Virgil awoke the following morning and tried to remember who and where he was. With an effort he recollected what he'd been told the previous day.He lay there. He wished he'd asked Gordon what the routine for the morning was. Get dressed and then have breakfast? Or eat first and then get dressed?
He sat up and looked around the room. It was strange.
A stranger's room. Was it his?He spied the mug that had held his hot chocolate and picked it up. There was still some drink in the bottom and he sipped at it. It wasn't nearly as nice cold. He decided that whatever the routine, there were some things that couldn't wait and got out of bed and went into the ensuite.When he returned to the bedroom he stopped in the middle of it, looking around.
A cold feeling seemed to fill him.
He didn't belong here. None of these things were his. But where should he be?There was a knock on the door and it slid back to reveal Gordon holding a large bit of cloth. "Morning, Virgil," he said cheerfully. "How're you this morning?"
"'Kay, I guess," Virgil mumbled.
"Any improvement in the amnesia?" Gordon already knew the answer by the way Virgil was looking lost.
"No."
"Well don't give up hope just yet…" Then Gordon bit his lip. "Um, we've agreed not to tell Grandma about what happened last night. We don't want to worry her. Okay?"
Virgil nodded.
"Here's your dressing gown. We'd both left ours onboard Thunderbird Two, so I've just nipped down and got them. Put it on and we'll go and get some breakfast."
Slowly Virgil complied. Feeling more than a little nervous, he followed Gordon out of the room and down to the dining room. He hadn't been here before, well since his 'accident', and he stood for a moment in the doorway looking about him and trying to find anything that would make this room seem familiar. People who supposedly were his family were already seated at the table."Good morning, Virgil," the man he'd been told was his father greeted him. "How are you feeling this morning?"
"Okay."
"How's the memory? Any better?" the older of the two blond men… John, asked him.
"No," Virgil told him.
"Bother," John replied.
"Come and have some breakfast," Scott offered.
Virgil hesitated a moment wondering where he should sit.
"Grab a seat," Gordon said. "It's first in, first served in the mornings."
Virgil chose a seat beside Gordon. Scott gave him what he hoped was a friendly smile.Alan wandered in yawning. "Man! What a night!" He was shushed by Tin-Tin who had been briefed and looked guiltily first at his grandmother and then at Virgil. "How are you, Virgil?"
"Okay." Virgil repeated.
Mrs Tracy placed a plate in front of him. "There you are, Virgil. Eat up." She retreated back to the safety of the stove.
Virgil looked at the plate. He didn't recognise anything on it. He looked at the cutlery provided and cautiously selected a knife and fork. He cut into a piece of toast. Then he looked up.
Everyone was watching him.
As one they sheepishly looked back at their own plates. His face burning, he speared the toast with his fork and ate it."Here, spread some butter on it with your knife," Gordon shifted the butter so it was in front of Virgil. "It'll make the toast taste better. If you scrape your eggs onto the toast it'll be better still."
"Eggs?"
It was a long breakfast for all concerned.
Virgil was glad to escape back to the bedroom. He felt as if he were a sideshow. He wished he could go somewhere where there weren't people watching him. Now he had the problem of finding some clothing so he could get dressed. He thought that maybe he'd make a start by cleaning his teeth, and having a wash and a shave. He retired to the bathroom. There was a toothbrush here, soap, and a razor, but were they his? He didn't feel that he could, or should use these objects resting serenely in their respective containers.They belonged to someone else.
He sat on the edge of the bath and let a feeling of hopelessness wash over him.
"Well, we made a complete hash of breakfast, didn't we," John stated. "He must have felt really uncomfortable."
Jeff agreed. "Could you make a picnic for two for lunch, Kyrano?"
Kyrano bowed low. "It would be my pleasure, Mr Tracy."
"You can have lunch with him, Gordon. Get him out of the house and away from us. He's going to have a full on morning and might appreciate the fresh air."
