Seven Point Eight (30 page)

Tahra avoided Max on returning to The Institute. Her anger turned inward and she entered a deep, albeit brief depression. For the first two weeks, she couldn’t face the others either and they all wanted to hear about her adventure in the States, but didn’t realise something had gone awry.

Her appetite suffered and she lost some weight, although found solace in books and her transistor radio. It now picked up a new pirate station called Radio Caroline, which broadcasted from a ship off the south-east coast of
England
. She heard the Beatles’ new release in March, ironically entitled ‘Can’t Buy Me Love’. Tahra reflected on how much it reminded her of Max, a man who knew how to buy her things but was incapable of acknowledging the simplest things like trust and boundaries in a relationship.

She emerged from her depression feeling numb, and Oscar sensed a darker edge to her personality that he couldn’t put his finger on. However, she placed her heartbreak in a bottle and corked it indefinitely.

Sometimes, Max and Tahra occasionally caught sight of each other on the stairs, or in the communal living area. They both felt a pang of yearning, yet also a need to push each other away. When present in the same room, they exchanged glances with a discordant mixture of apprehension and curiosity. At this stage, nobody knew who’d crack first.

***

Max drove to the cottage he’d given Paul back in the fifties, pulling up outside in his bright red E-Type Jaguar, declared to be ‘the most beautiful car ever made’, with its long sleek bonnet, good looks, and high performance. He approached the front door with trepidation, wondering how Paul would greet him after such a long period of absence. After tapping on the door, which was delicately framed with ivy and clematis, the door opened and to his surprise, a woman greeted his eyes.

She had long, wavy chestnut brown hair and wore jodhpurs with a floral shirt, plus riding boots. Max considered her somewhat pretty in a mature kind of way, but not as beautiful as Tahra. The woman alleviated the awkward silence by speaking first.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Paul,” Max answered.

She disappeared and a moment later, he emerged from the sitting room, amazed to see Max standing on the doorstep. After a pause in which Paul pondered the reason for this visit, Max asked to come in and Paul guided him to the cosy sitting room, where two leather armchairs awaited them. The room now had paintings of great pioneers hung on the walls, but Max also saw loose newspaper clippings concerning key launches by NASA pinned to a piece of corkboard. The two men sat facing each other, wondering what each other had been doing. The woman who’d answered the door made herself scarce.

“So,” Max began, “you found yourself an honest woman.”

“I’ve known Eleanor for a few years now, and she stays over a lot. I met her while horse riding one day. What about you, is there a woman in your life?”

Max shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You know me, I’m a relationship dilettante.”

Paul raised an eyebrow at Max’s odd reaction, although he didn’t probe. Instead, he decided to change the subject.

“Well, what have you been up to all this time?”

Max didn’t answer with the usual confidence and poise Paul was accustomed to.

“I’ve spent most of the time in the States, there’s a sister facility over there called The Observatory.”

“Oh.” Paul wondered why he hadn’t been told about this before. “What do they do over there? Same as The Institute?”

“Parallel research, pretty much.”

They both nodded, aware of the struggle to drive the conversation forward.

“How’s The Institute?”

“Good, good.”

Max didn’t mention Tahra. Both men felt frustrated at how the discussion dawdled, so Paul got to the point. “So, what brings you here?”

Max felt relieved, and began his pitch.

“Some interesting facts were revealed during my time at The Observatory…worrying facts. We’re not the only ones investigating the use of psychic individuals for application in the Cold War. In particular, there are remote viewers operating in the
Soviet Union
, mirroring the activities of George and Oscar.”

Paul sat back, amused at the irony.

“I presume they know we’re doing the same,” he commented.

Max didn’t find it funny in the slightest.

“Is there some way that remote viewing can be…blocked?” he posited.

Paul considered the question carefully.

“Not that I’m aware of. To place restrictions on the movements of human consciousness is…well, somewhat elusive.”

Max pushed further.

“I’m aware that alcohol has an inhibitory effect upon remote viewing. However, this is obviously impossible to use when you cannot gain physical access to the remote viewer. Have you any idea what form human consciousness takes?”

Paul rewound his memory back to his days at The Establishment.

“I believe its basis lies in the human electromagnetic field.”

Max reflected for effect before developing his hypothesis.

“If consciousness is some kind of electromagnetic field, is there some way this field or energy source could be disrupted?”

Paul pressed his palms together as if in prayer and lightly touched his fingertips to his lips.

“Theoretically…yes, that’s an interesting premise.”

“So, can I assume you’ll take this on as a new research project?”

Max looked at him persuasively, and Paul remained silent as he continued.

“I must impress on you the seriousness of Soviet ability to see what we…and what I am doing in terms of the Cold War. Remember, remote viewers know no boundaries. They aren’t limited by the restrictions imposed by the physical body. Their consciousness can travel anywhere, unhindered, any distance, instantaneously. They have, in fact, a limitless capacity to explore. Do we want to grant that power to the Soviets?”

