rather than the people plodding uphill, though even the joggers didn't seem especially energetic. "You'll find Rhoda at the Leafy Shade," Heidi Dunscombe said.
"Would you happen to have the number? I ought to let her know I'm coming."
"If you think so," Heidi Dunscombe said and told him the number.
As he keyed it he was conscious of her watching him across the dormant book on the counter. Her gaze seemed as remote as the bell that began to ring in his ear—to ring at considerable length. He was preparing to leave a message on a machine when at last a woman's voice said "Leafy Shade."
She sounded at the very least harassed. "Could I speak to Rhoda Bickerstaff?" Fairman said.
"Who is it?"
"Don't you know?" Fairman almost retorted, having come close to thinking everybody knew about him in advance. "I'm from the Brichester University archive," he said. "Is that Ms Bickerstaff?"
"What do you want, Mr Fairman?"
So she did know who he was, in which case she didn't need to ask this question either. "I believe you have a book for me," Fairman said.
"I can't talk about it right now."
Her voice was growing more agitated, while her breath seemed in danger of falling short of her words. "No need to," Fairman said. "Just tell me when I can collect it. I'd appreciate the soonest you can manage."
"I told you, not now."
Although he didn't think she had, arguing would waste time. "Forgive me if I've caught you in the middle of a crisis, but when is it likely to be convenient?"
"I don't know. Not today."
"It really won't take long at all." When this failed to earn a response Fairman said "Couldn't you leave it with someone for me to pick up and then I wouldn't need to trouble you?"
"Who?" This came out not unlike a gasp, but she found enough breath to add "I can't. You'll have to wait for me."
He supposed whatever problems were preoccupying her could involve her staff as well. "Then could you just tell me whom else I can see while I'm waiting?"
"I can't. You'll have to wait. You've got enough to occupy your mind."
"You mean you—" Fairman said, only to find he was talking to waves of static.
Heidi Dunscombe hadn't even glanced away from him. "Isn't she ready?"
"Apparently not," Fairman said and couldn't restrain his frustration. "She won't give me a time and she won't say who else there is to see. Can you?"
"She's next, Leonard."
"Yes, but I can get the other volumes in the meantime. Who has them, do you know?"
"I can't tell you."
He was angered not just by her words but by the jovial expression that seemed independent of her distant gaze. "Can't or won't?" he blurted.
"You'll understand us better soon, Leonard."
He was almost furious enough to give this the answer it deserved. The glass doors had squealed shut by the time he muttered "I hope I never need to." Perhaps his muted outburst was the reason people stared at him as he marched to his car. While he drove along the promenade he looked out for signs of the healthiness Heidi Dunscombe had wanted him to notice, but he couldn't see much. A man sitting rather less than upright in a wheelchair was waving one floppy hand beside a wheel as though to urge it to turn faster. Several people were walking dogs whose faces seemed almost to scrape the pavement, and at least one owner's could compete for pendulousness. There were joggers, but none of them appeared to be capable of overtaking the walkers or the chair. Their energy seemed to flag even further as they came abreast of his hotel.
The thump of the club attached to his key greeted him as he made for the reception counter. "Another one for the vault?" Janine Berry said, pressing her brow pallid with a fingertip.
"You could put it that way if you like," Fairman said despite thinking that somebody other than her might have—Frank Lunt, for instance, or the bookseller. All the way to his room the key rattled against the carton as though eager to unlock the secrets within. The wardrobe and the safe inside it were shut
"Would you happen to have the number? I ought to let her know I'm coming."
"If you think so," Heidi Dunscombe said and told him the number.
As he keyed it he was conscious of her watching him across the dormant book on the counter. Her gaze seemed as remote as the bell that began to ring in his ear—to ring at considerable length. He was preparing to leave a message on a machine when at last a woman's voice said "Leafy Shade."
She sounded at the very least harassed. "Could I speak to Rhoda Bickerstaff?" Fairman said.
"Who is it?"
"Don't you know?" Fairman almost retorted, having come close to thinking everybody knew about him in advance. "I'm from the Brichester University archive," he said. "Is that Ms Bickerstaff?"
"What do you want, Mr Fairman?"
So she did know who he was, in which case she didn't need to ask this question either. "I believe you have a book for me," Fairman said.
"I can't talk about it right now."
Her voice was growing more agitated, while her breath seemed in danger of falling short of her words. "No need to," Fairman said. "Just tell me when I can collect it. I'd appreciate the soonest you can manage."
"I told you, not now."
Although he didn't think she had, arguing would waste time. "Forgive me if I've caught you in the middle of a crisis, but when is it likely to be convenient?"
"I don't know. Not today."
"It really won't take long at all." When this failed to earn a response Fairman said "Couldn't you leave it with someone for me to pick up and then I wouldn't need to trouble you?"
"Who?" This came out not unlike a gasp, but she found enough breath to add "I can't. You'll have to wait for me."
He supposed whatever problems were preoccupying her could involve her staff as well. "Then could you just tell me whom else I can see while I'm waiting?"
"I can't. You'll have to wait. You've got enough to occupy your mind."
"You mean you—" Fairman said, only to find he was talking to waves of static.
Heidi Dunscombe hadn't even glanced away from him. "Isn't she ready?"
"Apparently not," Fairman said and couldn't restrain his frustration. "She won't give me a time and she won't say who else there is to see. Can you?"
"She's next, Leonard."
"Yes, but I can get the other volumes in the meantime. Who has them, do you know?"
"I can't tell you."
He was angered not just by her words but by the jovial expression that seemed independent of her distant gaze. "Can't or won't?" he blurted.
"You'll understand us better soon, Leonard."
He was almost furious enough to give this the answer it deserved. The glass doors had squealed shut by the time he muttered "I hope I never need to." Perhaps his muted outburst was the reason people stared at him as he marched to his car. While he drove along the promenade he looked out for signs of the healthiness Heidi Dunscombe had wanted him to notice, but he couldn't see much. A man sitting rather less than upright in a wheelchair was waving one floppy hand beside a wheel as though to urge it to turn faster. Several people were walking dogs whose faces seemed almost to scrape the pavement, and at least one owner's could compete for pendulousness. There were joggers, but none of them appeared to be capable of overtaking the walkers or the chair. Their energy seemed to flag even further as they came abreast of his hotel.
The thump of the club attached to his key greeted him as he made for the reception counter. "Another one for the vault?" Janine Berry said, pressing her brow pallid with a fingertip.
"You could put it that way if you like," Fairman said despite thinking that somebody other than her might have—Frank Lunt, for instance, or the bookseller. All the way to his room the key rattled against the carton as though eager to unlock the secrets within. The wardrobe and the safe inside it were shut
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