Bradley, Marion Zimmer - Shadowgate 04 (6 page)

 
          
The
new highway took him across the
Oakland
Bay
Bridge
, where the dependable Ford
shuddered in the grip of winds severe enough that the local morning radio
stations commonly posted "small car warnings" along with the usual
weather and traffic reports. Though the Ford was in no danger, Colin was glad
enough to get off the bridge and down onto the city streets. Less than an hour
later, he was pulling
la Bete
into Alison's steeply tilted driveway.

 
          
Despite
Alison's characterization of it as "an old barn," Greenhaven was a
little brown-shingled Victorian with a pair of matched bay windows on either
side of a recessed red-painted door. Warm golden light spilled through the
leaded-glass fanlight above the lintel, as welcoming on this grey day as a glad
"hello." As he cut the ignition, and the Ford's powerful engine
stilled into silence, the door opened, and Alison stood framed in the doorway,
wearing a long tartan hostess skirt and a ruffled white blouse.

 
          
"Colin!
So you actually found your way here to us," she said in pleased tones. One
of her white cats
—
Alison had several, as she'd had for almost as long as
Colin had known her
—
wove back and forth about her ankles, shedding abundant
white hairs on the gay red plaid.

 
          
"At
times the outcome seemed to be in doubt," Colin commented. "I'd
gotten used to navigating around the Village
—
but S.F. always throws me
for a loop."

 
          
Alison
laughed. "The City does take some getting used to," she said with
proprietary pride. "But come in
—
Simon's here
—
his plane arrived early
—
and you know how much I've
been wanting the two of you to meet."

 
          
Colin
handed her the gift-wrapped bottle he'd bought and stepped inside, followed by
Alison and the white cat. A sense of profound peace settled over him as soon as
he crossed the threshold of her home: Alison worked with those of troubled
spirit, and as a result, she kept her home rigorously cleared and shielded.
Greenhaven was filled with the peace and joy of a dedicated holy place.

 
          
On
either side of the ivory-painted foyer a broad white door led into a set of
rooms separated by glass doors. Alison led him through to the set on the left.
The front room contained a desk, couch, and file cabinets
—
Alison obviously used it for
her consulting work
—
but the room behind it ran the full length of the house,
with the back wall dominated by a huge picture window that looked out over the
Bay. Today only the tips of the
Golden Gate
towers were visible through the mist, but Colin could tell
that on a clear day the view from these windows would be stunning.

 
          
"The
kitchen's on the other side; you can get out into the garden from there,"
Alison said. "Not that this is much of a day for outside explorations. I
even built a fire in here." She gestured at the marble fireplace.
"And here's Simon."

 
          
Colin
had been watching his hostess. Now he turned to face the other occupant of the
room.

 
          
Little
Lord Byron on a scooter,
was Colin's immediate, unkind assessment. Simon
Anstey was the sort of youth the ancient Greeks might have written poems to
—
his curling black hair was
theatrically long, brushing his collar in the back, framing a face beautiful
enough to grace a
kylix.
He was standing in front of the small black
marble fireplace in a pose that managed to look formal and natural at the same
time, and a cut-crystal wineglass stood behind him on the mantle. He held
another of Alison's white cats in his arms.

 
          
His
dark blue eyes were so intense that their color was the first thing that one
saw from across the room, and his strong features
—
hawk-nosed and
high-cheekboned
—
added to the impression of maturity, giving young Anstey
the look of eagles. He was wearing a black-and-white tweed sportcoat and dark
slacks with a light blue turtleneck, adding to the Bohemian air about him.

 
          
But
for all Anstey's professional poise, Colin could sense that the boy was
nervous, keyed up. He wondered what Alison had told Anstey about the man he was
to meet today.
Probably a lot of exaggerated twaddle,
Colin thought, and
advanced into the room, his hand outstretched.

 
          
"Simon
Anstey, isn't it? I've heard so much about you," Colin said warmly.

 
          
Simon
gently deposited the cat upon the floor, then took Colin's hand and shook it.
The cat, miffed, darted from the room on urgent business of its own.

 
          
Simon's
grip was surprisingly strong, and Colin remembered again that the boy was
already a professional pianist, with thousands of hours of practice behind that
hearty grip. He'd glimpsed some of Alison's harpsichords across the hall when
he'd come in, and wondered which of them Anstey had used for the Scarlatti he'd
recorded.

 
          
"Professor
MacLaren. I've heard so much about you from Dr. Margrave." Anstey's voice
was low and strong, a trained voice to go with the trained hands. "I've
looked forward very much to this meeting."

 
          
"As
have I," Colin said warmly.

 
          
"Let
me leave you two gentlemen to get acquainted while I check on the progress of
dinner and put this bottle in to chill," Alison said. "I'll have to
change before we go out, but I'll be switched if I'm going to try cooking dinner
in high heels. Simon, why don't you fix Colin a drink?" she added.
"I'll be back in a jif."