"Oh," Gordon said. "D'ya think I should? Wouldn't it be better if he got to know someone else, like Scott?"
Jeff vetoed the suggestion. "Once he's got through today, we'll think about doing that. I think that for today it'd be better if we don't make things too stressful for him."
"Or any more stressful," Alan added.
Scott hesitated outside Virgil's room. Then he steeled himself and knocked on the door. There was no reply. He knocked again with more force.
When there was no response he slid the door open and took a step inside. "Virg…? Are you in here, Virgil?"
He had to wait a moment before Virgil emerged from the ensuite. He looked as if he were trying to pull himself together.
"Ah, um," Scott stammered. "Sorry I came in unannounced… I did knock, but I guess you didn't hear me."
Virgil eyed him uncertainly.
Scott thrust a box out at him. "I got you some things from the storeroom. I thought you might like some new stuff to use."
Virgil hesitated briefly and then took the box.
"I promise it won't bite," Scott told him.
Gingerly Virgil opened the box. His eyes lit up when he saw its contents. He looked back at Scott with genuine gratitude. "Thank you."
"Do you… Would you like me to take the old stuff away?"
Virgil pulled a new toothbrush out of the box. "Would you mind?"
"No. I'll go get them now… if that's okay."
Virgil nodded and Scott scooted into the ensuite, quickly gathered up Virgil's old gear and wrapped them in a towel. He re-emerged carrying his swag. "I forgot to get you your aftershave. Do you want some of the same or do you want me to bring back a selection to choose from?""The same's fine. I like the smell of that."
Scott was glad to see that his brother was starting to relax. "Okay, Virg. I'll be back in a mom…"
"What did you call me?"
"Ah… Virg," Scott said, nonplussed.
"What?" there was an edge to Virgil's voice that hadn't been there before.
"Virg," Scott repeated uncertainly.
"Why?"
"Um, I don't know. It's kinda a nickname," Scott said awkwardly. "I've always called you it." He had a horrible feeling that he'd undone all the progress he'd just made.
"And I let you?" Virgil asked in obvious amazement.
"You've never complained… I always assumed you didn't mind…" Scott was feeling as if he'd insulted a stranger. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise that you didn't like it."
"Maybe I got used to it," Virgil suggested. "It sounds rather strange now."
"I'll try to remember to not use it," Scott offered. "Look… I'll go get rid of this… Okay…? I'll bring back the aftershave… You can start getting washed… Back soon…" He escaped out into the hallway, then practically ran to the storeroom and replaced the items that were still usable.
He stopped a moment and told himself to calm down. He told himself it was his imagination. He told himself he had nothing to worry about. He grabbed a new bottle of aftershave and headed back to Virgil's room.On the way back he caught up with Alan and Gordon. "Fellas!" he grabbed hold of their shirts, holding them back.
"Hey, you'll crease it!" Alan complained.
Scott released his grip.
"What's up?" Gordon asked.
"If you're talking to Virgil, call him Virgil will you," Scott requested.
"Huh?" Gordon stared at his brother.
"What else do you expect us to call him?" Alan asked. "Phyllis?"
"No, I mean, don't call him Virg."
"Why?" Gordon asked.
"I've just found out that he doesn't like it," Scott explained.
"Now, or he's never liked it?" Gordon frowned.
Scott shrugged. "I don't know. Has he ever complained to either of you two? I know I'm the worst for calling him that, maybe he hasn't wanted to hurt my feelings."
Both of his brothers were shaking their heads. "Not that I can remember," Alan offered.
"It must be the amnesia," Gordon said in a conciliatory tone. "He's just learning that his name is Virgil and then you throw him by calling him something else."
"Yeah," Alan agreed. "Imagine it. You suddenly discover that your name is 'Virgil' of all things, and then someone goes and calls you 'Virg'."
"What's wrong with Virgil?" Scott asked.
"Well… I mean… It's not a good, down to earth name, like Alan, is it? It's a bit… flowery."
Scott frowned at his brother.
