Chapter Three
The money that Sam collected from the other journalists for winning the bet paid for several pouches of Whiskas cat food for Bruichladdich, a final round at Dagda, a trashy airport novel, and a small packet of mini pretzels on the plane to America. It had been no surprise that the severance package offered by the Post was not particularly generous, and it was equally unsurprising to learn that there were no newspapers within commuting distance of Edinburgh currently looking to expand their staff.
With unemployment looming just a fortnight away, Sam had found himself facing a choice between living off his savings, while he pursued a probably fruitless quest for a new job, and taking Jefferson Daniels up on his offer. The money was excellent and the work looked likely to be easy, so Sam bit the bullet, sent the cat on his holidays to Uncle Paddy's house again, and booked a flight.
As annoyed as he was by the situation, Sam had to admit that it was not all bad. Jefferson had been keen to get going and wanted to immediately bring Sam to where he lived in Montana. When Sam had demurred, citing the additional expense of plane tickets bought on short notice, Jefferson had added a clause to the contract stating that he would pay all of Sam's travel and living expenses for the six weeks they were to spend working on the book. "It'll be worth it," he had said, flashing his toothpaste-commercial grin while they Skyped. "If you're here for the Mind Meld, you'll get a real flavor of what I've been doing. I think it'll really add something to the book."
So Sam had agreed. The plan was that he would fly to Great Falls and spend some time with Jefferson and his family, observing them in their natural habitat, then accompany them to Arizona to watch Jefferson's initiation as some kind of official within his little group of New Agers — or FireStormers, as this lot preferred to be called. Sam shook his head as he recalled the conversation. It had been difficult enough keeping a straight face on Skype, and he was concerned that during his five weeks in Arizona he might accidentally allow his cynicism to show through. It would certainly be a test of his professionalism.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into Great Falls, Montana!" The voice of a flight attendant crackled over the speaker, perkily dictatorial. In accordance with her demands, Sam flipped his tray table back into place, kicked his rucksack under the seat in front, and then looked idly out of the window as the voice reeled off the local time and temperature. The landscape was a patchwork of brownish fields, broken up with frequent canyons that put Sam in mind of scarred, puckered skin. The Missouri River, immense and blue-green, snaked its way toward Great Falls.
Well, it might not be what I had in mind, Sam thought, but it sure as hell beats sitting around the flat all day trying to job hunt.
"Mr. Cleave?"
Stumbling out of the international arrivals gate, Sam glanced around in search of the owner of the voice calling his name. Standing at the opening, waving delicately, was a tall, willowy woman with carefully highlighted caramel blonde hair and perfectly subtle makeup. She was dressed in a pale blue cashmere sweater and gray slacks, with a pearl necklace and pearl ear studs. Sam knew at once who she was. A woman such as this could only be Jefferson's wife. She had clearly been born and raised to sport a name like Paige.
"I'm so pleased to meet you at last, Mr. Cleave." Paige Daniels extended a slender hand for Sam to shake. He could not help but feel clumsy and slovenly next to her, especially considering the state of his clothes after a full day's travel. "My husband has told me so much about you. Jefferson will be here any minute; he's just gone to bring the car around. How was the flight? You must be exhausted. Jefferson told me that you wouldn't let him upgrade you to business class, though I simply can't imagine why not! This way — he's picking us up right out here."
Sure enough, just as they stepped into the warm evening air, a dark blue Lexus SUV pulled up, Jefferson at the wheel. With blithe indifference for the No Stopping sign, he leaped down from the driver's seat, strode round, and pulled Sam into a hearty bear hug. Were we this friendly? Sam wondered.
"Sam, buddy!" Jefferson boomed. "Good to see you! You've met Paige — isn't she great? Wait until you see what she's got on the stove; she is just the best cook! Oh, honey, let me get that for you." He turned around to open the passenger door for Paige, then took Sam's luggage and swung it into the back seat. Sam climbed in after it and dutifully answered Jefferson's questions about what he had been up to since they had last seen each other, naturally withholding the more intense events. He thought he detected a hint of disapproval from Paige when he confirmed that the Post had, indeed, let him go. She suppressed it quickly, and Sam wondered whether he had read too much into her tone. Fortunately, Jefferson changed the subject at that moment, pointing out a few local sightseeing spots along the route to their house.
Mile after mile of pale beige farmland stretched out under a pinkish sky. Sam watched for the falls that gave Cascade County its name, but saw none. Instead they headed toward what Sam took to be nearby hills, gradually realizing that he was in fact catching his first glimpse of the distant Rocky Mountains. Jefferson chatted away about Freezeout Lake and the local nature reserve, and how a man could just walk for hours and forget about everything. Sam could imagine that it was true. The land certainly lived up to all the "Big Sky" hype. Sam had dismissed that at first, because the sky could hardly be different sizes in different places, but now that he saw the place, he felt the difference in perception.
After an hour, just as darkness fell, they sped past a sign reading "Welcome to Choteau: Gateway to the Rocky Mountain Front." Sam caught a brief glimpse of the town up ahead before the car swung off down a road with a sign marked "Deep Creek." Sam thought Jefferson had gone crazy and driven them off the road, before he realized they were on a dirt track. "It's a short cut!" Jefferson assured him, catching sign of Sam's perplexed expression in the rearview mirror. "This way we don't have to go through Choteau to get to the cottage."
Hearing the word "cottage" in their earlier discussions, Sam had prepared himself for living in close proximity with the Daniels family. He had braced himself for cheek-by-jowl living, despite never wanting to do that again after those nights spent in a tent in Antarctica. He had not considered that Jefferson's idea of a cottage might be different from his own.
When the car stopped it was not a cottage that Sam saw, but a sprawling farmhouse with a handful of outbuildings. There was a barn that had been converted into a triple garage, a paddock and stable, and along a short path stood a small house that was more in line with Sam's idea of a cottage.
"I hope you're ok with the guest suite," Jefferson said, pointing to the small house. "It's small, but it's kind of cozy. I'll drop your stuff in there. You go with Paige and she'll get you a drink."
Obediently Sam followed Paige into the house. It was immaculately presented, with fresh flowers in crystal vases on every surface. A tall trophy case stood in the hallway, surrounded by carefully curated family photographs, so that any casual visitor would be immediately impressed with the family's high achievement levels. Set slightly apart, just far enough to be conspicuous without being distasteful, was a perfect candid shot of Jefferson and Paige, apparently sharing a joke with George Bush Sr. in the White House Rose Garden.
"Nice glasses," Sam said, as Paige pressed an Old Fashioned in a monogrammed tumbler into his hand.
"Thanks," she smiled sweetly. "They came from my grandmother. Those are her initials, Mary Hammersmith Cassidy. She always believed in the importance of good crystal." At once, Sam felt under immense pressure not to drop the glass or accidentally grip it too tightly.