Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) (64 page)

He glanced at her, grinning
sheepishly. “Uh, yeah.”

Susan returned the grin, nodded,
and disappeared back into the house.

Gabe smiled at him. “Oops.”

Jeff sighed. “Well, I guess it’s
time for me to go to work, and you probably ought to go get dressed.”

She nodded. “Pity.”

“Uh huh.”

He let go of her and she took a
step back, apparently forgetting about the towel that promptly fell to the
ground.

They both glanced down.

Gabe slowly crossed her arms over
her breasts and smiled. “Would you mind?”

He shook his head, picked up the
towel, handed it to her, then looked back into her eyes. “Yeah, a pity indeed.”

Monday, July 6, 2015
(T minus 260 days)

Jeff
glanced at his cell phone display and answered. “Hey, Heidi, what’s up?”

“Hi,
boss. Rocketdyne looked over our J-2 and x-rayed the crack. They don’t think
it’s a big deal. The crack is just in the weld, the structural steel is fine.
They’re gonna grind it out, re-weld onsite, and x-ray again. They’re
comfortable with it, and it should be good as new in a week or two.”

“Okay,
sounds good. Are you comfortable with that?”

 “Yes, I am.”

“Alright,
that’s good enough for me.”

“They
also have another nozzle that’s in good shape, just in case. And, they can just
swap the nozzle, rather than changing out the entire engine.”

“Okay,
well that’s good to know.”

“Yeah. I
just wanted to let you know as soon as I knew.”

“Thanks,
Heidi. And again, good job.”

“Thanks,
boss. Hey, it was good seeing you this weekend. It was fun.”

“Yeah, it
was. And it was good seeing you too.”

“I like
Abby’s folks, they’re a kick.”

“Yes they
are. Say, while we’re gone, keep in touch with them, if you will. Diane’s kind
of a nervous one.”

“Can’t
say as I blame her.”

“Yeah, if
it were my daughter, I guess I’d be kind of nervous too. Oh, by the way, we’ll
be down at Kennedy around the end of the month, gonna spend a couple days going
over the closeout procedure. It’s been a while since they’ve done it, and we’ve
never done it.”

“Great.
Looking forward to seeing you.”

“Alright
Heidi, thanks for the call. Talk to you later.”

“Yeah.
Bye.”

Monday, September 28,
2015 (T minus 176 days)

Curbside
at Heathrow Airport in London, the limousine driver held the door open and
Chrissie slid in. Jeff turned to the chauffer. “Royal Bank of Scotland, 49 Charing
Cross Road.”

“Yes
sir.”

As Jeff
settled in and the driver closed the door, Chrissie turned to him and frowned.
“I suppose at some point in time you’re going to tell me what we are doing
here?”

He
glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah, probably.”

As they
drove along, Chrissie stared out the window. “Wow, except for changing planes
at Heathrow when we went to Spain, I’ve never been here.”

“You
haven’t? Huh, what a crime.”

“I’ve led
a sheltered life.”

“You
never made it to London while you were at the Sorbonne?”

“No. I
always flew direct between Boston and Paris, and just never got over here.”

“Huh.
Okay, well, down there is the Thames…”

“That’s a
river?”

“Uh,
yeah. And… up there is Hyde Park.”

“I’m
guessing that’s a park?”

“Good
call. And… down there is Buckingham Palace.”

“Where
the Queen lives?”

“Yeah, on
occasion. She has a number of residences. And… down over there is Parliament
and Westminster Abbey and Big Ben, and all that stuff. And about a mile down
that way is London Bridge and the Tower of London. There, you’ve seen it all,
no big deal.”

Chrissie
frowned. “You know something?”

“What?”

“You are without doubt the world’s worst tour
guide.”

Jeff
chuckled. “What are you whining about? You’ve never been to London, and now you
have. And you flew here First Class.”

“Great.
Yes, it was a nice seat, and the 30-minute tour from the highway was terrific.
But tell me honestly, I’m just here to carry your briefcase, right?”

He
glanced at the case beside her. “Isn’t that
your
briefcase?”