"Give him time, Scott," Gordon tried to sidetrack the potential argument. "He'll either regain his memory, or else he'll get used to being called Virg again." He noticed the wrapped up towel. "What have you got there?"
"Some of Virgil's old stuff. I'm getting rid of it."
"Why?" Alan looked at the package.
"I've replaced his toothbrush, toothpaste, shaving kit, soap, comb, flannel and towel," Scott told them.
"Why?" Gordon repeated Alan's question.
"So that he's got something that he can say is definitely his," Scott explained simply. He looked at the aftershave in his hand and remembered the look Virgil had given him as he'd hurried out the door. He held the bottle out to Gordon. "Give him this will you."
"Don't you want to take it to him?" Gordon asked.
Scott hesitated. "No. Better if you give it to him."
"Okay." Gordon looked at him curiously.
Virgil had been immensely grateful for the new toiletries. He got washed and then dressed himself in some clothes that Gordon had laid out for him when he'd brought in the aftershave. He looked at himself critically in the mirror. His hair was a mess and he had no idea how he normally wore it. He tried to remember how he'd looked in the portrait, but couldn't recollect how his hair had been styled. Combed forward looked wrong. So did combed back. He ran his fingers through it and thought the result was the best of a bad lot. Then he wondered why he was worried about something as trivial as his hair.
It was time to discover the rest of the house.
Jeff took him on the initial tour showing him the conventional rooms of the Tracy Villa. In each room he stopped and let Virgil take his time looking around. In each room Jeff was hopeful that Virgil would find something that would trigger his memory.Each room was a new experience for Virgil.
"These are books, aren't they?" he asked in the library.
"That's right," Jeff confirmed.
"Can I look at one?"
"Of course. Feel free."
"Brains said they were a method of communication." Virgil took a book down and looked at it. "I can't for the life of me see how."
"These marks are letters, which in turn form words," Jeff explained. "See this word says 'house'. This one is 'green'. They are strung together to form a sentence."
"I used to know that, didn't I?" Virgil said. There was a trace of sadness in his voice.
"Yes, you did," Jeff agreed. "Don't worry. If your memory doesn't come back we'll be able to teach you again. I've already ordered some books to help."
Virgil indicated the great wall full of a variety of literature. "Can't any of these help?"
"Possibly, but they might be a bit hard to start with. The ones I've ordered are a bit simpler." Jeff gave a small grin. "Actually, don't tell your brothers, but I've ordered some that are supposedly 'The True Adventures of International Rescue'," he mimed the quotation marks. "It'll be interesting to see what they say. We can teach you to read using them. In the meantime… we'll move on into the study." He led the way.
"Who studies in here?" Virgil asked, gazing at the imposing desk, computer, videophone and leather covered chairs.
"It's mine," Jeff explained. "I come in here when you boys are making too much noise for me to concentrate on my work."
"You make it sound like everyone's under ten years old," Virgil commented.
"Well I won't say that your brothers don't sometimes behave like ten year olds," Jeff laughed, "but I was thinking more of equipment testing and training. Having Thunderbird One lift off past your window ten times in one afternoon can try anyone's patience."
Virgil looked at a photograph in a frame standing on the desk. "That's us, isn't it?"
Jeff moved closer so he could see the photo of himself and his five sons. "That's right. I had it taken the day we started operation as International Rescue. Of course no one else would recognise its significance, but it's special to me. It was the last time for a long time that the six of us were all together."
Virgil looked at him quizzically.
"Someone's always up on Thunderbird Five," Jeff explained.
"But no one is now," Virgil noted.
"True," Jeff agreed. "I don't like leaving Thunderbird Five unstaffed, but… I do enjoy having you all around me." He sighed. "I'll have to make a decision about when John is going to go back…"
John and Alan were to be Virgil's guides for the more unusual rooms in the house. Alan showed Virgil the workshop and laboratory. Brains was seated at his desk, morosely perusing research material on the computer and frowning at what he was finding."Found anything of interest, Brains?" Alan asked.
