I smiled. “She is rather wonderful, Maddie.”
Later that evening, after a few more drinks, I screwed up my courage and said to Hannah, “Ah… you said you’d like to see more of the exhibition. It opens officially tomorrow, and I know a great restaurant on the seafront. I was wondering…”
She tipped her head to one side and smiled at me. “That would be fantastic, David.”
“Great. And there’ll be another show of spindizzies to watch.”
For the rest of the evening I felt like an adolescent on the eve of his first date.
Much later, as we finished our drinks and were about to leave, I happened to glance across at Darius Dortmund, still standing by the balcony rail. I think I was the only one among the group who saw what happened next.
The last of the female spindizzies were making their way inland, and one or two had lost their way and strayed into the bar area. One approached Dortmund by the rail, the insect a thing of scintillating beauty. As it sailed by him at head height, the bar lights catching its iridescent wings, the off-worlder reached out quickly, snatched the spindizzy from the air, and crushed the hapless creature in his fist.
Which was shocking enough, but even more so was the expression of satisfaction on his cold, pale face.
I looked across at Kee to make sure she had not witnessed this arbitrary act of cruelty, but she was hanging onto Hawk’s arms and laughing at something he was saying.
The evening was at an end and I followed the others from the patio.
— THREE —
The following evening I met Hannah at a seafront bar. We had a couple of drinks then moved on to the restaurant. She was wearing a short yellow dress, her only adornment a black velvet choker set with a green oval stone which matched her eyes. As she walked into the bar, my breath caught at the sight of her. I wanted to say how wonderful she looked, but stopped myself from such crassness.
“It’s lovely to see you. Can I get you a drink?”
We kissed cheeks and she said, “I could really kill a beer, David,” and her accent sent a thrill through me.
We slipped into easy conversation from the outset, and my nervousness diminished. We talked and laughed, and I told myself that this was meant to be.
We dined outside by the old harbour, swapping our stories as the light show of the spindizzy mating ritual raged above the straits. The restaurant specialised in local Chalcedony food, and we ordered grilled jackeral and a red salad, my favourite, accompanied by a local rosé.
The most amazing thing about the evening was how easily the conversation flowed. There was never a second when I felt awkward or self-conscious. We made each other laugh with stories of our past, her childhood in rural Holland and mine in British Columbia.
Hannah had been married, briefly, in her early thirties, to a fellow police officer. All she said was that the marriage had been a big mistake, and had ended without recriminations a year later.
I told her about my failed marriage to a gallery owner, about the accident that claimed my daughter, and how the marriage had never recovered from the grief of our mutual loss.
“And that’s when you came to Chalcedony,” Hannah said.
“And met Matt and Maddie, Hawk and Kee.”
“They’re nice people, David. They made me feel so comfortable last night, as if I were one of the crowd.”
I smiled. “They’re like that. They’re… I know this’ll sound corny, but I consider them family.” I took a long swallow of wine, beaming at my companion. “Anyway, that’s enough of me◦– what brought you here?”
She shrugged. “I suppose I became sick of work on Earth. I was stationed in Rotterdam, with the Homicide Division. I was with the force almost twenty-five years and I was becoming jaded. Desensitised. The murders became… routine. I decided I had to get out.”
I did a quick calculation. “Twenty-five years? So you joined the police straight from school?”
She laughed, covering her mouth with a small hand. “David! You’re trying to flatter me! I joined in my mid-twenties.”
I stared at her. “You’re fifty?”
“Next year.”
“Christ… I mean, I had you down as not a day over forty. I was worried that our age difference…” I stopped, flustered.
She reached out and touched my hand. “David, it wouldn’t matter if you were eighty. Honestly.”
I laughed. “Well, I’m not quite that old. Just eight years your senior.”
“A mere youngster,” she smiled. “Hey, look, we’ve almost finished the bottle. How about another half?”
I agreed to that excellent proposal, and when it arrived I poured two glasses. “So why Chalcedony particularly?”
She shrugged, and I found that slight hitch of her slim shoulders◦– like every other gesture she made◦– enchanting. “I was looking for somewhere quiet. I’d never been off-world, and I thought I should experience it before I grew too old. Then I saw a posting advertised here in Mackinley. It sounded great: not too onerous, but with a little responsibility. So I applied, was accepted, then read up on the planet. I’d heard about the golden column, of course, but I never realised that one day I’d be dining with… what did that book call you?”
I held up a hand. “Please, don’t embarrass me!”
“The Opener of the Way.” She tipped her head, looking at me. “How does that make you feel, David?”
I often looked back on the accidental chain of events that led to Hawk flying the Mantis into the golden column◦– and finding that the alien bolt of light was a gateway between two points in space. The discovery opened up the spaceways again, revolutionised star travel, and made Telemass transportation a second-rate means of travelling the Expansion.
I smiled. “I’m a very ordinary person who was caught up in a very extraordinary chain of events. I’m thankful more for having met my friends back then, though of course it was all bound up together.” I shrugged. “I think I’m the most fortunate person on the planet.”
She looked at me over her glass. “And there’s never been anyone since your wife?”
I told her that I’d had a brief fling a couple of years ago , and she nodded to herself and allowed me to change the subject.
“I hope this doesn’t sound sexist, but you’re not what I would imagine a police lieutenant to be.”
She smiled. “I know what you mean. How could I fight my way out of a tricky situation with my build?” She tipped her head. “Well, I’m trained for things like that, of course. But the reality is that police work these days is all about up here,” she tapped her temple. “It’s about working out motives, assessing psychological states, making lateral cognitive leaps.”
“I think you displayed that last night when you argued with Dortmund,” I said. “I was impressed.”
“Him?” She blew, dismissing the off-worlder. “Dortmund is an egotist with megalomaniacal traits. Let’s not talk about him.”
We finished the wine and I suggested we make our way to the exhibition.
Hannah laughed. “I’ve been anticipating this all day! Let’s go.”
We left the restaurant and made the short walk along the seafront to the exhibition centre.
Word had evidently got out that Matt Sommers’ latest show was something special. There was a long queue outside the entrance and officials were allowing entry to only six individuals at a time. We had to wait for about fifteen minutes before being allowed inside, but the wait only increased our anticipation.
We stepped into the chamber◦– illuminated by the central ruby light casting radial lances at the fifty stones◦– like children entering Santa’s grotto. I was delighted when Hannah took my hand and led me across to a plinth we had not experienced yesterday: I had feared she might want to enjoy the stones alone.