Alan Rickman Flights of Fancy

"Is that what troubles you, my dearest?"

"No, that's not the only thing. But it is as good a place as any to start . . ."

Brandon folds his hands upon the remaining copies of the will as if to protect them, and looks down at the papers for a long moment before replying. "Yes, I had planned to leave Delaford to Kit--as I told you when I asked you to marry me. Then, however, I did not care what became of anything I left behind me, until I was . . . secure in your affections. My plans changed the moment you accepted my proposal." A pause, and Brandon looks up at her. "I hoped, and hope, that you would come to regard Delaford as your home, and I would not bring about circumstances that might turn you out of your home." Wistfully. "You do like it here?"

Mary Anne swallows back tears. "Oh, Christopher, of course I do! But then . . ." One of those odd moments of shyness. She finally manages, " . . . anywhere that you are, that would be home enough for me."

Brandon's voice, deep and warm. "Thank you, my darling. But it is precisely because I will not always be present to make a home for you . . ."

"Yes. I understand. And I see in the will that Kit is still going to inherit quite a bit from you."

"Yes, indeed. I have simply changed the provisions, that is all. He stands to inherit both Allenham and Coombe Magna eventually, so it is not as if he will lack for property. You saw in here--" Brandon's fingertips tap lightly against the papers. "-- that I have money in trust for him until he comes of age, plus a townhouse in London . . . which he will probably prefer to the country when he does come of age." A smile.

Mary Anne dispenses with polite evasions and goes straight for the target. "Christopher, does this have anything to do with Mister Willoughby?"

Brandon's smile fades. But he must be as straightforward as she is.

"Well . . . yes, it does." Letting the papers lie, Brandon reaches up and rubs at his eyes with one hand, the familiar gesture when he is tired and strained, as if his head ached. "Please understand, Mary Anne. It is possible that I owe my life to John Willoughby, and I am grateful to him. If he had not found his way to where I was imprisoned and rescued me from The Interrogator . . ."

Mary Anne shakes her head. "It doesn't bear thinking about."

"No. It does not. However . . . I have found that it is possible to be grateful to a man, but still not entirely trust him, if you understand what I mean. Mister Willoughby has tried to mend his ways; I knew as much when he sought my permission to marry Beth. And he has done well, thus far. But old habits are difficult to break. I would not willingly place large sums, or the potential for them, at his disposal. The money and property is for Kit, and there is no way for Willoughby to turn it to his own uses. He has begun good new habits . . . and he will have to keep to them if he is to prosper."

Mary Anne uses this point to move to what is really bothering her. "I hope he was able to give the Commander some useful information,and I wish she'd get back so we could get busy searching for Therese! This waiting and wondering--"

Brandon, however, is frowning over one critical pronoun. "We, Mary Anne?"

Oooooops. I should have known he wouldn't miss that. "Oh, all right, then," she replies impatiently, rising from her chair and pacing about as is her habit when restless and anxious. "When I said we I simply meant whoever the Commander selects, and that we all want to see Therese return safely. I did NOT mean that I personally would be trying to go along with the search party!" Mary Anne gives Brandon a sly, sidelong glance. Making sure her face is turned away so that he cannot see her expression, she casually continues, "But you know, there are some days when I just want to dig out that old body armour and strap on the Aurientine and--"

She had not counted on Brandon's vehement response. In a flash he is out of his chair and around the desk, advancing toward her.

"If you attempt anything of the sort--!"

"I have to go away for a while. I'd ask you to go, but --"

She interrupted him. "Where? Is this because of Joy?" Without waiting for an answer, she walked away from him and sat down on the edge of the sofa in the living room. "I'm sorry, Lukas. I don't want to ask you questions like that, and I don't want to sound like some jealous shrew. I trust that you have to do... whatever." She ran a hand nervously through her wet hair and looked at him with a wry smile. "I hate being a drama queen. Just tell me the truth."

The truth. He couldn't tell her everything. So he settled on an approximation. "It's not all bad news. There are a few things I have to take care of. But if everything goes as planned, Joy has agreed. . . she came to tell me. . . she wants a divorce." Hart sat down next to her and told her haltingly about the years he and Joy had spent apart, that she had always refused a divorce until now. With his fingertips, he lightly traced patterns on the back of her hands while he spoke, unable to meet her eyes as he left out key parts of the story. When he had finished, he looked up at her and gently smoothed a lock of damp hair against her forehead. "That changes some things for us, Grace," he said, very softly and very carefully.

She tensed and ducked her head away from his hands, anticipating what he was going to say. "You don't have to do this. I never asked if you were married because it didn't occur to me -- or matter, either. I just assumed we would be together. I don't expect anything more." With an effort, she kept her face calm and her voice steady.

Hart was silent for a long minute. "And I never talked about marriage to you because I already had a wife. Although I only thought about her when I wrote out the checks." This was not going as he had planned. "Grace, if you want me to get down on my knees and propose the old fashioned way, I will. But perhaps you would accept this instead." He reached into a pocket and drew out a small black velvet box. He opened it and showed Grace the sapphire ring inside. The central stone, small but flawless, was flanked by diamonds. He had bought the ring for her not long after their Catalina trip, but had delayed giving it to her, afraid she would refuse it like she had so many of his gifts. He had not intended it to be an engagement ring. But once Joy had opened up the possibility of remarriage, Hart realized what a perfect idea it was.

