ouch, you hit the saddle kinda hard... poor pony.... hope you didn't hurt anything vital!"
At the moment, Derek wouldn't have admitted to major injury... but fortunately only his pride was damaged.
"Come on, Sweet Pea, don't just sit there," Maggie goaded. "Keep hold of the strap," she instructed as he again began to rise. "Slowly... good... that's it. You're doing real good." Time for a little ego stroking, she reasoned. He was at least vertical. He glanced towards her, risked a quick grin, wobbled, but managed to stay on the board.
"Now, pull the sail out of the water... like this." Maggie squatted slightly, shifted her weight to maintain balance, then firmly pulled back on the strap. Her bright red sail left the water... rising slowly... then snapping to attention in front of her.
She glanced over at Derek, who was following her lead... too quickly following her lead. "Not so fast!" she shouted. "Slower or you'll...."
The sail flew out the water and on top of him. Splash!
After another twenty minutes of failed attempts, a bedraggled precept, trod water, his arm looped over the board. "I think the damned thing's possessed," he grumbled. "It's got to be a nasty little demon too. Some of your relation, perhaps?"
Still with a straight face, Maggie nodded. "It's just a matter of getting your balance right, sweetie." He did look genuinely tired... his stamina still had a ways to go... so she took pity on him. "OK, let's take a break... paddle back to shore. We can always try again, later... after an exorcism."
Derek groaned, "You're worse than the Spanish Inquisition. How can you call this fun! It serves no purpose but pain and humiliation."
* * *
Maggie walked beside the exhausted precept, as he headed slowly, deliberately back to the cottage. She slipped her arm around his waist, felt the smooth, firm flesh. He was filling out, she thought with relief... thank goodness... no longer a skeleton.
"I need a shower," he muttered. "Got to get the salt water off."
She smiled. "Goot idea, Darlin'," she mimicked, "but how about the tub?... There's plenty of room for two."
Derek grinned, liking the picture that formed in his mind. "You will be gentle with me, won't you?" he asked with an elfin raise of his eyebrow.
He was rewarded by a soggy beach towel thrown at his head. Laughing he reached for her hand and pulled her towards the cottage.
+
Seaside Cottage...
Maggie started the bath water running, then rummaged in the cabinet to find a wide selection of bath essence. Sniffing each scented liquid, she made her selection, which she poured under the cascading water. As the gentle foam began to build, an exotic fragrance filled the air.
Derek had stripped off his gaudy swim trunks, and, like every other man she had ever known, had left them disdainfully on the bathroom floor. He crossed over to stand behind her. His long fingers delicately slipped beneath the straps of her suit. Planting a tender kiss on each shoulder, he gently peeled down the damp fabric.
She turned round, stepped out of her suit, and reached up to run her fingers through his wet hair, delighting in the small curls that formed and twined round her fingers. They sank into a slow, absorbing kiss, until the need for breath became overwhelming.
Maggie swirled the bath water with her hand. "You get in first," she instructed, turning off the taps.
Derek tentatively placed a foot in the warm water, then stepped in. He lowered himself into the foam and sighed. Reaching for her hand, he helped her to settle between his long legs.
Leaning back against his chest, she felt his arms encircle her. She smelt his masculinity, above the fragrant clouds that perfumed the air. She closed her eyes, drawing the moment into her memory as she would a breath into her lungs. Her skin trembled under the warm caress of his lips that crept like lava down her neck to her shoulders.
She half turned, searching his eyes, the windows of his soul. As her own soul became lost in their hazel depths, a whisper of "what if" flitted through her mind. "Darlin?"
"Mmmm," he murmured... not wanting to stop what he was doing.
She turned further to place a hand on either side of his face and kissed his lips. "Do you think we can ever leave the past behind?"
"No," he said with a sad, kind smile. "We take it with us... wherever we go... even if it's wiped from our memory, it's etched upon our souls... but we can live for the moment... and right now... the moments... are heavenly."
She felt his hands slide down her slick back. He gently pulled her round completely so that she lay on top of him. She began to glide sensuously up and down the length of his body, loving the look of pleasure that crossed his face.
Taking hold of both his hands she stretched his arms back behind his head. She heard and felt his sharp intake of breath as her legs slipped apart and she drew him slowly into her. Her body ached to feel him... all of him deep inside her. The sense of "oneness" filled her universe.
"Heavenly," she agreed. Never had there been anything or anyone more heavenly, and a small corner of her mind wept at the thought that this is all there ever would be.
