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said, 'No, Dwight.'
'But, Kate, Jeez, we'd be great together!'
'No, we wouldn't.'
'We would! I'm just so admirative of you.'
'Dwight, that's not a word, or if it is it shouldn't be.'
'But, Kate, I just find you so attractive
, and I mean I
never go for women your age!'
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'Good night, Dwight.'
'Don't reject me, Kate! Let me in. I'm not going to be heavy, I'm not going
to aggress on you or anything.'
'No. Now go home.'
'But-!'
'
No
.'
His shoulders slumped within the big jacket. His breath smoked down. He
raised his head again. 'You'll still come to the play?'
'If I can.'
'Aw, come on, promise.'
'I can't. Now go home. My feet are turning blue.'
'I could warm them up for you.'
'Thanks, but no.'
'But you will try and come?'
'Yes.'
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'You're not just saying that to get rid of me?'
'No.'
'As my guest, as my date?'
'Only if you can't find somebody your own age. Now, good night.'
'Excellent!' He turned to go, switching on a flashlight. I started to close
the window again. He turned back again. 'You really think my idea about the
escape pod inside the Kaaba is that bad?'
'Not bad, just potentially fatal.'
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He shook his head as he turned away into the night. 'Shit.'
My feet really were cold; so were my hands. I drew six inches of warm water
in the bath and sat on the rim with my PJ cuffs rolled up, soaking my feet and
hands to bring some blood back into them. I dried them and returned to bed
and slept like a very tired log.
CHAPTER SIX
It snowed later on during the night and when I opened the curtains the next
morning it was still snowing, turning the countryside softer, brighter and
silently beautiful. I watched it snow for a while, then showered and dressed.
The cabin's phone rang while I was drying my hair.
'Telman?'
'Jeb. Good morning.'
'You want breakfast?'
'Yes, please.'
'Okay, dishing up in twenty minutes.'
'This is at your place, yes?'
'Yup, the villa.'
'Right. How will I get there?'
'Should be a truck in the garage.'
'Ah.'
There was: a big Chevy Blazer. I climbed in, it fired first time and rolled
out into the snow. The garage door swung down automatically behind me. There
was sat. nav., CB radio and a phone but I vaguely remembered the way and only
took a couple of wrong turnings.
We were still in a Mexican groove, food-wise. I sat in the big, bustling
kitchen of the villa with everybody else and tucked into my huevos rancheros
while Dwight, sitting next to me, boasted loudly
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about all the famous people he'd met in Hollywood, enthused about his Broadway
play and just generally acted like somebody shooting for most-favoured -nephew
status.
'You ski, Telman?' Dessous shouted, from the head of the table.
'A little,' I said.
'Heading for the slopes in about an hour if the weather clears like it's meant
to. Like you to come.'
'Happy to,' I said, feeling myself slipping into the way of Dessous' clipped
syntax.
'Mind if I tag along?' Dwight asked, with a grin.
'Wouldn't want to cut into your Muse time there, nephew.'
'That's all right, I could use a break.'
'Actually, son, I was being polite. There's only room for one more in the
choppers, and Telman's just taken that seat.'
'Oh.' Dwight looked crestfallen.
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'Still up for it, Telman?'
'Yup.
The weather cleared from the west. Two dozen of us flew from the Big Bend
airstrip in a British
Aerospace 146 into a vast blue space divided perfectly into blue sky and white
earth. We landed at
Sheridan, just east of the Big Horn mountains. Two Bell 412s were waiting on
the tarmac; we loaded our skis into pods attached to the legs and were lifted
to pristine snowfields lying beneath the high peaks. The
Bells dropped us in the middle of their own little snow blizzard, their skis
suspended just a foot above the surface while we jumped out and unloaded ours.
Then they lifted away again and clattered down the valley.
Dessous got me to help him with a recalcitrant binding while everybody else
swept off down the heft of icing-sugar white in a blur of multi-coloured
shapes.
When we were alone, I said, 'There's nothing wrong with this binding, is
there?'
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