She glanced at the ring, then at his eyes, trying and failing to read what was there. "Thank you, but you're making an apology, not a proposal."

"That's not the case, but would it matter?" he asked.

Grace sighed, disappointed he couldn't see the difference. "I've never been sure I wanted to be married, anyway." She reached for the velvet box, emphatically snapped it shut and handed it back to Hart. "I wanted the substance, and the form wasn't that important to me. And, as you pointed out, you are already married."

Hart was starting to lose patience. He had not imagined Grace would decline.

As HE had once before, HE stepped back whilst Therese struggled, neither calming her, nor causing her more aggitation. HE did not want to break her--not nearly so soon, at any rate--and HE could sense that she was nearing the edge. That she had withstood HIM this long, was admirable.

She ceased her struggles only when she could physcially struggle no longer. Her wrists and ankles were on fire, her limbs numb from their positition on the table and her misuse of them as she fought her bonds. Her mouth felt as if it were lined with cotton, as much from her terror as from a lack of water, and her head throbbed from the tension. She was one large, dull ache, punctuated only by sharper pains.

HE went to each of her legs, and undid the leather straps which held her to the table, then freed both of her arms. "Do not attempt to move--" HE began, but the second Therese felt freedom, she leapt from the table.

Rolling to one side, she sprang away from HIM, planning to land on her feet, much the same as she had practiced, again and again, with a flying dismount from a horse. However, she had not calculated for the lack of blood supply to her battered arms and legs, and when she sprang from the table, she crumpled to the floor in a heap, her limbs completely unable to support herself. She emitted a small groan as she attempted to drag her body away from HIM.

"If you cannot outrun me on foot, why strain yourself in this condition?" HE asked, stepping toward her prone form. "I told you not to attempt to move."

Therese did her best to ignore HIM, no simple task when she doubted her ability to walk, let alone run. She drew her legs up underneath her body, folding her arms around them as she tried to massage some circulation back into her protesting appendages. As the blood supply began to return, she wished for the numbness once again. A fiery pins and needles sensation attacked each of her four limbs, and she gasped at the onslaught.

"I'm afraid you are now discovering one of the liabilities of remaining too long in the previous position," HE told her, as HE witnessed her discomfort.

Walking to her side HE stooped over her, placing one hand behind her back, and one arm underneath her knees, HE lifted her into HIS arms. She struggled, briefly, then ceased when HE threatened to strap her back in her previous position, lest she behave.

HE carried her out of the room, and down a long corridor, sectioned only by stark, white doorways, all of which looked identical to her. Stopping in front of one, HE shouldered open a door. It was a room, a stark, white room, containing nothing more than a bed. HIS words came back to her, and she blanched. 'Shall I have you service me as you service him?' She began to struggle again, in earnest.

"Would you cease!" HE demanded, prying her fingers from where she clutched at the door frame as HE attempted to carry her into the room. Once through the door, HE dumped her, quite uncerimoniously, onto the floor.

HE indicated a tiny table along one wall where a small wash basin stood. "Clean your wounds, and rest." Turning upon HIS heel, HE left.

Therese heard the distinct sound of a bolt sliding home in the lock, and then the faint echo of HIS footsteps as HE departed.

Dev climbed the stairs to the library, one labourious step after another. His heart was as heavy as his footfalls. His body and soul cried out in want and desire for Therese, to see her returned safely to him, to remain by his side for the rest of her days. There was also the fierce anger, burning out of control within him. He fought his temper on good days, it was as much a part of his life as breathing, but this time he could feel the black emptiness of rage tantalizing him, probing the edge of his consciousness. He wanted to kill The Interrogator simply for having the audacity to keep him from his woman, if he contemplated what HE likely was doing to her, he would go stark, raving mad.

Madness. He wondered whether that would not, in some ways, be easier to bear. Opening the door to the library, he entered the room, allowing the dim silence to encompass him. Row upon row of books surrounded him, from floor to ceiling along each wall. These volumes had been here long before his exsitance, and would likely remain for many generations after. Would he, could he, exist for much longer without Therese? He pushed the question aside with brutal determination. He would find her. Or die trying.

Dev moved to a bookshelf along the far wall, ran his fingers over the spines, and moved to a setee toward the middle of the room. A book lay open along a small table, and he picked it up, holding it to the light. "Shakespeare," he murmered aloud, "Richard III."

Dev felt his throat constrict, and the tears begin to form. He was a proud man, a strong man, and had shed few tears in his life, but he was a man stripped of the ability to act in this insance when every fiber of his being screamed for him to do something. Anything.

He thought back to the first several days they ever spent together, virtual strangers, already in love. He'd taken her to see a presentation of "Richard III," and he'd nearly choked when the actor rang out with, "A horse, a horse! My kingdom for a horse!" and Therese had leant over, whispering close into his ear, 'Sounds like a fair deal to me.'

