From the back door came Susan’s voice. “When you two are finished doing whatever it is you are, uh… doing, Jeff, would you light the barbeque?”
He glanced at her, grinning sheepishly. “Uh, yeah.”
Susan returned the grin, nodded, and disappeared back into the house.
Gabe smiled at him. “Oops.”
Jeff sighed. “Well, I guess it’s time for me to go to work, and you probably ought to go get dressed.”
She nodded. “Pity.”
“Uh huh.”
He let go of her and she took a step back, apparently forgetting about the towel that promptly fell to the ground.
They both glanced down.
Gabe slowly crossed her arms over her breasts and smiled. “Would you mind?”
He shook his head, picked up the towel, handed it to her, then looked back into her eyes. “Yeah, a pity indeed.”
CHAPTER 15
Monday, July 6, 2015 (T minus 260 days)
Jeff glanced at his cell phone display and answered. “Hey, Heidi, what’s up?”
“Hi, boss. Rocketdyne looked over our J-2 and x-rayed the crack. They don’t think it’s a big deal. The crack is just in the weld, the structural steel is fine. They’re gonna grind it out, re-weld onsite, and x-ray again. They’re comfortable with it, and it should be good as new in a week or two.”
“Okay, sounds good. Are you comfortable with that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Alright, that’s good enough for me.”
“They also have another nozzle that’s in good shape, just in case. And, they can just swap the nozzle, rather than changing out the entire engine.”
“Okay, well that’s good to know.”
“Yeah. I just wanted to let you know as soon as I knew.”
“Thanks, Heidi. And again, good job.”
“Thanks, boss. Hey, it was good seeing you this weekend. It was fun.”
“Yeah, it was. And it was good seeing you too.”
“I like Abby’s folks, they’re a kick.”
“Yes they are. Say, while we’re gone, keep in touch with them, if you will. Diane’s kind of a nervous one.”
“Can’t say as I blame her.”
“Yeah, if it were my daughter, I guess I’d be kind of nervous too. Oh, by the way, we’ll be down at Kennedy around the end of the month, gonna spend a couple days going over the closeout procedure. It’s been a while since they’ve done it, and we’ve never done it.”
“Great. Looking forward to seeing you.”
“Alright Heidi, thanks for the call. Talk to you later.”
“Yeah. Bye.”
Monday, September 28, 2015 (T minus 176 days)
Curbside at Heathrow Airport in London, the limousine driver held the door open and Chrissie slid in. Jeff turned to the chauffer. “Royal Bank of Scotland, 49 Charing Cross Road.”
“Yes sir.”
As Jeff settled in and the driver closed the door, Chrissie turned to him and frowned. “I suppose at some point in time you’re going to tell me what we are doing here?”
He glanced at her and smiled. “Yeah, probably.”
As they drove along, Chrissie stared out the window. “Wow, except for changing planes at Heathrow when we went to Spain, I’ve never been here.”
“You haven’t? Huh, what a crime.”
“I’ve led a sheltered life.”
“You never made it to London while you were at the Sorbonne?”
“No. I always flew direct between Boston and Paris, and just never got over here.”
“Huh. Okay, well, down there is the Thames…”
“That’s a river?”
“Uh, yeah. And… up there is Hyde Park.”
“I’m guessing that’s a park?”
“Good call. And… down there is Buckingham Palace.”
“Where the Queen lives?”
“Yeah, on occasion. She has a number of residences. And… down over there is Parliament and Westminster Abbey and Big Ben, and all that stuff. And about a mile down that way is London Bridge and the Tower of London. There, you’ve seen it all, no big deal.”
Chrissie frowned. “You know something?”
“What?”
“You are without doubt the world’s worst tour guide.”
Jeff chuckled. “What are you whining about? You’ve never been to London, and now you have. And you flew here First Class.”
“Great. Yes, it was a nice seat, and the 30-minute tour from the highway was terrific. But tell me honestly, I’m just here to carry your briefcase, right?”
He glanced at the case beside her. “Isn’t that your briefcase?”
Chrissie groaned and just stared out the window.