"N-Nothing that can cure amnesia," Brains replied. "Have you any ideas as to what c-caused it, Virgil?"
"No," Virgil replied. "I've been trying to remember, but…" he shrugged.
"You c-can't remember anything of what happened to you before G-Gordon found you?"
"No," Virgil shook his head again. "It's as if I was in the dark and Gordon somehow turned the light on."
"Pity he couldn't have illuminated things a little brighter," Alan commented. "Can you show Virgil something, Brains?"
Brains thought for a moment. "There's a CAD you were w-working on."
Virgil stared at him. "CAD?"
"C-Computer Aided Design," Brains informed him. "Here let me sh-show you." He sat in front of a computer monitor. "You were working on a development plan for a piece of equipment…" a few taps of the light pen and a wire-frame picture of a machine appeared on screen.
"What's it going to do?" Alan asked.
"It's kind of a Swiss Army Knife," Brains explained. He tapped the light pen again and the wire-frame was clothed in what appeared to be a metallic skin. The image was now nearly photo perfect as he caused the virtual machine to swing through 360 degrees. "We're trying to make it as multifunctional as possible. So far it has a plough, drill, shears, saws, cannon…"
"Does it go underwater too?" Alan asked facetiously.
Brains took him seriously. "We did consider that, but decided it would be too heavy… Now to add a light source…" He clicked the light pen a couple of times and a spot of light appeared on the machine, following the contours as it rotated. "I could play with this for hours," he admitted. "Changing colour and texture, but you had the talent, Virgil, to make the machine come to life."
"I did?"
Brains nodded. "The next step is to make a holographic image and put that into an emergency scene and see how the craft performs. If that is satisfactory, we'll make a working prototype."
"You've stopped stuttering!" Virgil suddenly exclaimed.
Alan cleared his throat awkwardly. "Maybe we'd better go, Virgil."
"I-It's all right, Alan. I don't mind. I st-stutter when talking to people, but when I'm dealing with my experiments, I lose it."
"Oh," Virgil had reddened slightly. "Thanks… Sorry… I…"
"Come on, Virgil," Alan pulled him out of the lab.
Alan next led Virgil outside to the vegetable gardens and glasshouses. Inside one they found Kyrano busily tending to his plants.
"Watchya doin', Kyrano," Alan asked.
"Mister Alan, Mister Virgil," Kyrano bowed slightly. "I am deciding what we should have for lunch. Does anything interest you, Mister Virgil?"
"Ah, nothing in particular," Virgil said uneasily. Everything looked the same, green and leafy, to him. "I'm sure whatever you pick will be okay, Mister Kyrano."
Kyrano smiled gently. "You call me Kyrano, Mister Virgil."
"Why? You called me Mister Virgil."
"It is right."
"Why?" Virgil asked again confused. "You're older… I mean… more senior than me. Why do you call me Mister?"
"It is right," Kyrano repeated again, serenely.
Virgil looked at Alan.
"Don't ask me," Alan replied. "We gave up ages ago trying to convince him just to call us by our first names. It's not as if we regard him as only a servant, he's part of the family."
Kyrano bowed again. "I thank you, Mister Alan."
Alan gave Virgil a 'what can you do' look. Then he spied Tin-Tin. "Ah, Kyrano. Perhaps you'll explain to Virgil what some of these plants are… I'll be back in a minute." He scooted over to where she was tilling the soil around some lettuces and crouched down beside her. "Hiya."
She gave him a warm smile. "Hello, Alan."
"I'm giving Virg a tour of the house..." Something clicked in Alan's brain. "Hang on. I've got to remember to call him Virgil, not Virg."
"Why?"
"We've just found out that he doesn't like it. Scott's got himself into a right tizz because he called him Virg. I don't know what the problem is. It's only a name."
"I suppose that when you don't know anything about yourself your name could become very important to you," Tin-Tin said as she demurely removed a weed that had dared to poke its leafy head above the soil.