%%%%%%%%%%%%%
Part 12
Seaside Cottage... the next morning
Derek rolled over in bed and swept aside the mosquito netting to watch Maggie dress. "You promised I could choose." His voice was petulant, like a small boy denied a promised treat.
"Come on, Darlin'," she encouraged. "I let you off the hook with the windsurfing. You still owe me.... Besides, golf is on dry land... no dunkings... a nice walk in the country. You like a good game of pool, don't you? Just think of this as 'cow pasture pool'."
"Hmmm... can't we do the walk without hitting the damned ball? Or the billiards without the cow pasture... I never was very fond of what goes with cow pastures. Birdwatching is more exciting than golf." This time he wasn't going to give in easily. Maggie was going to have to fight for this outing. "I tried it once," he continued, "with William in Spain. He said that a proper gentleman should know five things... a good brandy, a goot cigar, billiards, golf, and... well... I've already demonstrated number five."
"Yes indeedy, you have, Sugar... judging from that, you are a gentleman par excellence." Maggie walked over to give Derek a deep, full kiss on the lips. "Come on."
The precept responded in kind, but was not ready to yield. "Golf struck me as a totally meaningless pastime," he continued, "a step below your windsurfing. You hit a ball with a series of sticks, until you get it in that little hole, then you pull it out and start again.
"There's not even the competitive thing... you play against some mythical score card... utterly pointless."
"Well, you can play against me, sweet thing. I've played a round or two in my time."
Derek smiled with a wickedly crooked half-smile, as if an amusing image had flitted through his mind. "I'm sure you have," he said. He hesitated a moment, then finally conceded, "OK... but if I don't like it, we go snorkeling... my choice."
"Darlin', don't worry. The fish ain't goin' nowhere. They'll still be there later today... or tomorrow. 'Sides the course has a trio of holes called the 'Devil's Triangle'. How could a Legacy precept even dream of passing that up?"
Maggie paused. Derek was yanking her chain... milking it for all he could... making her jump through his hoops. Fine, she thought... let him have his fun, but one way or another, she'd get that fanny of his out in the fresh air, doing what ordinary people do. "How about I sweeten the pot with a little wager?" she coaxed. "You win, and we work on that 'number five' all you want... and, since you're out of practice and still on the mend, I'll even give you three strokes a side. How's that?"
"Five a side?" Derek countered.
"OK... deal," said the judge as she slipped her cap on and pulled her unruly mass of curls out through the hole in the back.
Derek slid from the bed, taking the sheet with him as a toga. "I refuse to wear those hideous golf trousers... yellow and red tartan... or whatever... Gott knows what people will think of my taste in clothing, but I will not condescend to a custom that demands clown pants," he muttered as he opened the closet door. Sorting through the rack of clothing, he was relieved to find that Nick's choice of casual clothes did not all include cartoon characters or gaudy Hawaiian shirts. He slipped on a plain Lacoste shirt and khaki slacks, together with soft, leather moccasins, and felt much more himself.
Maggie smiled at the precept's vanity. "You'll do fine," she reassured him. "It's really only the duffers or the pros that want to attract the TV cameras that like those god-awful pants anyway... Come on... breakfast first... I've already ordered... then we'll go meet Jason."
"Jason!" Derek responded tersely. "Why are we meeting Jason?... He's not playing with us!"
"Darlin', he's gonna caddy for us. He's bringing the clubs and shoes. You're not jealous, are you?"
"Ha! of what?... those muscles?... I'll bet he's on steroids."
Maggie was secretly pleased that she had inspired the little green-eyed monster. Derek was definitely on the mend in all departments.
* * *
An hour later, they approached the emerald grass of the first tee. Bouncing along, Maggie was much more eager to get up and at 'em than the precept. He spotted Jason and his companion, another athletic young man with dark hair, a perfect tan, and awesome biceps, lounging on the bench, waiting for them. Derek had a sinking feeling he was about to undergo ritual humiliation.
He glanced towards Maggie who squeezed his hand, "It'll be fine, Darlin'. Relax... go with the flow... enjoy yourself. That's why we're here, remember.... normal, human fun... not precept fun."
"Hi," Jason greeted them in a friendly, relaxed manner. "This is Marco. He's gonna caddy for you, Mrs. B. You got me, Mr. Bernard."
"Now, Darlin', didn't I tell y'all to call me Maggie," she instructed, batting her lashes and allowing the Texas drawl to ooze from her voice... sweet and gooey as molasses on a hot, summer day.