Forty minutes from Heathrow they pulled to a stop in front of the Royal Bank of Scotland.
Chrissie stared at the imposing edifice. “Please tell me we didn’t come all this way just to make a bank deposit?”
“No, more like a withdrawal.”
“Huh? You have an account with the Royal Bank of Scotland?”
“Not for long. Come on.”
They walked up the steps and into the bank. Jeff looked around for someone… authoritative. They walked up to a desk. He looked at the name plaque. “Hello Ms… Abercrombie, my name is Jeffrey Grey and I believe your manager has something for me.”
Ms. Abercrombie leaped to her feet. “Yes! Uh, oh, yes, Mr. Grey, we’ve been expecting you. Just a moment please.” She turned and hurried off.
Chrissie shook her head. “I don’t get this kind of service at my bank.” She sighed. “But then, my account balance doesn’t have as many zeros after it as yours does.”
Jeff laughed. “I wouldn’t know. You keep track of that stuff.”
“Yeah, so why didn’t I know about this?”
“Oh, I have a few bucks stashed away here and there that probably don’t show up on your ledgers.”
“Define, ‘a few’.”
Jeff chuckled.
A minute later Ms. Abercrombie returned with a stout gentleman of medium height wearing an exquisitely tailored suit that Jeff guessed was from somewhere along Savile Row.
The gentleman held out his hand to Jeff. “Mr. Grey? Simon Chapman, branch manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you sir.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Chapman. Nice suit.” He nodded toward Chrissie. “My assistant, Christine Mallory.”
“Thank you, sir.” Chrissie and Mr. Chapman shook hands. “A pleasure, ma’am.”
She nodded politely.
“Mr. Grey, I sincerely apologize for any inconvenience, but I wonder if I might see a photo identification?”
Jeff nodded. “Of course. Perfectly understandable.” He pulled his passport from his suit coat pocket and handed it to Chapman.
Chapman briefly glanced at the passport and returned it to Jeff. “Thank you, sir.” Then he produced an envelope from his coat pocket and held it out.
Jeff took it, peeked inside, and smiled. “Thank you sir.” Without looking at her, he handed the envelope to Chrissie. “Briefcase.”
She started to peek into the envelope and Jeff gently swatted her hand. “Tut, tut, you know what curiosity did to the cat.”
Chrissie frowned and stuck the envelope in her briefcase.
“Mr. Chapman, Ms. Abercrombie, thank you.” He held out his hand to both.
Chapman shook it and smiled. “You’re welcome Mr. Grey, and thank you. And… well done, sir.”
“Thank you, sir. It’s the least I can do.” Jeff turned to Chrissie. “Shall we?”
“I guess. I’m just along for the ride. I have no idea what this is about.”
“You’ll see.”
They returned to the limousine. “Driver, King’s College, Cambridge, Office of the Dean of the Chapel.”
“Yes sir.”
Chrissie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “What’s this about?”
“All in due time. It’s about an hour and a half drive, might as well si
t back and take in the scenery.” Jeff leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Right. You know, this is a nice car. What is it?”
“You don’t know?”
“No.”
He sighed. “It’s a Rolls Royce.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m lying. It’s a Volkswagen in disguise.”
She slapped his shoulder. “It is not!”
He smiled.
Jeff and Chrissie stepped into the office of the King’s College Chapel Dean’s secretary. “Hello, I’m Jeffrey Grey, I have an appointment with the Dean.”
The elderly woman, who looked like she’d been with the College since at least the 19th Century, slowly rose, tapped on the door behind her, and opened it. “Dean, Mr. Grey.” She pushed the door open and motioned inside. “Mr. Grey, please, Dean Brooks will see you now.”
Jeff, with Chrissie close behind, entered the office and was met by a tall, gaunt gentleman in an old, rumpled suit. He held out his hand. “Reverend, Jeffrey Grey. A pleasure to meet you sir.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Grey.” He motioned to the chairs in front of his desk. “Please, be seated. I have certainly heard of you. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”
“Sir, I’m sure you’re a busy man, and I won’t take any more of your time than necessary. I’ve been a great fan of the Choir of King’s College for many years. I believe they offer something to this world – a great beauty – that is vanishing, and should not be allowed to vanish. It’s too important.”