"Yeah, I guess you're right," Alan said thoughtfully. "I hadn't thought of it like that. I've been trying to imagine what amnesia's like, but I can't. Not really."
Her smile saddened slightly. "Does he remember anything?"
He lost his own smile. "No… It's really weird explaining things to him. I showed him how a welder works. I can remember him showing me, and then fixing up my finger after I'd burnt it on the torch."
"How's he relating to you?"
Alan shrugged. "Seems okay, though it's definitely not as it used to be. You feel like you can't tease him."
"Just as well," Tin-Tin commented. "You were horrible sometimes. And Gordon was worse!"
"He's getting on well with Gordon."
"And Scott?"
"I dunno," Alan said slowly. "Gordon seems to think that he's not too keen on Scott at the moment."
"I'd wondered," Tin-Tin said. "Any ideas why?"
"No… We'd better continue on. John's taking over at eleven." He stood. "Catch you later?"
Tin-Tin gave him that special smile that she reserved only for him.
He was still smiling himself when he and Virgil left the greenhouse.
"Are you and Tin-Tin… an item?" Virgil asked.
Alan choked, stopped, and stared at his brother. "Why'd you say that?"
"The way she looked at you, and the way you looked at her."
"Oh," Alan said non-committedly as his face flushed red. "I guess she's pretty nice."
"You're lucky," Virgil said.
Alan stared at him a moment, wondering exactly what his brother meant. "Lucky? Uh, yes. I guess I am."
"Do I have anyone special?"
"No," Alan admitted. "Well, no one I know about."
They met up with John in the doorway to the villa. "I'm going to show you the recreation rooms," he told Virgil.
The shooting gallery made Virgil feel uneasy. "Why does International Rescue need this?" he asked.
"Some of our equipment means that we have to be accurate shots," John explained. "Things like grappling hooks and lasers and so on. We have guns for self defence too. We also quite enjoy having sharp shooting competitions with each other. You're a pretty good shot."
"I am?"
"Here," John removed a gun from the cabinet and handed it to Virgil. "Have a go."
Virgil looked at the gun. "You show me first."
"Okay," John retrieved another gun and took aim at a target. There was a soft pop and a computer screen showed the image of a target. A black mark was shown on one of the outer rings. John examined the image. "Could be better," he grunted. "I'm out of practice. That's the problem with being trapped on Thunderbird Five for a month. Your turn."
Virgil copied John's stance, raised the gun to eye level and pulled on the trigger. The computer image came up on the screen.
"You missed," John said.
"That felt awkward," Virgil told him.
"Try using the other hand," John suggested. "You're ambidextrous, maybe you'll find it easier shooting the other way."
Virgil took his advice and reversed his position.
"Now, don't pull the trigger, squeeze it," John instructed.
Virgil did as he was told and was surprised when instead of the target appearing on the computer monitor, a star was splashed on screen.
"Bulls eye!" John congratulated him. "Well done! Come on. Next stop: Tracy's Malaysian Theatre."
In the theatre Virgil surprised John by remembering the names of several movies.
"But you hated those!" John exclaimed.
"Did I? I wonder why I can remember them," Virgil frowned in consternation.
"We haven't time to watch any now," John was looking at his watch, "it's almost time for lunch. Remind me and I'll dig out some of your favourites later."
The final destination for the morning was the gym. Scott was already in there, using the punch bag as if it were his worst enemy after a big argument.
"Look around, Virgil," John offered. "If you have any questions just ask." He waited until Virgil moved away before he walked over to Scott.
"Hiya, Johnny," Scott grunted.
"What are you doing?" John asked quietly and braced the bag for his brother.
"Working out."
"Why?"
"'Cause I felt like it." Scott attacked the bag with two heavy jabs.
"If you carry on like this you'll be solid muscle and too heavy for Thunderbird One to lift off the ground. Now tell me what's wrong."