The sound of the door latch brought Dev's head around, the leather bound volume of Shakepeare still clutched within his hands. He looked up to find Scout Sifuentes in the doorway. "What?" he asked, his tone harsh.

"May I speak with you, sir?" the Lt. asked.

Dev rose from his seat unsteadily, and indicated the chair across from himself. "Suit yourself." He watched the other man cross the room, and come to stand before him. This AR agent was even taller than he was, something he was not accustomed to, and the dark eyes which regarded him were almost black. "My name is Lt. Sifuentes, Mr. de Valera--"

"And you've been assigned to mollycoddle me, is that it?" Dev growled. "Can't have me running off and doing something stupid. . ." He sunk back onto the setee with a sigh, "You can tell Brandon I told him I'd wait for reinforcements-- WITHIN reason."

"I've not been assigned to you, sir--" Scout indicated the chair across from Dev, "may I sit, Mr. de Valera?"

Dev shrugged his shoulders listlessly. "Suit yourself--and my name is Dev."

"And I'm Scout." He extended his hand in greeting.

"Look, Scout, I'm truly not of a right mind to deal with social pleasantries--please don't take this personally, but I wish to be left alone."

Scout seated himself in the chair opposite Dev, contemplating the other man. In many respects, he felt a sense of responsibility for Therese's abduction, and he wanted this man to know that he would do whatever it took, regardless of his status as AR personnel. When HE had taken Therese with Sifuentes in charge, this had become personal. "Dev, we will get her back."

Dev stood, all of the anger and rage he had fought so hard to control, returning in full force. "We? WE? The bloody Alliance Rose will get her back for me, will they? The ones who cleared the area in the first place, do ya mean? Who allowed HIM to attend the Brandon's own weddin'!?" His voice became a shout, the Irish brogue thick enough to slice.

"I know, I know," Scout's voice was calm, he did not allow Dev's emotions to engage his own. "Your every point is valid, but still I ask you to believe me when I tell you that *I* will see her returned to you."

Dev sank back down to the sofa, and ran his fingers through his already unkempt hair. "Oh, right, tha's of great comfort to me, a man carrying the same name as a little girl in a story."

Scout looked up at the other man, a startled expression on his face. "No one has figured out that connection since my class read the book in grammer school."

"Completely Therese's speculation, I assure you," Dev replied, "it is one of her favourite books. She asked me if I thought that you could be named for the character after you spent the afternoon with the ladies in the study."

"My mother was Mexican, and didn't read English so well; she didn't realize that Scout was a girl until I was a toddler." He gave a small, wry, grin. "It became a character building experience. It is that same determination and character, Dev, that will bring Therese back to you."

"Well, Mary Anne? I know there are things you wish to ask me . . ."

Mary Anne tries to collect her thoughts. Which of her many questions shall she ask first?

Once Dev had signed the will, Brandon had urged him to go and rest, if he could. Dev had given him a look as if wondering how the Colonel could possibly be so stupid, at which Brandon had said, gently, "No, Eamon, I am not suggesting that you sleep--though it would be a good thing if you could. But find a quiet place and rest, if you can. I am certain that the Commander will wish to speak with you as soon as she returns, and you will need to be strong and alert." A pause. "I suggest the library. Make yourself comfortable there, and I will see that you are not disturbed."

Again, that look, and Mary Anne could read his thoughts as clearly as he had spoken them: I am disturbed already! But aloud, Dev had only said, "Thank you, Brandon," and left the study without a backward glance.

Mary Anne had watched him go, wondering if it was a good thing to leave him alone--whatever Brandon's trust in him, it had been clear that Dev's forced calm could pass in a moment. If he sat alone, brooding about what might be happening to Therese . . . with the best intentions in the world, any man might well go his reckless way in a desperate search . . .

Mary Anne had returned from these thoughts to hear Brandon speaking with Anton Gruber. "--a favour of you."

"Ja, Colonel? What might that be?"

"I will entrust to you--" Brandon handed over a neatly-assembled stack of papers. "--a copy of the will for deposit in a vault at the Hansbank, at your first opportunity. I shall naturally be keeping copies safely here at Delaford, as well as forwarding others to my solicitors in London. But this is simply--" A grim smile. "--an added precaution, you understand. I hear very good reports about Hansbank security."

Gruber had returned the smile--and Mary Anne had hardly been able to repress a startled exclamation at yet another resemblance between father and son. That grin, the one she has dubbed to herself, "the shark." All teeth.

"I understand, Herr Colonel, and it shall immediately be attended to. I had already begun plans to depart from Delaford--" A friendly nod in Mary Anne's direction. "--much though it pains me to leave such charming company. The hospitality here is all that I could ask, and a good vacation it has been. But I dare not neglect my work for long."

Brandon had nodded. "We shall miss you, sir. If you need any assistance in packing, feel free to call upon my staff."

"A kind offer. My thanks to you."

Mary Anne had spoken up. "Will you take a message to Renie for me, mein Herr?"

The smile, still in place, but Mary Anne could see the wariness. "I will try, Frau Brandon. But you understand that my son is being most secretive about her whereabouts these days . . ."

