My Only Talent Ch. 23

"Watford is in Herts not that far from here, about an hour by car, but the North Sea certainly is a different proposition! So there is no telling what time you might get back to London?"

"Not that I know of, and I think there is another dinner planned tomorrow night. I'll let you know the schedule as soon as I do."

"Well, it's really not a problem. I am going to get a few hours of sleep in my flat tonight, and then go into the museum early to work on the new intakes and my inventory update. I'll either be there or with you. I want my masters to know that I am dedicated to my profession, but a girl needs some relaxation, and I don't want to miss a minute of your being here that I don't have to. Just let me know?"

They finished up their tea and made their way back to Robbie's room. When they closed the door, Peggy put a finger to her lips to stop what Robbie was about to say, and spoke as Betty Boop again. "You have helped me discover some things about myself, Robbie. My urges." She smiled seductively and knelt down before him.

"When you take me to high tea, and act like you are proud to be seen with me, and all those people see me with you, it makes me feel, it makes me feel...."

"Good?" he asked.

"Bad!" She said. "Like the bad girl I really am!"

They spent the next two hours completely entangled, and the surveillance team almost got neurotransmitter fatigue watching them. Elizabeth, in part to distract herself, had begun to run some correlations on what they had overheard at tea. The most likely "Abelard", in fact the only one she could find any connection to with that first name, was a certain Mr. Peters who was on the board of the museum where the girl worked, and also the Chairman of Tier Group, a giant multinational construction firm based in the UK. Quite a coincidence: she dispatched some HQ bots to crawl on those connections for a while.

Peggy showered and changed into another outfit. It was cut like a 'basic black dress' but designed for a woman with Peggy's very ample figure, and it was a deep dark purple, not black. It had a conservative and relatively high neckline, but was cut to emphasize her breasts, and Robbie found himself, despite his recent wonderful familiarity with them, with a desperate desire to see that high neckline drop a little lower. She departed for her reception in a London cab, just as the same old Brit driver showed up again on Whitehall Court and I got in and said hello with no response. We made a quick circle around the hotel and then drove along the north side of the river for a while, passing a cluster of tall buildings on the left, and then approached what looked like a sizeable bend in the river. After going around a landscaped circle (the wrong way on the wrong side!) he pulled up at a Four Seasons hotel that looked remarkably like some of the apartment buildings near the river in Austin. The driver spoke, for the first time, and said "Westbury Circus, Quadrato restaurant." (I had, at that instant, hoped it would therefore prove to be 33% better than Trio at the Four Seasons in Austin, which I had been to with Lara and her father. It was not.) He added that he would pick me up again at ten, at this same entrance. I went in, found the place, and was shown to small private dining room. Barry Fermy waved at me through the open door.

* * * * *

It was a sunny early afternoon in central Texas, and there was a very uncomfortable silence in the car as Carmencita drove Dwight to the airport in San Marcos, where he said he would be picked up. By one of those lavish USDA jets, huh? She had almost told him take the shuttle to San Antonio, but he said the pilot preferred San Marcos for a quick landing and pickup. For all she knew, he might be full of crap and would be taking a cab to the bus station just after she left the FBO. She had met and picked up several patients who arrived in air ambulances here before, and she knew there were only two places a private plane could be coming to. One was big and fancy, with lots of pretty private jets and small prop planes, and the other one was big and plain, with lots of big military looking planes and people hanging around.

Dwight had heard back from his bosses almost instantly, but they responded only with instructions for his pickup at a local FBO, and some recognition and read back codes to exchange with the pilot before he got on the plane, alone. When they arrived at the FBO, he saw the aircraft – one of the little four-seaters that even he had to duck his head in. But he was still surprised they even sent a jet for just him – usually he was booked two stop commercial in a middle seat going to BWI while the bigwigs went to DCA.

Carmencita had to admit it was a private jet, with no discernible markings other than a tail number, but it was very small, and it looked brand new. Dwight tried to kiss her but she turned her head. "I will be in touch as soon as I can" he said stoically, and then he went up the little fold down air stair, which immediately folded up. The door closed and the jet rolled briskly onto the runway and took off like a little rocket, there apparently being not too much traffic to be ground controlled at San Marcos. But it did seem to her that as the aircraft climbed and turned off the runway heading it turned west, not east. What really was the deal with this guy?