The Dean smiled and nodded.
“Reverend, I’ve spent most of my money on this Mars mission, of which I’m sure you’re aware, but I still have a little change left and I’d like to make a small donation to the Chapel, and the Choir.” He held his hand out to Chrissie. “Envelope, please?”
Chrissie opened her briefcase and handed him the Royal Bank of Scotland envelope.
Jeff handed the envelope to the Dean.
The Dean opened it, withdrew the contents, and gasped. “Oh, Mother of God!” His head jerked up. “Mr. Grey, are you serious?!”
Jeff smiled softly. “Yes, sir. I’d like you to divide that in half, and put half into the Chapel maintenance fund – to do with as you see fit – and the other half into a scholarship fund for choristers and Choral and Organ Scholars of the Choir. As I suggested, this is too great an organization to allow to fade into antiquity. And what I am doing pales in significance.”
“Sir, this is generous beyond belief. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Think nothing of it.”
Dean Brooks stared at the check. “Um, Mr. Grey, is there something I can offer in return for this most generous gift?”
“Well, sir, actually there is. Two things. First, I wonder if we might get six good seats to the Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols this year. None of us have ever actually seen it, and four of us may never get another opportunity. And second, I wonder if during such, you might ask the Choir to sing a particular carol. I’m not certain, but to the best of my knowledge none of the beautiful and poignant carols of Alfred Burt have ever been sung at the Festival. I would ask that they sing, Some Children See Him.”
Dean Brooks looked at Jeff with surprise. “That’s all?”
Jeff nodded. “Yes, that’s all.”
“Done, sir. And thank you very much.”
Jeff stood and reached his hand to the Dean. “You’re welcome sir. See you on Christmas Eve.”
They shook hands and Jeff and Chrissie headed for the limousine.
As he closed the door behind them Jeff heard a loud voice from inside. “Mrs. Higgins! Get the Provost on the phone! Now!”
Chrissie shook her head. “That was it? That’s why we’re here?”
“Yep. That’s it.”
“How much did you give him?”
“A million pounds sterling.”
Chrissie gasped. “That’s over a million and a half dollars!”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“For good seats at a concert and your favorite Christmas carol?”
Jeff smiled at her. “You’ll like it.”
“What are you trying to do? Buy your way into Heaven?”
He shook his head. “No, I doubt I could afford that ticket. We’re six months from launch, and let’s just say I’m checking an item off the bucket list.”
Thursday, December 24, 2015 (T minus 89 days)
As they entered Cambridge, Heidi looked out the window of the limousine and shook her head. “Gabe, where’s the University?”
“All over. Cambridge consists of thirty-one separate Colleges, and they’re all over town. King’s, Trinity, St. John’s, Clare, Pembroke…”
“Which one did you go to?”
“Pembroke.”
“Have you been in the King’s College Chapel?” said Jeff.
“Sure, many times. I’ve even played the organ.”
“I thought you were here studying math.”
“I was, but I managed to squeeze in a course in organ technique with one of the Organ Scholars. It was great.”
“So you also play the organ?”
“Of course.”
“Huh. I’ve known you for three and a half years and you’re still full of surprises.”
She grinned.
“What’s an Organ Scholar?” said Chrissie.
“Most of the Colleges have two Organ scholarship undergraduates that are largely responsible for the music in each of the college chapels. The organist this afternoon will almost certainly be one of the King’s College Organ Scholars.”
“Why all the different colleges?”
“Well, part of your studies here, like lectures and seminars, are done at the University in large groups, sometimes hundreds, and students from all the colleges take them together. But the other parts, practicals and supervisions, are often at the college in very small groups, frequently just one on two. You also live at your college, so it’s both school, in part, and home. Also, each college has its own set of professors, labs, practice rooms, its own library, chapel, choir, meal hall. Further, you actually apply and get accepted through the college, not the University. It’s a lot different than the way we do things in the States, but it works. It was fun.”
