Chapter 4

Day 4, Friday

Through the clouds below, was the familiar outline of the Statue of Liberty. I checked my watch. I’d made good time and would land well in advance of the meeting. I veered to the right over the tip of lower Manhattan and flew in a direct line toward Central Park. On the outskirts, I hovered while I located the Metropolitan Museum of Art before landing on one of the footpaths which skirted the rear of the glass-backed building. I was in the dip of a shaded glen, peaceful and isolated with only the occasional passer-by. I hiked up the grassy incline which was the best place to hide. I had over an hour to conceal myself before the rendezvous.

“Well, buggar me, it’s agent Burbank.”

I immediately recognized the voice. It couldn’t be anyone but my old adversary. There was no mistaking his Slavonic accent. He was raised in Poland, close by the Russian border, born at the height of the Cold War and yet he used every cliché and hackneyed phrase known to the British Army, circa 1940.

“What do you want, Valerian?”

“I don’t want anything. I’m here to help you. Why do you think I set up this rendezvous?”

I didn’t respond. He was too cocksure.

“This meeting, the one you expected to spy on, it doesn’t exist. It was a ploy, a lure to tempt you here.”

I grunted.

“You received a tip off early this morning,” Valerian said, “A phone call, remember?”

“OK,” I accepted. “So I’ve arrived. Now what?”

“As I said before, I want to help you, dear boy. Not to put too fine a point on it, you’ve landed yourself in a bally mess, far worse than anything I may have dreamed up.”

“Nothing like the mess you’re in.”

“Adam, you have to stop play acting. I’m no more a villain than you’re an agent.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, use the grey matter in your noggin, old chap...

He let out a deep groan. “Look, I can’t maintain this ‘old boy’ routine any longer. Why you created me with this childish brigadier speech from World War II, I can’t imagine. Tell me, Adam, did you read a lot of war comics when you were a child?”

“Valerian,” I shouted, “talk sense.”

“Monaco.”

“Pardon?”

“Monaco, you’ve been stranded there for three days.”

“What the...” The impending tirade dried in my throat as the realisation dawned - I was in a night dream. I gazed in awe at the colours. They dazzled me, the deep green foliage of the trees, so rich, the smooth resonance of the sounds and the scents of the blossoms. Wow! I could have been on centre stage in an expensive Hollywood musical of epic proportions.

“Can I assume you now realise where you are?” Valerian enquired.

“Yes, of course, although this isn’t my first dream. I’m always stimulated when I become lucid.”

Valerian’s was a short, barreled man, with muscles that bulged out his dark suit. He held out his hand, which I grasped. “I know, Adam. You forget this is not our first encounter.”

His head was like his body, cylindrical with a smooth, big nosed face. “Before I continue,” he said, “don’t make reference to me in your dream or I’ll...”

“Valerian, I’ve read the books. I know the protocol.”

He offered me a broad grin. “That’s alright then. To begin with, I’ll tell you what you did yesterday - on your roof top.”

“I know what I did. I was there.”

“So was I.”

“What?”

“Adam, listen.” He gestured for us to walk, so we headed for the Turtle Pond. “Let me prove it to you. You recalled the events which began at Colindale, which in turn, reminded you of your guilt feelings over Nina. He paused. “Do I need to continue?”

I was amazed. “No.”

“Despite the analysis, you’re unable to comprehend why everything’s wrong. Correct?”

“Carry on.”

“Well, you understand how the mind works, so I needn’t explain, but as you appreciate, there’s a problem of communication between your subconscious and conscious.”

I grunted. “To be more accurate, the lack of it.”

“Precisely. That’s my role in this, I’m a messenger for your subconscious.”

I stopped and stared at him.

Valerian smiled at my surprise. “I see from your face you’re shocked. I know it’s bizarre, but the one way you’re going to know what to do is for me to tell you. Even though, me is you. You follow?”

“I’ve no problem with me, although understanding you is not at all easy.”

“Very droll,” he said. “I’m pleased the surprise hasn’t affected your sense of humour - such as it is.”

We ambled over the grass and sat on one of the many rock outcrops. “Adam, you’ve already realised you’re trapped in a daytime dream and noted there are variations in what you can and can’t do.”

“Yes, you were there when I discovered I’m unable to fly in the daytime.”

“Yes,” he laughed. “The way you smashed the Merc was amazing. Why didn’t you do a test run before you flung yourself from the balcony?”

I grunted.

He removed his suit jacket; the temperature was on a rapid rise. “Adam, those differences aren’t important and, as you go along, you’ll find them out. I suggest you regard the daytime as real life and behave accordingly. If there are any benefits, accept them as a bonus.”

“Uh, huh.”

“Your main problem is not the anomalies. It’s this. There is a reason why you’re trapped. There is something significant which keeps you in the dream.”

“I guessed that much. What I need to know is, what’s the cause?”

“I’m unable to tell you. You have to figure it out yourself.”

I snorted. “Thanks!”

“The first phase is Sam. You require her help, as I doubt you’ll do it alone.”

“What’s she able to do?”

“A great deal. She’s intelligent, resourceful and whatever difficulty she encounters, she’ll never give up. She adores you.”

I nodded. I knew. “Let me get this straight. There is a purpose to why I’m here, although you won’t tell...”

