Projekt Saucer: Inception Part 32

There was a moment's silence which seemed to last forever, then

Gladys said: 'Tell you what... I'll run a check on all the companies that

were known to be working on such projects and see if Wilson's name

pops up magically. It depends, I suppose, on whether or not he used his

own name but I'll certainly give it a try for you before I catch my

s.h.i.+p since the guy who obtained these notes for me, who works in the

registrar's office at Cornell, is my date for this evening.'

Bradley, very much to his surprise, was upset to hear that, though

he managed to hide the fact.

'Shall I call you at home tonight?' Gladys asked him.

'Sure,' he said, giving her his number, but feeling as guilty as a

man arranging an a.s.signation, 'that would be great. Now I have to go,

Gladys. I'm meeting my son at Penn Station at four, to take the train

home.'

He felt embarra.s.sed saying it, but Gladys just smiled wickedly.

'Ah, yes,' she said, 'I remember. You told me all about your family. A

lovely wife and a boy and girl, as I remember.'

'That's right,' Bradley said. 'Though the boy and girl are older than

you might think. In fact, Mark is eighteen.'

'A good age,' Gladys said.

Yet she seemed sad at that moment, or at least a little regretful, and

when they left the hotel and faced each another on 44th Street, Bradley,

not normally a romantic man, hardly knew what to say.

She had somehow sneaked up on him.

'Well,' she said, offering her sunburned hand and a lopsided grin,

'it was nice to see you again, Mike Bradley. I'll give you that final call

tonight, then it's au revoir, baby.'

'Thanks,' he said. 'Au revoir.'

She just stood there as he slipped into a taxi and let it drive him

away.

He was almost choked up.

CHAPTER EIGHT Bradley met Mark at four o'clock at Penn Station and they took the train back to Bridgeport, Connecticut, unenc.u.mbered with the usual rush-hour crowd of fellow commuters. As Bradley had already phoned to say they would be early, his wife, Joan, was waiting for them in her car and drove them back to their relatively modest, ranch-style home, just ten minutes from the station and surrounded by expansive gardens and protective trees. There, Bradley refreshed himself with a shower, dressed in casual slacks, s.h.i.+rt, and pullover, relaxed for an hour with the radio and another whiskey, then joined Joan and his two children for dinner in the oak-panelled dining room.

Modestly drunk from his lunch with Gladys Kinder and the additional whiskey, and still an Irish sentimentalist at heart, Bradley, after sharing a bottle of red wine with the family, found himself glancing from his wife to his daughter, quietly startled at how similar they looked in all but their age. Joan was thirty-eight, five days older than Bradley, and although their daughter, Miriam, was still only seventeen, she and her mother were almost like twins, sharing the same delicate features, dark hair, enchanting cafe-au-lait eyes, and a quietly mischievous sense of humour.

Bradley, usually sentimental but now guilty because of his guiltless pa.s.sion for Gladys Kinder, was even more in love with both of them tonight than he was normally.

'How did school go today?' he asked Miriam.