Hah. You even know what your son is THINKING, you wily old devil, let alone what he's doing. Don't even try that with me. But she contented herself with replying, "Of course." A slight narrowing of her eyes at him, to show that she had not been deceived. "It is for her own protection. But tell her this: that I send her heliotrope and violets."

"Heliotrope and violets?"

"Yes." Mary Anne had struggled to conceal her amusement at the rare spectacle of a baffled Gruber. But he had simply replied, "I will tell her. And now, I shall take my leave of you."

A last exchange of glances between Gruber and Brandon-- some silent communication--and Gruber had exited to finish is packing, leaving Mary Anne alone with Brandon.

And now, to begin. Somewhere. Anywhere.

Mary Anne takes a breath. "You had told me, Christopher, that Delaford would go to Kit . . ."

She had missed her home. It was nothing grand like Hart's, but it was hers and she loved it. She quickly showered and perused her closets. No matter how many clothes she had taken over to Hart's her closets at home still seemed full. Wanting a change from her severe black suit, she pulled out a brightly patterned Romeo Gigli blouse and put it on over pale green trousers. There. She was dressed cheerily even if her mood didn't match. She combed through her wet hair and turned on the blow dryer, only to drop it when the phone rang.

"Lukas?" she answered breathlessly, hopefully.

"Where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for hours," Hart replied, his voice harsh with worry.

Now Grace had to think fast. She didn't want to lie to Hart, but neither did she feel comfortable telling him the truth about being trapped in the Hansbank offices most of the night. Nor did she want to tell him about the Hansbank and the Investors until she had spoken to the U.S. Attorney. "At Global Marketing, then the Peninsula. I didn't want to call you until I heard from you, but you didn't leave any messages." True, if not the whole truth, she dissembled to herself. What about your wife, she was bursting to ask, but restrained herself.

"You'll have to get your cellular phone repaired. I've been calling all night." Hart's voice dropped to a lower, more intimate note. "I'm sorry about Joy. I had no idea she was coming to Los Angeles. And I should have told you about her." He sounded genuinely contrite.

Grace's throat started to tighten up with emotion. "Where are you?" was all she could choke out.

Static took over the line. "...[crackle, crackle]...street...[pop, whir]..."

"I can't hear you. Try again," she shouted into the phone. Cellular service was notoriously bad in her neighborhood. The line disconnected. She looked sourly into the receiver, put it back in the cradle and waited for him to redial. She was expecting the phone to ring, and nearly jumped out of her skin when the doorbell chimed instead. She opened the door to Hart and pulled him inside, burying her head, wet hair and all, into the soft cotton of his sweater. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as close as he ever had.

After a time, Therese began to flinch from HIS touch, regardless of whether it brought her pleasure, relief, or pain.

After a time, Therese began to wish that HE would bring her only pain; to that, at least, she knew how to respond.

HE knew that HE was getting to her, she could feel it throught the touch of HIS fingers, see it in the swell of HIS chest, and the glint of those cold, yellow eyes. HE reminded her of one of the big cats. HE was a predator. And she was the prey. And as is the manner of felines, HE enjoyed toying with his captive, batting her around a bit, and providing HIMSELF with amusement as she writhed beneath HIS claws.

"Tell me about de Valera," HE ordered, laying a hand upon her bare thigh, just below the edge of her shift.

"What could I tell you about some Irish politician?" she asked, her tone bored.

"I believe you could tell me a great deal," HE growled, HIS hand deliberately moving several inches forward.

Therese took an involuntary breath, and pulled against the straps that held her down for what seemed the hundredth time. Movement was impossible. She was completely and utterly vulnerable to HIM. To this point, HE had touched only her upper arms, neck, and shoulders, but she had not for a moment stopped thinking about her position, and its implications. Her arms and legs were chaffed and raw from her struggles, yet she persisited. "I know nothing about de Valera," she grunted between teeth clenched in pain.

"Nothing?" HE asked, HIS voice deep and insinuating. "Yet I understand that you are his whore." HIS fingers worked their way forward another several inches, pinching the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh until she cried out in a half gasp, half shriek. "Shall I have you service me as you do him?"

Therese had been able to bear the humiliation, she had been able to endure the pain, the electrical shock, and the torture, but the thought of rape at HIS hands was not something she felt she could withstand. The intensity of her struggles increased, her back rising completely off of the table as she pulled against the leather restraints which held her firmly in place. Her wrists and ankles, already chaffed and sore from her struggles, began to bleed under the fresh assault. She was beyond feeling, beyond caring, and for the first time since her abduction, almost beyond hope.

Flashback ..

**BOSTON, USA .. THE RITZ CARLTON**

That night at the Ritz, David and Kari exchanged life stories over a bottle of expensive chardonnay in the lounge of the stately, revered, and time-honored hotel.

Kari learned that David had been born and raised on the East Coast. It turned out that Rock Hall, Maryland was the town he affectionately referred to as 'home'. Rock Hall was an historic town, quaintly located along the northernmost waters of Chesapeake Bay. Cobblestone streets, grand homes, and quiet society. David smiled at the memory. Ah yes. That was Rock Hall.