Chrissie
groaned and just stared out the window.

Forty
minutes from Heathrow they pulled to a stop in front of the Royal Bank of
Scotland.

Chrissie
stared at the imposing edifice. “Please tell me we didn’t come all this way
just to make a bank deposit?”

“No, more
like a withdrawal.”

“Huh? You
have an account with the Royal Bank of Scotland?”

“Not for
long. Come on.”

They
walked up the steps and into the bank. Jeff looked around for someone…
authoritative. They walked up to a desk. He looked at the name plaque. “Hello
Ms… Abercrombie, my name is Jeffrey Grey and I believe your manager has
something for me.”

Ms.
Abercrombie leaped to her feet. “Yes! Uh, oh, yes, Mr. Grey, we’ve been
expecting you. Just a moment please.” She turned and hurried off.

Chrissie
shook her head. “I don’t get this kind of service at my bank.” She sighed. “But
then, my account balance doesn’t have as many zeros after it as yours does.”

Jeff
laughed. “I wouldn’t know. You keep track of that stuff.”

“Yeah, so
why didn’t I know about this?”

“Oh, I
have a few bucks stashed away here and there that probably don’t show up on
your ledgers.”

“Define,
‘a few’.”

Jeff
chuckled.

A minute
later Ms. Abercrombie returned with a stout gentleman of medium height wearing
an exquisitely tailored suit that Jeff guessed was from somewhere along Savile
Row.

The
gentleman held out his hand to Jeff. “Mr. Grey? Simon Chapman, branch manager.
It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.”

“The
pleasure is all mine, Mr. Chapman. Nice suit.” He nodded toward Chrissie. “My
assistant, Christine Mallory.”

“Thank
you, sir.” Chrissie and Mr. Chapman shook hands. “A pleasure, ma’am.”

She
nodded politely.

“Mr.
Grey, I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience, but I wonder if I might see
a photo identification?”

Jeff
nodded. “Of course. Perfectly understandable.” He pulled his passport from his
suit coat pocket and handed it to Chapman.

Chapman
briefly glanced at the passport and returned it to Jeff. “Thank you, sir.” Then
he produced an envelope from his coat pocket and held it out.

Jeff took
it, peeked inside, and smiled. “Thank you sir.” Without looking at her, he
handed the envelope to Chrissie. “Briefcase.”

She
started to peek into the envelope and Jeff gently swatted her hand. “Tut, tut,
you know what curiosity did to the cat.”

Chrissie
frowned and stuck the envelope in her briefcase.

“Mr.
Chapman, Ms. Abercrombie, thank you.” He held out his hand to both.

Chapman
shook it and smiled. “You’re welcome Mr. Grey, and thank you. And… well done,
sir.”

“Thank
you, sir. It’s the least I can do.” Jeff turned to Chrissie. “Shall we?”

“I guess.
I’m just along for the ride. I have no idea what this is about.”

“You’ll
see.”

They
returned to the limousine. “Driver, King’s College, Cambridge, Office of the
Dean of the Chapel.”

“Yes
sir.”

Chrissie
shook her head and rolled her eyes. “What’s this about?”

“All in
due time. It’s about an hour and a half drive, might as well sit back and take
in the scenery.” Jeff leaned back and closed his eyes.

“Right.
You know, this is a nice car. What is it?”

“You
don’t know?”

“No.”

He sighed.
“It’s a Rolls Royce.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m
lying. It’s a Volkswagen in disguise.”

She
slapped his shoulder. “It is not!”

He
smiled.

Jeff and
Chrissie stepped into the office of the King’s College Chapel Dean’s secretary.
“Hello, I’m Jeffrey Grey, I have an appointment with the Dean.”

The
elderly woman, who looked like she’d been with the College since at least the
19
^th
Century, slowly rose, tapped on the door behind her, and opened
it. “Dean, Mr. Grey.” She pushed the door open and motioned inside. “Mr. Grey,
please, Dean Brooks will see you now.”

Jeff,
with Chrissie close behind, entered the office and was met by a tall, gaunt
gentleman in an old, rumpled suit. He held out his hand. “Reverend, Jeffrey
Grey. A pleasure to meet you sir.”