"Nothin's wrong." Scott took a swipe at the bag just as John gave it a push. It swung into Scott, catching him unawares. He grabbed it to stop himself from being pushed over, and hung off it. "What did you do that for?"
John checked that Virgil was still circumnavigating the room. "Nothing's wrong?" he asked flatly. "Spill it, Scott."
Scott looked over at Virgil too. "He doesn't like being called Virg."
"Huh?"
"I took him some new gear. He seemed to really appreciate it. We were getting on like a house on fire… until I called him Virg."
"What did he do?"
"Nothing really. But I could see that he got his back up over it." Scott rubbed his nose on his boxing glove. "I've put my foot in it."
"Not necessarily."
"What if he's never liked being called Virg?"
"You're worrying about the past again, Scott. Don't! He would have told you if he didn't like it. Now if you've got the energy come and give a demonstration of some of this gear…"
Eventually it was time for lunch. Virgil would have preferred to have ignored his rumbling tummy and not faced the ordeal, and was relieved to hear Gordon say, "you and I are going on a picnic together, Pal."
Gordon led the way towards the lookout. From here they could look down on the Tracy Villa and some of the other buildings. Virgil gazed in appreciation at the golden sands and blue waters. For the first time today he felt he was able to relax.
Gordon opened the pack that contained their lunches and looked in at the meal supplied by Kyrano. "There's enough to feed an army in here," he said, his voice muffled by the bag. "Hang on! What's this?"
"Don't ask me, I won't know," Virgil said morosely and wandered over to have a look.
Gordon pulled out a sketchpad and pencil. "Kyrano wouldn't have packed this."
"What is it?"
"One of your sketchpads."
"One of MY sketchpads?"
"Yeah," Gordon handed the two items over.
Virgil took them and examined them closely. "What do you do with them?"
Gordon was silent for a moment, examining a wheel of cheese intently.
Virgil thought he hadn't heard the question, so repeated it.
"It's," Gordon's voice cracked and he cleared his throat before continuing on. "You use the pencil to draw on the pad."
"Draw?"
"Make a picture."
"I don't understand."
"Give it here," Gordon took the pad and pencil. "See how the pencil makes a mark on the paper?" He started sketching. "I'm drawing. I'm drawing a picture of the scene."
"That's drawing?" Virgil looked over his shoulder.
"Yes. I'm drawing a drawing," Gordon told him. "But not a good one." He handed the pad back to Virgil.
Virgil looked at it. "What is it?"
"That's the house," Gordon pointed out an irregularly shaped box. "That's the ocean, the beach and that," his finger moved to what looked like some poorly drawn spiders impaled on sticks, "are the palm trees."
Virgil looked at the picture, then at the scene, and then back at Gordon. "It looks nothing like it!"
"I know! I'm not an artist. You are."
"I'm an artist?"
"That's someone who can paint and draw and make it look like what it's supposed to be. Go on, I'll finish setting up, see what you can draw."
"Okay," Virgil said uncertainly. He turned the page of the sketchpad so an unblemished sheet was topmost, looked at the pencil and then turned his attention back to the scene that Gordon had just drawn. Cautiously he made his first mark.
"Father?"
"Yes, Scott?"
"Has Virgil ever complained to you about me calling him Virg?"
Jeff stared at his son. "Once. But that was years ago!"
"Oh," Scott said quietly.
"Some of the other children at school teased him over it. Why are you asking?"
"He says he doesn't like it," Scott informed him. "I hadn't realised. What if he's never liked it?"
"He would have told you if he didn't," Jeff said confidently.
"But would he? I know that… for some strange reason… he's always looked up to me."
Jeff smiled at the awkward admission. "I honestly believe that there would have been some point where he would have told you not to call him that, if it bothered him..." He hesitated. "This isn't only about his name, is it?"
Scott sat on the end of the couch and looked at his hands. "He doesn't like me much now, does he?" He sounded as if he was hoping that his father would rebuke the statement.