His parents had been professionals: his father a lawyer; his mother a schoolteacher. His grandparents had lived in nearby Chestertown and it was his paternal grandfather who had been the one who taught him about boats and taught him about the sea. David's first boat ride had been on his grandfather's yacht on his own sixth birthday. It hadn't been until the day of his sixth birthday because his grandfather had insisted that David be a strong swimmer before he ever set foot on board. And so David had learned and, having passed the test of his grandfather's scrutinous eye, was subsequently, and properly, rewarded for his efforts. He went on to explain - with an almost child-like grin - that to this very day he couldn't stray far from the water's edge. He owed it all to his grandfather. This world that brought him so much joy. The world of the seas. His grandfather had been a wonderful man. A strong man. A man of the strictest moral code. A grandfather who was the kind of man the young David had always aspired to be.

Just as he appeared completely lost in thought, Kari prodded him to continue and so, shaking off the memories, he went on to tell about himself further. He explained that as a result of his grandfather's teachings, he had attended Harvard Law School in order to appease his parents yet had subsequently spent all of his free time in the summer months working near the shore.

He had guided tour boats from nearby Newport, Rhode Island and even endured a stint as a commercial fisherman off the coast of the Maine. He had never cared to be far from the call of the waves and the invigorating sounds of the birds that inhabited the Atlantic Ocean's coastal shores. Puffins. Loons. Blue herons. Osprey. To this day, he could name the birds by their calls alone. Kari smiled broadly and marveled at his tales of life on the Eastern shore.

He continued.

Even now, he never cared to venture too far inland and, he eventually confessed during the course of the evening that his current home in Boston was the farthest inland he'd ever lived. He shared tales of dining on blue crabs that he and his friends had caught in the warmth of the East Coast summer sun. He explained that his parents were both gone now and he hadn't been back to his hometown in Maryland since settling their estate. He had initially left Rock Hall to attend college and had ultimately chosen to stay in Boston when a local firm offered him his first job in the legal profession. And he had never left.

And just why are you so shaken up? questions an ironic voice within her. Such a terrible shock--to find out your husband is even more wealthy than you had believed. And he's leaving the bulk of it to you. Is that so dreadful? Get a grip!

In a way, it is dreadful. To think of this being necessary . . . Mary Anne does not love anything that brings nearer the idea of Brandon's eventual death. But she can tell that he is being realistic; if matters take their natural course, he will probably die before she does. The Colonel is simply handling his affairs with the prudence and caution she would expect from him. But it is not a fact that she enjoys facing.

Aside from that sore point, dozens of other matters. He told me that Delaford would go to Kit. I wonder why he changed his mind?

Well, her mind answers her sarcastically, the fact that you are now his WIFE may have something to do with it . . .

Enough. Trying to appear as relaxed as possible, Mary Anne passes the papers back across the desk and smiles at Anton Gruber. "I have no objections."

Questions, yes. But no objections.

"Ach, so," replies Gruber, "all is then as it should be. Es ist ganz einfach."

Oh, yes, quite simple indeed. Mary Anne chafes her hands together--they feel so cold, even though the study is warm.

"Then we shall proceed," announces Brandon, applying himself to the papers, filling in the last paragraph of necessary legalese on the original will and the several copies he has made, then signing each one.

The precise, clear signature, with its dark strokes.

They have all seen him do it. And now . . .

Gruber, a small smile playing about his lips as if he were enjoying some secret joke, attaches his own signature to each copy of the will, setting himself down as a witness that he has seen Colonel Christopher Brandon sign this document, that it is indeed his last will and testament, rendering null and void any such previous documents . . .

Brandon gathers up the papers.

"And you, Mister de Valera?"

Mary Anne catches her breath as Dev raises his head and looks Brandon in the eye. She had thought he was simply sunk in misery over Therese and his face does bear the marks of that anxiety. But there is something else at work as well--Dev studies the papers as if someone had offered him an unexploded bomb to defuse. And Mary Anne can see it, now, and understand why Gruber had been smiling to himself. All that Brandon had said to Dev, about being a man of his word . . . severe, but just . . . a man who, having given his word, would die to keep it . . .

If Dev sets his name down as a witness, he agrees with Brandon's estimate of him. Not that it should be otherwise--but it would make it that much harder for Dev to do something reckless like going off on his own to seek Therese. After this, it would seem . . . dishonourable? Well, perhaps that is too strong.

Impulsive. Yes, that's the term. Too impulsive for the sort of man that Brandon would choose as a witness for his will.

Christopher isn't a military man for nothing. Mary Anne is careful not to look at Anton Gruber, for that would give the game entirely away.

Dev, however, is not any sort of a fool. His gaze is fastened piercingly on Brandon, who gazes calmly back, his expression betraying absolutely nothing. Waiting patiently . . .

With a wry, pained smile, Dev acquiesces and picks up the pen. Mary Anne breathes once more as he sets his signature alongside Anton Gruber's, on every copy of the will . . .

Marian goes about her business quickly and thoroughly. She is strangely silent, and it is not possible to read her expression. She will not announce her findings until she is certain. "All right. We're done."