Marco stepped forward to hand her a pair of pink and white, spiked shoes and a single pink, leather glove.
"Maggie...," Jason corrected himself with a grin as he handed Derek his shoes. "Do you want to hit the driving range first?... Get used to the clubs and shoes?... or just go for it?"
"Let's just go for it," the judge replied with bravado.
"Great!... We've got a foursome ahead of us, but no one else is booked for an hour, so you can relax... take your time." He glanced pointedly at Derek. "No pressures."
Derek nodded as he slipped out of his comfortable moccasins into the stiff, spiked oxfords. "You go first," he muttered to Maggie. "I'm dazzled by the sun radiating back from Jason's teeth."
"Hush!" She nudged him, none too gently, with her elbow. "OK, me first," she said, placing the orange, dimpled ball on the tee.
Marco offered Maggie the bag of clubs. She looked towards the distant, red flag, selected the "driver", and took a few practice swings to get a feel of the grip and the club's balance and weight. She then planted herself alongside the ball and focused her entire concentration upon the small sphere.
The three men watched her wiggle the club, then wiggle her rear... nice "stance", they all thought... then wiggle the club again. Finally, for a moment, she was still, then she drew back the wood, and swung.
Thwack! The noise of a sweetly hit ball echoed round them. "Good shot, Mrs. B....," Jason admired. "You hit that like a pro. You should be on the green in two."
Derek had watched Maggie carefully, studied her posture, and remembered William's efforts. With a sinking stomach, he stepped up. Jason handed him his left-handed club... and offered him a reassuring smile. Derek nervously bent to sink the small, wooden tee into the ground, then placed the ball atop. The ball fell off.
He glanced up to see that the two caddies had suddenly found the clouds very interesting and his stomach sank to the soles of his spiked shoes. "Please, please... let me at least hit it," he muttered to himself as he delicately balanced the ball on the wooden peg. Finally, he stood erect, took a deep breath, and addressed the ball. "Focus," he commanded himself. He swung the club back, down, and through the ball.
"I hit it!" he exclaimed in excited pleasure, forgetting their audience. "Where did it go?"
"Over that way, Sugar." Maggie smiled, pointing to the far left of the fairway. "But you did real good," she hastened to add, seeing his face fall with disappointment. "...not to have hit a ball in what... twenty years?"
"Twenty-five," Derek declared proudly.
"Awesome," Marco murmured as he and his companion exchanged grins.
"Awesome shank," Jason whispered in return.
The small group headed in the direction of the ball, which had traveled at an acute angle for a disappointingly short distance. Jason found it first, well into the deep rough. "This is pretty tough stuff," he commented as he knelt to part the thick Bermuda grass. "The runners get really matted. You could try chipping out or go for it with a two iron and see what happens."
"What the hell," said Derek. "Let's go for it." With a wry smile, he accepted the offered club. He stared with loathing at the white ball, then swung with all his might. The two iron ploughed a deep furrow into the grass and snagged on the runners. Derek barely had the strength to follow through with the swing and free the club's head. He looked down in disgusted shock... the ball had scarcely moved a foot.
"Try again, Sugar," Maggie urged. "Watch the ball... all the time... like in meditation... don't take your eyes off it."
Derek nodded and swung again. The club made a jarring impact with the ground... the ball flew skyward and grass scattered in the breeze.
"That's good, Darlin'. You sure clobbered that one!"
"Did you get that snake?" Marco chuckled.
All four shaded their eyes to watch, open-mouthed, the upward climb of Derek's ball. "Looks like St. Theodore's joined the space race!" Jason muttered.
Derek, his hands still tingling from the shock, tossed the club to the younger man, took Maggie's hand, and headed down the fairway towards the landing site, still yards short of Maggie's first shot.
"I'll bet he takes another three to get on the green," Marco whispered.
Jason struggled to maintain a straight face. "Which green?" he asked as he slid the club into the golf bag and followed Derek and Maggie down the fairway.
+
San Francisco Legacy House
Alex gazed through the brass orrery, the centerpiece of the library table. She watched as Franklin Cross, the Ruling Council's special liaison to the San Francisco House, removed his spectacles and began to polish them with a crisp, white handkerchief. To her consternation, he took his time, as always. Finally, he replaced them, then intently stared down upon her.
"Are you telling me, Miss Moreau," the Scotsman demanded in his precise tone, now filled with incredulity, "that despite my express wish to speak with Dr. Rayne and Mr. Boyle that neither of them are available? I faxed my itinerary well over a week ago."