“It’s not me. You won’t tell you. It’s deep in your psyche, your inner self.”

I ignored his interpretation. “So, the reason I’m trapped is so deeply imbedded in my mind, I don’t know what it is myself. The only person who can help is Sam and there’s no contact between us.” I contrived a hollow laugh. “My prospects aren’t promising, are they?”

“Nil desperandum, old chap.”

To ease my frustration, I scrunched my heel into the rock face. “Any more?” I growled.

“No, my message has been delivered. My work is done.”

“If you expect me to thank you, you can forget it.”

“I don’t expect gratitude, apart from which it’s unnecessary.” He beamed up at me. “Have faith in Sam. I’m certain she’ll sort you out.”

I forced myself to smile.

As we talked, a dog joined us, a poodle with an over-the-top coiffeur. She was friendly and ran around us, playfully growling.

There was a shout from the footpath. “Phyllida, darling,” a woman called, “don’t bother the gentlemen.” Phyllida gave us a final growl before she headed back to her mistress.

We watched as the dog’s owner glided along the footpath, each step and hip movement, a demonstration of poetry in motion.

“Valerian,” I mused, as we renewed our stroll. “Do you know a French woman - Giselle?”

He chuckled. “Yes, however not as well as you. What about her?”

“Will I see her again?”

He shrugged. “How would I know?”

“Well, for one thing, all the stuff you told me about Sam. You perceive more about myself than I’m conscious of.”

“Yes, I do have that advantage over you. I understand your personality and temperament and I know your strengths and weaknesses. Even so, I can’t know which people you will create or those you’ll recreate.”

“Fair enough, except I’ve been thinking. It’s unusual to meet a person more than once, but it’s almost impossible to keep you away from my dreams.”

“Ah, I’m special.”

I’d hoped for better than that, however it was obvious I would have to be patient.

I recalled our last episode in New York. “By the way, I assume you found Mrs Tolley ... and the money? How is she?”

“They’re fine, thanks ... both of them.” He winked. “She’s no longer Mrs Tolley and, if you should chance upon her, call her Mrs Valerian.” He chuckled loudly at my surprise. “Goodbye Adam. We’ll meet again.”

England

Next morning, the family sat around the breakfast bar. While I waited for a pause in the chit-chat, Colin unintentionally entertained me with The Times. The pages of his newspaper were misaligned and the corners didn’t meet. I stared at the frustration colouring his face as, each time, he formed a fresh crease and refolded the page so the edges were side by side.

I sensed a split second of silence and, with what I hoped was a casual and perfunctory voice, asked Mum when Tom planned to fit new patio glass. I knew he wouldn’t be doing the job, still it was the easiest way to bring the conversation around to Brad without showing my interest in him. My plans for the day were based on his activities and I didn’t intend to waste time by the pool unless he was likely to show.

As anticipated the subject of yesterday’s destruction returned Mum to her diatribe. Nor was I surprised when she moaned and rambled on and on with even more etceteras than normal. At long last, I learned that Devereau & Son would be there that morning to complete the window cleaning. Colin broke from his origami to add that it was their last day. Tom planned to take his annual fortnight break in Bournemouth.

After breakfast, I changed into skimpy bikini, selected a book from my obligatory holiday reading list and strolled to the outdoor swimming pool.

The pool area was enclosed, hemmed in and sheltered on three sides by tall privet hedges and a building on the fourth. This two storey building contained changing rooms, sauna and a smaller indoor pool. There were vast windows and skylights in it which were due for a clean. I once heard someone say that Tom only needed six customers, all local wealthies, to earn a living. The windows on Colin’s estate alone, employed him for one week in four.

Yet again, it was a brilliant day and an excellent one to lounge around and contemplate the joys of doing nothing. With a bit of luck, Brad would rescue me from my studies. I dragged a lounger towards the pool, positioned it until I was able to see his arrival and adjusted the back support to forty five degrees. I opened my book and settled down to wait.

I became so engrossed in the book that I didn’t notice their entry until I heard a shout. “Hi, Sam.” It was Brad.

I raised my head. He and his Dad were loaded with their tackle as they slow-marched towards the poolhouse. Tom nodded his greeting and beamed.

Play it cool, I thought. I lowered my sun glasses from the bridge of my nose as though it was necessary to do that in order to recognise them. “Oh! Hi,” I replied with what I thought was the right balance of surprise and disinterest in my voice.

They sorted themselves out and set up the ladders whilst I wondered what excuse I would use to join Brad. I needn’t have bothered as he started my way. His approach churned my stomach with excitement and I put the book down on the floor to give him my full attention.

I sensed movement out of the corner of my eye and, without warning, something hard landed on my stomach. I jumped.

“Bastard!” Charlie hissed at me.

The missile was Dad’s notebook.

Ruefully, I saw Brad leave as he returned to the poolhouse. I was lost for words as I peered up at her.

“You’ve had this, haven’t you?” she growled. “Don’t I count?”

I jumped up. “Keep your voice down.”

“No. I know you hate arguing, but tough.”

“It’s not the argument that concerns me. I don’t want anyone to know about this and if Mum hears you from the house, she’ll demand to know what’s going on.”

“Why shouldn’t she? Are you the sole member of this family who’s allowed to know what’s happened to Dad?”