Andrea sits up on the bed and fixes Marian with her gaze. "Well?"

Marian is at a loss. "I can't explain it. Not only has the infection cleared up, but also the tears have completely healed. If I didn't know better, I'd say you were a virgin."

Andrea releases a nervous laugh. "So, Father Grigori is deserving of my gratitude. Unless you have an explanation." She looks at a speechless Mesmer.

As an afterthought, Marian adds "We need to make sure Lord Nottingham doesn't find out about this. I'd hate to think what his attorney might do with this information."

Dot shares her concern. "Yes. After that nonsense he pulled with claiming some sort of double had attacked Andrea and not him -- the absent scratches ... "

I think we have a candidate here for FOF Line of the Week! ;-)

It is difficult to read quickly and still pay close attention, but she tries to do just that. Skim past the opening portions: various minor bequests to long-time servants at Delaford and a few to people she has never heard Brandon mention. Friends of the family? Military acquaintances?

And there are more than a few to people that she does recognize, for they are her friends as well. Gifts to Sir John and Mrs. Jennings, for example-- offered, surely, for old times' sake, for they have no need of money. These portions of the will cover various personal possessions of the Colonel, items of sentimental value.

Of course, some of these objects have real value as well, but Mary Anne cannot possibly object to Brandon's choice of how he will dispose of them.

Some of the items make her smile broadly. One of the items that Brandon has bequeathed to Renie is a box of white gloves . . .

Further along, she notes that Brandon has willed to Therese her choice of any two horses from the Delaford stables-- excluding any, of course, that Mary Anne would consider "hers" by then. That provision must have been inserted very recently.

Mary Anne's vision blurs for a moment. If only Therese will come back to them safely, she is welcome to any horses she wants.

A shaky grin. Always excepting, of course, Menelaus. But if Brandon were not there . . . well, Menelaus could hardly be in better hands.

Finally, Mary Anne comes to the bequests for herself . . . and it is there she finds the provisions that make her jaw sag in astonishment.

If she has read this correctly--and Brandon writes with extraordinary clarity, unhampered by excessive legalese--he has left to her a staggering legacy, one a good deal larger than she had been led to believe. Brandon, though a man who believes in good, solid comfort in his home, is not given to ostentatious luxury and so Mary Anne would have described him to anyone who might inquire as "well-off." No great amount when considered alongside the finances of Gruber Glassworks or the Hansbank. But to a woman of her background . . .

Mary Anne swallows.

She will shortly be heiress to the vast majority of the Brandon fortune and estates.

Including Delaford.

Therese had fought the blindfold at first, and had become frightened by the removal of the all important sense of sight. The electric shock had come as a complete surprise, and she had no idea when HE would choose to strike again. HIS attacks were intermitant, the voltage of varying intensity. Therese relaxed as best she could, and attempted to channel her thoughts.

Dev. She could seen him in her mind's eye, his stern features so incredibly dear to her. He must be frantic. She imagined him, standing before her once again, his arms open to her as she fell into his embrace. . .

Her thoughts were shattered and an involuntary gasp escaped her as the blindfold was suddenly and forcefully removed. Therese blinked back the tears as her eyes attempted to readjust to the light.

"Your mind seemed to be wandering," HE remarked, standing over her. "Let's see if I can get you to pay me the attention I'm due."

**********************************************************

Therese had no idea how long she'd been left there, she only knew that she had never known the agony that she felt now. She'd fought him again, though she felt weaker and weaker at each confrontation. At the time HE had left, Therese had felt a moment's triumph when HE had departed with three slender, red lines patterned across his face. That momentary sense of victory had fled in the face of the reality of suffering.

Picking her up, without any show of effort, HE had strapped her down upon the table, arms and legs stretched wide. At the time the pull on her muscles had been merely discomforting; the strain was quickly becoming unbearable. The physical exertion was agony enough, the mental anguish of being laid out, flat, helpless, and exposed, almost indescribable.

She tried to keep track of time in her head, which became a futile effort. Though her body was exhausted, she could not sleep in the position she was in, though she willed herself to do so, if not to regain some strength, at least to escape the pain for a short time.

The door clicked in its latch, and she turned her head slightly to watch HIM approach. HE wore a fresh, white shirt, the scratches she had laid upon HIS cheek were cleaned, and HE appeared in all ways refreshed. Therese bit her lips to keep from crying out in front of HIM. She would NOT give in to HIM, or the pain HE caused her.

HE stood over her, looking at her contemplatively as he crossed his arms in front of his waist. "You may as well voice your pain," HE told her, as if able to read her very thoughts, "I know precisely what you are feeling, and I realize it is not pleasant."

"Go to hell," Therese bit out, her breath escaping in a gasp.

