She grew annoyed also that the only other things in her suitcase were jeans, T-shirts, and running clothes. At least she'd had time to shower and do something with her hair, which she normally kept pinned up and out of the way. It was down now around her shoulders, and it lent an air of formality to her appearance which contributed some small modicum of self-assurance. Laura straightened her back and entered with all the dignity she could muster.
The dining room was empty. Two place settings lay across the long table from each other at the end closest to the window. The dining room was dimly lit by candles in the center of the table and by soft, indirect lighting around the ceiling's ornate crown molding.
A mature flame glowed warmly from the fireplace. Airy chamber music emanated from some unseen speakers or, perhaps, from some unseen alcove into which Gray had crammed four musicians.
Laura was drawn past the place settings to the wall of paned glass that overlooked the festival of lights from below. Sparkling lamps twinkled in the Workers' Paradise where people delighted, she imagined, at the carefree lives they led in Gray's feudal realm.
Twin headlamps of cars moved down the highways and byways of the bustling kingdom.
Beyond the Village, the enormous assembly building and the three launch pads were bathed in brilliant light. Gray had turned night into day in other small pockets and patches of earth here and there. One, she noticed, was a ball field on the outskirts of the Village, where a game of some sort was being played. The other patches of light — widely spaced across the darkness of the island below — had no discernible function.
"Interesting perspective from here, isn't it?"
Laura turned to see two blue eyes staring down at the twinkling lights. Gray had appeared out of nowhere just beside her. She felt her throat constrict, a feeling like a pinch just above her larynx.
"All that activity seems individual when viewed from up close," he said, "but so communal when seen from afar." Gray looked over at her with an affable smile — the whites of his teeth and of his eyes contrasting starkly with the tan of his face and his dark hair. He looked so much younger than Laura had imagined that she found herself questioning whether it really was him. But the eyes… His smile was frozen on his face, no longer natural. He stared at her so intensely through squinted eyes that she was forced to look away — back at the Village below. But Laura remained keenly aware that she was the subject of his unwavering focus. The moment — Gray's stare — lasted too long, and Laura felt her face flush at their strangely awkward encounter.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw that he had held out his hand.
"Joseph Gray," he said. The tone of his voice had changed. He sounded inquisitive, as if he now waited for what she would do or say next.
She took a deep breath and looked straight at him. He wrapped his hand around hers gently, and she shook his hand firmly, just once. Businesslike. "Laura Aldridge."
His gaze still lingered, but this time she didn't look away. She stared him down, and Gray broke eye contact first — a puzzled, distracted look on his face. "I'm, uh… I'm so glad you came, Dr. Aldridge," he said.
She nodded, an oafish grin creeping onto her face. Chill out! she thought, scolding herself and clenching her jaw tightly.
"Won't you have a seat," Gray said, ushering Laura to her chair, which he held for her. "I hope your trip was comfortable."
"Thank you: It was," she said as Gray took the seat opposite Laura's. A waiter appeared and poured red wine into their glasses.
"I had heard about those new planes — about the supersonic ones."
"Oh, the… the Grumman-Sukhoi?" Laura realized to her embarrassment that he had no time for details like what plane they'd sent for her. "It's really a good idea. Time is such a valuable commodity, and the technology existed to speed up travel, [missing]." He shrugged, draping his napkin over his lap. "If they hadn't built such a good product, I would've had my people working on it."
Laura took a sip of the wine to hide her smirk. "My people," she thought, the gentle serfs of the Village below. The tart bite of the wine settled quickly into a wonderful aftertaste, and Laura peered at the dark liquid and took another sip. It was fabulous.
"So," Gray said, "where are you staying?"
Laura's eyes shot up, and she almost choked on her wine and had to cough into her napkin. After clearing her throat, she asked, "Pardon me," in a still raspy voice — amused.
"Where did they put you up?" Gray repeated in a tone more tentative than before.
"I'm… upstairs. In your house." He seemed surprised, and his face noticeably reddened. "Is that all right?" Laura fumbled. "I mean, I didn't… I just…"
"No, no, no! That's… it's…"
"Because I could," Laura shrugged, "you know…"
"No! Absolutely not." Gray cleared his throat. "So, do you have everything you need?"
"No," she replied, then rushed to amend her confusing response. "No — no… I mean no, I don't need anything. So I guess… I guess 'yes,'" she said, managing a weak laugh. Laura took another, larger sip of wine.
"Yes-s-s… what?" Gray asked, at a loss.
She filled her lungs but paused. "I mean, yes — I have everything I need — thank you."
An utter stillness descended upon the room. In the quiet, Laura's breathing assumed the proportions of a sigh of profound exasperation.
She looked down to dab her white linen napkin at her lips, and she saw her plain dress. But she looked up and realized for the first time that Gray himself wore a casual jersey with sleeves rolled up his forearms. Blue jeans and a jersey. She thought that strange. When Laura had first seen Gray, she had in her mind's eye the picture of a man in a conservative business suit.
Gray took a bite of the sautéed mushrooms that had been placed before them by two waiters serving in silent synchrony. He caught her studying him, and she lowered her eyes to her plate.
"You have a beautiful home," Laura said, spearing one of the delicate morsels and popping it into her mouth. It was delicious.
"Thank you," Gray replied. "I can't say I had much to do with the decor." He looked around as if to find something upon which to comment. "It looks, sort of," he mumbled as he chewed, "old English with a touch of science fiction." Her eyes roamed the crystal decanters, silver serving dishes, and ornamental plates that lined the shelves, but her gaze ended on the wall of glass. Seemingly suspended in the darkness were the glowing assembly building and launch pads. A quick check of Gray revealed a slight wrinkling around his eyes. He'd made a joke. Laura smiled belatedly.
"Well," Gray said as he placed his fork on his plate and wiped his lips with the napkin, "as for business, I've wired your fee into a Chase Manhattan checking account we opened for you in Boston. That's one million dollars, less taxes."
Laura felt her face redden on his mention of the obscene sum.
"Thank you," she said instantly deciding it was a woefully inadequate response. Gray seemed not to notice.
A million dollars, she found herself thinking, then guiltily forced the subject from her mind. She still had no plans for the money. It hadn't really even sunk in that the money would be there when she got home. But she imagined now for the first time opening her bank statement and seeing her balance.
When Laura looked up, she realized Gray had finished his appetizer. She quickly stabbed at the remaining mushrooms on the small dish. They tasted so extraordinary she was unwilling to let them go back to the kitchen.