“My
pleasure, Mr. Grey.” He motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please,
be seated. I have certainly heard of you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this
visit?”

“Sir, I’m
sure you’re a busy man, and I won’t take any more of your time than necessary.
I’ve been a great fan of the Choir of King’s College for many years. I believe
they offer something to this world – a great beauty – that is vanishing, and
should not be allowed to vanish. It’s too important.”

The Dean
smiled and nodded.

“Reverend,
I’ve spent most of my money on this Mars mission, of which I’m sure you’re
aware, but I still have a little change left and I’d like to make a small
donation to the Chapel, and the Choir.” He held his hand out to Chrissie.
“Envelope, please?”

Chrissie
opened her briefcase and handed him the Royal Bank of Scotland envelope.

Jeff
handed the envelope to the Dean.

The Dean
opened it, withdrew the contents, and gasped. “Oh, Mother of God!” His head
jerked up. “Mr. Grey, are you serious?!”

Jeff
smiled softly. “Yes, sir. I’d like you to divide that in half, and put half
into the Chapel maintenance fund – to do with as you see fit – and the other
half into a scholarship fund for choristers and Choral and Organ Scholars of
the Choir. As I suggested, this is too great an organization to allow to fade
into antiquity. And what I am doing pales in significance.”

“Sir,
this is generous beyond belief. Thank you.”

“You’re
welcome. Think nothing of it.”

Dean
Brooks stared at the check. “Um, Mr. Grey, is there something I can offer in
return for this most generous gift?”

“Well,
sir, actually there is. Two things. First, I wonder if we might get six good
seats to the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols this year. None of us have
ever actually seen it, and four of us may never get another opportunity. And
second, I wonder if during such, you might ask the Choir to sing a particular
carol. I’m not certain, but to the best of my knowledge none of the beautiful
and poignant carols of Alfred Burt have ever been sung at the Festival.  I
would ask that they sing,
Some Children See Him
.”

Dean
Brooks looked at Jeff with surprise. “That’s all?”

Jeff
nodded. “Yes, that’s all.”

“Done, sir. And thank you very much.”

Jeff
stood and reached his hand to the Dean. “You’re welcome sir. See you on
Christmas Eve.”

They shook
hands and Jeff and Chrissie headed for the limousine.

As he
closed the door behind them Jeff heard a loud voice from inside. “Mrs. Higgins!
Get the Provost on the phone! Now!”

Chrissie
shook her head. “That was it? That’s why we’re here?”

“Yep.
That’s it.”

“How much
did you give him?”

“A
million pounds sterling.”

Chrissie
gasped. “That’s over a million and a half dollars!”

“Yeah,
something like that.”

“For good
seats at a concert and your favorite Christmas carol?”

Jeff smiled at her. “You’ll like it.”

“What are you trying to do? Buy your way into
Heaven?”

He shook his head. “No, I doubt I could afford that
ticket. We’re six months from launch, and let’s just say I’m checking an item
off the bucket list.”

Thursday, December
24, 2015 (T minus 89 days)

As they entered Cambridge, Heidi
looked out the window of the limousine and shook her head. “Gabe, where’s the
University?”

“All over. Cambridge consists of
thirty-one separate Colleges, and they’re all over town. King’s, Trinity, St.
John’s, Clare, Pembroke…”

“Which one did you go to?”

“Pembroke.”

“Have you been in the King’s
College Chapel?” said Jeff.

“Sure, many times. I’ve even played
the organ.”

“I thought you were here studying
math.”

“I was, but I managed to squeeze in
a course in organ technique with one of the Organ Scholars. It was great.”

“So you also play the organ?”

“Of course.”

“Huh. I’ve known you for three and
a half years and you’re still full of surprises.”

She grinned.

“What’s an Organ Scholar?” said
Chrissie.

“Most of the Colleges have two
Organ scholarship undergraduates that are largely responsible for the music in
each of the college chapels. The organist this afternoon will almost certainly
be one of the King’s College Organ Scholars.”

“Why all the different colleges?”