HE made a slight 'tsk' sound, HIS arms unfolding, and hands lingering upon Therese's upper arm as he palpated the large muscle groups found there. "I've told you once, it is in your own best interest to be nice. Allow me to share an analogy with you," HE told her. "A master mechanic knows each and every part of an engine and how it works with all of the other parts of a vehicle in order for it to run smoothly and efficiently. A mechanic can tune a carburator so that the motor purrs. . .or he can decide to delay the timing of the flutter valve so that the engine skips and jumps, causing the machine to run faultily. I am a master mechanic of the human body. I can cause your motor to purr." HE gripped edges of the shoulder muscles, kneading HIS fingers into the tightened knots of flesh, causing Therese an involuntary moan of relief. She recovered quickly, shrinking away from HIS touch, even when it brought a respite.

"Or, I can make you skip and jump." HE gripped the sensitive tendons running along the slender cords of muscle below the neck, and twisted them harshly.

Therese was in no way able to prevent the shriek of pain which escaped her lips.

A moment of silence follows the Colonel's request.

Anton Gruber is the first to recover, and signals his agreement with a nod. "It would be my honour, Herr Colonel."

Brandon looks relieved. "Thank you, sir." A pause. "I have come to regard your son as a very worthy man, and . . . a friend. If he had been present, I would have asked him."

Herr Gruber laughs, a low rumble in his throat. "Ich verstehe. I hope I will not be found to be inadequate in his place."

"Not at all," Brandon hastily assures him. "I was going to add that I have a better understanding now of his . . . character. He has inherited many fine qualities from you, it is plain to see."

That deep laugh again. "And some that are not so fine, but that we shall allow to pass."

"Be assured that I do not consider your assistance in this matter to be a substitute for Hans' presence or anything of the sort." Brandon looks squarely at him. "I needed men that I was certain I could trust."

With that, the Colonel turns to Dev.

After the first shock of Therese's abduction and his determination to tear the precincts of Delaford and Barton apart to find her, Dev has subsided into an appearance of listlessness that might deceive anyone who has not seen his strong will in action. He is partially calmed by Brandon's insistence against rashness, by The Doctor's demonstration of other-worldly martial arts, and by the influence of good Irish whiskey even in such a small amount. But it is only a temporary lull.

Watching him, Mary Anne thinks of the warnings issued in the midst of a hurricane. They always tell you that when things get calm, don't think you're safe yet. You're in the centre. There's more to come. Wait for it, and be ready.

Dev sits at the eye of the storm.

Mary Anne waits as patiently as she can, though she has never been fond of waiting. Brandon is up to some manoeuvre here; any persons of legal age and sound mind could have served as his witnesses, if this were all there is to it. She is bursting with curiosity, but knows that it is useless to sound out her husband at this point. He will doubtless tell her all that she needs to know. Later.

Dev, meanwhile, is aware of Brandon's scrutiny. "Well?" he challenges, with a bitter smile. "Is there some reason you have chosen me, Brandon? A man who has fought with your guests, destroyed the peace of your house, and brought danger to you and your wife?"

"A man," Brandon quietly replies, "who is courageous enough to defend what he holds dear. A man who, having given his word, will die to keep it."

"If only you knew," mutters Dev.

Mary Anne looks at the floor. It would never do for Dev to see her face at this moment.

"Mister de Valera," continues Brandon, "you are a severe man at times, but a just one--so far as I can tell--when it comes to the welfare of those you love. In a matter so important to me as this--" Brandon taps the stack of documents with one finger. "--I want the signature of exactly that sort of man."

Dev gazes warily at Brandon for a moment, then consents. "Very well, sir. You shall have it."

"On one condition--for myself, of course," Anton Gruber smoothly asserts. "Mister de Valera must do in this as he would think best."

The warm golden eyes turn toward Mary Anne, and she cannot help smiling. A light remark, that's the ticket. Something for her to say instead of sitting like a marble statue. "And what is this condition, Mein Herr? Nothing too difficult, I trust."

A smile of true pleasure from him at her deferential politeness. But his eyes return to Brandon as he replies: "No, not so difficult. Merely that if this document--this new will--concerns you so closely, Frau Brandon, you should be allowed to read it before anyone signs it." A lifted eyebrow. "Agreed, Colonel?"

Brandon does not hesitate for an instant. "Agreed, Herr Gruber," as he quickly sorts through the documents to extract the sheets of the will, orders them, and offers them to Mary Anne.

She stared hard at the floorboards, trying not to break into sobs. Her voice was quiet, even and calm when she spoke. "Please go, Ed. Please be safe."

He looked down at her and said nothing. She loved him but she wanted him gone. She was crazy, she wanted to beat the Interrogator all by herself, without him or her friends by her side. She was going to get herself killed. He couldn't bear to look at her any more and stormed to the door, pulling it open. He glared at the startled guard who had been trying not to listen to their conversation. It had been difficult to ignore the raised voices. With one final glance back at Claudia who still wouldn't meet his gaze, he turned and slammed the door, and made for the stairs.

"I love you too," his lower lip trembled as he whispered the words.

"Too much has happened. Too much hurt. It can never be the same between us."

"It's not your fault. I don't blame you."

"May be not now, but you will. I couldn't bear that, Ed."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she silenced him with a hand moving to cover his lips.

"Please listen. We need some time apart to work out our feelings. The boys will be going back to school soon on Gallifrey, and I want you to go with them."