Paul wanted to shout ‘
Eureka
!’ although not for the reasons intended. Max had just inspired him, albeit unintentionally. However, Paul put that moment aside temporarily.

“I understand the importance of this research. I’ll see what I can come up with.”

Max stood up, satisfied with the response for the time being. He nodded his appreciation and Paul showed him to the door, watching him trudge down the path towards his car. Something troubled Max. What had transpired recently in Max’s life to cause this?

Shrugging, Paul returned to the sitting room and stood in front of his Space Race clippings. Max’s words replayed in his mind…‘
remote viewers know no boundaries’; ‘they aren’t limited by the restrictions imposed by the physical body; ‘they have a limitless capacity to explore’.
Paul Eldridge wanted to sing. He had now found his destiny.

“I have a dream!” he laughed, ripping all the clippings off the corkboard.

***

The 1
^st
of June 1964 was no ordinary day. It was someone’s birthday. Max prepared the living room of The Institute for a meal and at 7:00pm that evening, everyone descended the stairs in their best clothes. Paul hadn’t been invited, but no one thought to ask about him as he hadn’t worked at The Institute for a few years now. Tahra arrived five minutes late, and strolled into the living room like a panther, wearing a low cut black dress. Max faltered in his conversation, and they exchanged a cursory glance then he resumed his discussion, wondering how to keep her at a distance.

After the customary conversation and social mingling, everyone took a seat. Max sat at the largest table, along with Miss Tynedale, Oscar, and a technician but before Emilie could claim the last chair, Tahra strode over and sat in it herself. Max looked at her in disbelief, while she viewed him with contempt. It would look odd if he changed tables now, so decided to put up with the situation even though he felt uncomfortable. She seemed determined to create a gauche and potentially inflammatory state of affairs. Emilie’s reaction of disappointment and aggrieved feelings went unnoticed, she sat with Beth instead.

Max encouraged all to quieten down, as he stood up and tapped a wine glass with a spoon.

“You must be wondering why I’ve gathered you all together on this fine evening,” he began. “I told you it was someone’s birthday. Today, I’d like to commemorate the tenth anniversary of The Institute and remember the birthday of my late mother, Grace Richardson.”

Max presented an open bottle of wine to each table, and asked everyone to pour themselves a glass to rise in a toast.

“May we have another successful and fruitful ten years here at The Institute.”

Glasses chinked in a toast and the meal began. Tahra watched Max over the top of her glass as she drank, and he tried to avoid eye contact as much as possible. Why did he behave as though she meant nothing? She watched him engage in discussion with Oscar and Miss Tynedale, but he spoke not a word to her. Oscar smiled sympathetically, and talked to her about the recent trip to
Barbados
to see his family.

However, Tahra couldn’t concentrate on what he said. Max dominated her thoughts and charged her emotions, and she found it virtually impossible to take her eyes off him. She craved his attention again, his touch and those wonderful meals and trips together, the feel of his arms around her…

Without thinking of a way to resolve the situation, she decided to play devil’s advocate instead. Slipping off her shoe, she moved her foot under the table towards Max and slid it in between his legs. His reaction gave her a thrill, like a naughty child. He shifted awkwardly in his seat, and briefly glanced at her with a big question mark on his face. It didn’t thwart her.

Tahra proceeded to push her foot further along his thigh, and she rubbed her target gently with her toes. Max wavered in his speech and tried hard to focus, but he repeatedly lost the thread of his conversation. Miss Tynedale and Oscar looked puzzled while Tahra smiled, in a vain sort of triumph.

She delighted in the feel of him stiffening under her touch, and she continued to stimulate him further in this manner. In a perverse way, she enjoyed it more than he did. To some extent, he didn’t want her to stop but his behaviour caused some eyebrows to rise at the table.

The more she did it, the more he stumbled through the conversation. Emilie watched Max and Tahra, fully aware of what each other thought. Normally, she couldn’t read Tahra but the animosity became transparent. They both wanted each other although refused to admit it.

Not content with arousing him physically, she decided to raise the fire within. Meeting his gaze, she pushed a wave of pleasure up his spine. Max dropped his fork, speechless for a moment. He met her gaze and gave her a warning look with his eyes, but Tahra recognised the fear…the fear of being vulnerable and abandoned in front of everyone.

She repeated the action, causing Max to gasp slightly. He began to look quite helpless, which only excited her more so she did it again. This time, Max stood up abruptly and walked out of the room, without a word. The whole room fell silent. Tahra smiled in a smug manner.

Out in the hallway, Max tried to regain his composure. How could he return to the table now? She didn’t care if she humiliated him. He stood with his back against the wall and listened to the conversation re-start. Someone came out into the hallway and Max froze, as he really didn’t want it to be Tahra. Looking over, he saw Emilie standing there.

“Why do you let her treat you like that?” Emilie said, her French accent becoming more emphasised.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he responded.

“You know exactly what I mean,” she said. “That woman is driving you crazy and you let her.”