 
          
Alison
had sworn she intended to take him to hear something called "The Kingston
Trio," at a nightclub with the improbable name of "The Hungry I"
down in
North
Beach
.

 
          
("As
a psychologist, I find the name marvelously appropriate, Colin
—
the T
—
the ego
—
is always hungry. But you'll
love the place; you'll see," Alison had said over the phone.)

 
          
"Is
there anything I can do to help?" Colin asked automatically, but Alison
only laughed. She disappeared through the sliding glass doors and left Colin
alone with her young pupil.

 
          
"Would
you like a glass of wine, Dr. MacLaren?" Anstey asked courteously.
"There's Scotch, if you prefer; I'm not quite sure what Dr. Margrave has
in her drinks cabinet."

 
          
"Wine's
fine
—
and
it's 'Mister,' not 'Doctor,' " Colin said. "I'm only a Doctor of
Psychology, and I'm afraid I'm old-fashioned enough to feel that the title
should be reserved for the medical profession."

 
          
"As
you say, Professor," Simon said with a smile. He moved toward the low
table set in front of the enormous picture window
—
one of Alison's renovations
to the hilltop Victorian, Colin was sure
—
to pour a second glass from
the bottle there on the silver tray. He crossed the room to hand it to Colin,
then indicated one of the two armless Danish Modern couches upholstered in
olive linen that occupied the room. The spare sculptural lines of the modern
furniture harmonized well with the room's graceful Victorian proportions.

 
          
Colin
sipped at his wine, then drank deeper with appreciation. "An excellent
vintage," he commented.

 
          
"Yes,"
Anstey said. "I brought Dr. Margrave back a case of it the last time I
toured
France
."

 
          
Was
it Colin's imagination, or was there a touch of belligerence in Anstey's voice,
the attempt of a very young man to stake a claim to his own adulthood? He
smiled at the thought, and strove to put young Anstey at his ease.

 
          
"It's
a beautiful country, isn't it? Were you able to see much of
Paris
while you were there? I
understand that traveling on business doesn't leave much time for
sight-seeing."

 
          
"I
saw a bit," Simon said, seeming to relax. He retrieved his own glass and
sat down on the couch nearer the fire. "But a visit can't possibly compare
with being able to live there. Dr. Margrave told me that you'd spent some time
overseas?"

 
          
"I
was there during the war," Colin answered, before he realized that there
was no longer only one war. Was he getting stuck in his own past? "During
World War II, I should say. After the surrender, I stayed on for a few years,
working on projects of my own." Which was the best way to handle the time
he'd spent with the army; some of the things he'd done with Department 23
couldn't be talked of, even a decade later.

 
          
"You
must be glad to be home
—
or maybe not," Simon said, with his beguiling mixture
of maturity and boyish enthusiasm. "But tell me
—
if I'm not being too
presumptuous
—
Dr. Margrave tells me that you're also active in
parapsychological circles?"

 
          
"Simon!
You make Colin sound like a flight of china dishes," Alison teased, coming
back into the room. Both men stood, and Simon hurried to retrieve her glass
from the side-table and refill it with the excellent
Burgundy
.

 
          
"Now
Alison, would you deprive me of the chance to expound upon my favorite
subject? After all, I've spent the last two months dinning the basics of
scientific method into the ears of my freshman class; it would be a relief to
discuss the topic with someone who doesn't think 'parapsychology' is a synonym
for 'elementary voodoo.' "

 
          
Both
Simon and Alison laughed at the mild joke, and Alison said:

 
          
"Have
you been able to get any fieldwork done? Simon and I had a fascinating case
last year: a poltergeist right here in the city
—
remember that case up on
Russian Hill, Simon?"

 
          
"How
could I forget it?" Simon said with rueful humor, rubbing an imaginary
bump on the side of his head. "After I took that Brodie down the stairs I
was sore for a week
—
the last time I will underestimate the Unseen, even assuming
I'd been inclined to do so in the first place."

 
          
The
talk turned naturally to their mutual field of interest, and Colin discovered
that Simon Anstey was already a dedicated researcher in the infant field of
parapsychology, and also fascinated by the shadowy world of magick.

 
          
"If
there is a world beyond the one we know, why shouldn't we be able to affect it
just as we do the material one?" Simon asked over dinner. "The physical
body affects the physical world
—
why shouldn't the subtle body affect the spiritual
world?"

 
          
Greenhaven
did not have a separate dining room
—
Alison having sacrificed
that possibility to a larger music room
—
but the spacious Victorian
kitchen had plenty of room for a lovely old rock maple farmhouse table that
could have accommodated twice their number. Dressed up with white damask and a
silver candlestick or two, the setting was quite elegant, even with the kitchen
appliances hulking in the background. And Colin did have to admit that the
location guaranteed that the food reached the table hot.

 
          
"Some
of the ways we manage to affect our material world aren't something you'd want
to expand to the spiritual realm. Look at soil erosion
—
strip mining
—
air pollution. Rachel
Carson's written some pretty disturbing books. It would be nice to think that
one reality, at least, was safe from that."