“Do the colleges specialize in certain fields?” said Jeff.
“No. In fact most of the colleges offer all the courses – degrees. There are a few exceptions. Homerton used be a teaching college, concentrating in education degrees, but now it’s pretty well diversified like all the others. Two of the colleges – Clare Hall and Darwin – are graduate studies only, and three – Lucy Cavendish, Murray Edwards, and Newnham – are women only. And some of them are what they call ‘mature undergraduate and graduate only.’ At those you have to be 21 or older for admission.”
“Is it hard to get in?” said Heidi.
“It’s pretty competitive. Pembroke’s the only College at Cambridge that offers the Semester Abroad Scheme, and they accept up to 30 students a year for that. Some of the other Colleges have one-year visiting student programs, but most of them only accept two or three students a year.”
“Is it expensive?” said Jeff.
Gabe shrugged. “Depends on your point of view. About $30,000 plus food and travel.”
“Good grief! For one semester?”
“Well, two Terms. They run on a quarter system here. But that’s about the same price, depending on your major, as a full year, three Terms, for a normally enrolled student.”
Jeff shook his head. “So that’s how your education tab got so high.”
“Well, that and four and a half years at Oberlin, a year at MIT, and three years at Caltech.”
He laughed. “That’d do it. Where is Pembroke?”
“Just a couple blocks down the street from King’s. Just up here we’ll take a right on Silver Street, then a left on Trumpington. Just a block up it turns into King’s Parade, and King’s College is right there. If we turned the other way on
Trumpington, Pembroke’s just a block down.”
“What’s Pembroke like? I mean, how does it compare with King’s?”
“Not including The Backs, they’re about the same size, but Pembroke is older – it’s the third oldest of the Cambridge colleges after Peterhouse and Clare – and consistently has a higher academic ranking. Pembroke’s typically in the top five or six of the Cambridge college rankings.” She chuckled. “King’s is usually a bit farther down the list.”
“The Backs?”
“Yeah, it’s an open wooded area that runs along behind King’s, Clare, Trinity Hall, and Trinity, from Queens up to St. John’s, between the Cam and Queen’s Road.”
“The Cam?”
Gabe laughed. “I need to get you a map. The Cam is the river that runs through Cambridge.”
“And it’s older than King’s?”
“Yes, nearly a hundred years older. The license to lay the foundation was granted by Edward III on Christmas Eve 1347. Henry VI founded King’s in 1441, and construction of the chapel was begun five years later, though it wasn’t completed until 1544. Pembroke has one of the finest libraries at Cambridge, and the chapel was designed by Christopher Wren, his first work. King’s major claim to fame is its chapel and choir. But aside from that, I think Pembroke’s a better college.”
“Good grief. To study at a college that was built 150 years before Columbus set sail, that must be something.”
“Yeah, it was neat. King’s has a reputation for radicalism, something like the Sorbonne.” Gabe winked at Chrissie. “Pembroke’s a bit more straight-laced.”
Chrissie shook her head and rolled her eyes. “I know what you mean. I swear, most of the undergrads at the Sorbonne seem to have been transported through time from the French Revolution. Some of them are kind of scary.”
Jeff chuckled, and glanced at Susan. “Sounds like Berkeley.”
She smiled and nodded. “And Stanford too.”
“Gabe, what’s the best college at Cambridge?”
“I don’t know. Depends on how you define… best. Ask any student here and they’ll probably tell you the ‘best’ is the one they’re at. Trinity is the biggest and has the most applications every year. It’s also produced the most Nobel laureates. But since it’s the biggest, that may simply be a statistical coincidence. But it’s also produced five of the six Fields medalists from all of Great Britain. So if one is a mathematician, it might not be a bad place to go. It’s also the best endowed and one of the three Royal Colleges, including King’s and St. John’s. Personally, I think the best is Pembroke, I really liked it there. Each college has its own personality, and if I had it to do over again, and could choose any, I think I’d still choose Pembroke. It was a good fit for me.”
Margaritifer Basin (Margaritifer Trilogy Book 1) Page 53