Jeff couldn't. "He's getting to know you again. He's getting to know all of us. Give him time, Scott."
"But how much time is he going to need? This all feels so wrong! I… We… We were a team! I know I can rely on the other guys, but with Virg…" with an effort Scott remembered, "Virgil, there was never any doubt when we were on rescues. I always had this certainty that he would come through, no matter what I asked him to do. I knew I could always count on him to support me. He knew I was always there for him. And now… now he'd rather spend time with Gordon."
"And you're jealous?"
Scott sighed. "I don't know that it's jealousy. More… More that I feel I've lost something. As if someone's cut off my right hand. I can see it lying there, but I can't use it!"
"Not a very palatable analogy, but I think I understand." Jeff looked at his oldest. It was a long time since he'd seen him so despondent. "I wish I could do something to help… offer some advice… but I'm lost as much as you are. All any of us can do, is what I said before. Give him time… or hope that the amnesia cures itself."
Gordon took his time preparing the meal. He was curious as to how well Virgil was drawing, but felt if it was anything less than up to his brother's usual standard he wouldn't be able to take the shock. Then again if it was up to his standard, how come he couldn't remember that he could draw? He shook his head at the unanswered questions, and pretended to clean out the mugs that had been carefully packed away in their dirt resistant container. Eventually he ran out of things to do. "How's it going?" he asked.
"Okay, I guess," Virgil handed over the drawing. "How is it?"
Gordon stared at the picture. Although unfinished it was better than his own. A darn sight better. "Virgil! This is good! And I mean really good!"
"As good as what I used to be able to do?"
"I'd say so. Wait till the others see this. But first! Lunch!" He held out a filled roll.
Virgil took it and started looking about.
"What have you lost?"
"A knife and fork."
"You don't need to use them at every meal. Just use your fingers."
Once he'd satisfied his hunger, Virgil picked up the pad and pencil again, eager to see what else he could create. He tried quick sketches of individual things, such as the picnic pack, a rock and a bug that was crawling across the rug.
Gordon looked at his watch. "We'd better start thinking about heading back. Scott's going to show you Thunderbird Two this afternoon."
"Oh," Virgil said unenthusiastically.
Gordon looked at him curiously. "You don't like Scott much do you? Why?"
Virgil thought a moment. "I'm not sure. He's always ordering people about… I find him intimidating."
"Intimidating!" Gordon said in amazement. "Scott? He's a big pussycat. Tries to pretend that he's all teeth and claws, but scratch him in the right place and he'll go all gooey eyed, and start purring."
"At the risk of asking a leading question," Virgil began cautiously, "where would you scratch him?"
"Ask him anything about planes and flying," Gordon suggested. "And if you really want to make him drool in ecstasy, ask him about Thunderbird One."
"The rocket plane."
"That's right."
They walked back to the villa.
"Did you have a good lunch, boys?" Jeff asked.
"Yes, thank you," Virgil replied politely. He began to examine some of the artworks on display.
"Check that out," Gordon tossed the sketchpad onto his father's desk. "I'll go put the pack back in the kitchen."
Jeff picked up the pad and stared at the top sketch. He was still staring when Gordon re-entered the room. "Who did this?"
"Oh. Don't look at that." Gordon reached over and tore the top page off. "That was my effort." He screwed up the bit of paper and threw it in the bin.
"That's a relief," Jeff said quietly and then stared at the second picture. "That's definitely Virgil's work."
"Uh-huh," Gordon agreed. "I should have taught him how to write his initials so he could've signed it like he always does… did… used to."
Jeff flicked through the pictures. "They may not be as polished as usual, but he hasn't lost any of his talent."
"But he didn't have a clue what I was talking about when I told him he could draw. He didn't know he could do it."
Jeff looked at him. "You're kidding!"
"Nope. That's why I did the first drawing, to show him how it's done, or more correctly not done."
"These are very good, Virgil," Jeff called across the room.
Virgil smiled shyly. "Thank you," he said in a formal manner.