Alex usually found a soft, Scottish burr appealing... there was something round and lilting about it, but not Franklin Cross' accent. To her it always carried the exactitude of someone driving home a point... a trial lawyer, a Presbyterian preacher, or an IRS auditor. "I'm sorry," she gently replied. Despite her feelings, she tried to be as conciliatory as possible... no need to totally alienate the Ruling Council's errand boy. "They're both away from the House," she explained, "and I haven't been able to reach either of them."
"Really... this will not do... not do at all," he complained, giving his vest a downward tug. "I suppose I must concede to Dr. Rayne, in light of his health. The fact that he hasn't yet returned to duty excuses him... unless, of course, he's pursuing an investigation without clearance and authorization from London." His hawkish gaze locked once more upon Alex's face. It was difficult not to squirm under the ice blue stare.
"But Mr. Boyle!" he continued, slowly, precisely. He sucked on his teeth in silent contemplation for a few moments, then suddenly shifted his ground. He turned to carefully examine the orrery, as though he had never before noticed the brass solar system that had always dominated the room. "Tell me," he asked, in an obviously feigned disinterest, "exactly how is Dr. Rayne? Is his physical condition improving as you.... as we had all," he hastily added, "hoped?"
"He's doing fine," Alex replied cagily, wondering where this was leading. With a call less than an hour before Cross' arrival, Ingrid had warned that he had already visited the convent, and had tried to obtain information on her brother's medical condition. Thankfully, the regimen of the cloister, in the form of Mother Superior, had intervened.
Cross nodded, slowly. "And... how shall I put this?... Mentally... is he seeking professional advice... to help him come to terms with what must have been a most confusing and traumatic situation. Is Dr. Corrigan counseling him?"
"Not that I'm aware," Alex replied frostily. The truth is, she thought, it's probably better than Rachel wasn't counseling him. "But if she was," she continued, "that would be between her and Derek." What's he up to, she wondered. Why this concern over Derek... or was it really concern over Derek? Was he working for the Ruling Council, or for himself? He's nothing but a little weasel, she thought as he walked around to her side of the table... he even moves like a weasel.... He's dangerous like a weasel... sharp teeth with a clever, aggressive disposition.
"Just so," he responded. Again the sage, judicious, noncommital nodding, "I believe that the Ruling Council's policy on the return to duty from long-term sick leave is quite clear.... Let me see... how does it go?... 'No Legacy member of any rank may be assumed fit to resume duty until a full physical and psychiatric evaluation has taken place, and a favourable report by an approved source has been submitted... in triplicate... to be ruled upon by the full Council. Then and only then shall the member be returned to full and regular duty and status.'"
"I don't remember that ever being applied," Alex said in surprise.
"Well, no," Cross agreed. "It has, in the past, been overlooked... handled more informally by some of our less disciplined administrators. However, my recommendations to the Ruling Council in my recent report on The Implementation of a Human Resource Strategy and Its Application in the Motivation of the Workforce was very well received." He paused to catch his breath. "I'm sure you've read it, Miss Moreau. I regard you as a most promising administrator." The Scotsman beamed at her, certain that she would be flattered by his compliment.
"But... I digress," he continued. "My recommendations were that this rule be reinstated with immediate affect, particularly in Dr. Rayne's case. We all want to make certain that he is up to the job, lest he overtax himself. I'll speak to Dr. Corrigan before she leaves for the day. However, if Dr. Rayne finds it difficult to discuss such personal matters with one of his team... we do have excellent facilities in England. Perhaps a change of scenery and the total absence of responsibility might be just the medicine he needs.
"Now," he said, shifting gears again, "since I'm here, I'll complete an audit of your recent case histories... I know you have missed a firm hand at the tiller of late. The past month's will do," he instructed. Then, with a sigh, he pulled his watch from his vest pocket. Popping open the lid, he checked the time... Rachel would be leaving shortly. "I'll stay tonight... company for you.... I'm sure you hate to dine alone... and Mr. Fitzgerald's cuisine is quite above hotel fare.
"If you'll excuse me, I must find Dr. Corrigan before she departs."
Exhausted, Alex slumped in her chair as she watched him turn down the corridor in pursuit of poor Rachel. Finally, she pushed herself to her feet and hurried to the control room... phone Nick first... then the case histories to keep Mr. Scottish Weasel purring with self-satisfaction... and off Derek's scent.