Ed frowned and pulled her hands from his face, holding them tightly in his own. "You want me to go with them? Surely, it would be better for you to go with them. That is, if you really want us to…to…"

"To split up? If that were the only reason, yes, it would be sensible. But I've another reason, and you won't like it."

"Which means you know I won't agree to it. What is going through your mind now? Why are you pushing me away?"

"I'm trying to protect you, and the boys. The Interrogator said he would come back for me. When he took Therese this morning, I thought maybe he had come back for me, and she had been in his way. If I told Dev this, he'd kill me himself." She pulled her hands away from his and stood, turning away from him and hugging herself. "If the Interrogator wants me, or wants me to help HIM in anyway, then you and the boys would be in danger. If HE had you as leverage, HE could make me do anything."

Ed stood, his mouth gaping in surprise and horror. He grabbed her and spun her round. "And you think with the threat of the Interrogator in the balance that I will leave you here alone, and run to safety? Are you crazy? Either you get on the Tardis and come with us, so HE won't even be able to try anything, or I'm staying with you. We'll face him together."

That was one thing Claudia didn't want. If Ed and the Interrogator were face to face, she was sure HE would delight in telling Ed exactly what she had been doing while she was away. "I can't run off to Gallifrey forever. I have to come back sometime, and when I do, HE will still be waiting. I'd rather face it now, Ed and alone. I don't want anyone I love to get in the way of this. It's personal. I must deal with HIM by myself."

"I won't let you."

When Mesmer thinks of the time and effort he has put into building a trusting relationship with Andrea, he is perplexed by her seemingly instant rapport with Raz. "Andrea, while we await Dr. Dubois' arrival, may I ask you a question about -- Father Grigori?" He deliberately refers to Raz in the same manner as Andrea.

She nods apprehensively and prepares herself for . . . what?

Mesmer convinces himself that he needs this information to better understand Andrea and to help her. Jealousy has nothing to do with it. "Tell me, if you can, what it is about Father Grigori that caused you to trust him with your person?"

Andrea recalls the events of the previous evening and how Raz had pleaded with her. "It seemed to cause him so much pain to see my suffering. He made me feel as though I had the power to help him by simply allowing him to help me. I could not refuse his request and thus prolong his agony."

Mesmer persists. "So, concern for your own physical well-being was not your motivation?"

"May I ask, Herr Colonel, what is this about?"

If I close my eyes, thinks Mary Anne, I could almost believe that it's Hans. But it would be a rare woman who could keep her eyes closed when Anton Gruber is present. Lord, Hans is the living image of him! In all matters of appearance except for silvered hair, father and son are copies of each other, and Mary Anne finds herself wondering what Hans' mother could have been like, how she looked, and what is her share in her proud and handsome son.

Thoughts of Hans turn her mind inevitably to Renie, with thankfulness that her friend is safe, away from the present turmoil of Delaford and the implications of a threat hanging over them all. That The Interrogator could strike so near . . .

But then, it isn't the first time. HE took Christopher at the picnic, and was here at the wedding, and now HE has taken Therese . . . how is HE doing this?! There must be a point very near, some lair, some bolthole or other where HE can be close but disappear when necessary . . . but HOW close? And WHERE?

Mary Anne's thoughts are interrupted when Brandon, in answer to Herr Gruber's inquiry, slides open a desk drawer and withdraws a sheaf of documents.

"Gentlemen," replies the Colonel, "as the time for my wedding drew near, I began to re-order my financial and legal affairs. Including--" Brandon taps the document on top of the stack. "--my will. I have made certain changes--" A glance at Mary Anne. "-- and I hope that you will oblige me in this matter by attaching your signatures as my witnesses."

"You ran off and left me because you remembered all this? But you hadn't actually done anything wrong. You didn't know who HE was. Did he hurt you so badly?"

"But HE didn't just beat me," she said.

A sob choked in Ed's throat. "HE… raped you?"

"Oh, no – HE is far too clever for HIS downfall to start from a charge of rape. HE drugged me Ed. He gave me a drug that made my blood boil with desire, made me want HIM. HE didn't need to rape me. The only consolation I have is that HE went away with just as many injuries as I did."

Ed's body shook with another sob, and this time the tears spilled down his face, and into his beard where they sat like clear beads before being absorbed. "Oh God! No…"

Now that the excitement of Ed and Claudia's confrontation is over, Brandon suddenly notices that Mary Anne is white and shaking, and hurries her to the sofa. "My dearest, what is it? I know that all of this is upsetting . . ."

A wan smile from Mary Anne. "Yes it is, sir, but that's not the problem; it's just that I haven't had any breakfast yet."

Fool, Brandon berates himself. You awakened her and asked her to come directly downstairs; naturally, she did. Without stopping for anything . . . However, the Colonel does not waste time in self-recriminations but rings for Miss MacLeod, who is there so promptly he wonders if she might have been lurking in the hall.

"Breakfast for Mrs. Brandon," he orders--then, eyeing Dev, he adds, "And bring some brandy for Mister de Valera as well." Perhaps it will help to calm him.

Dev, rather more subdued than before but still pacing restlessly about, stops and gives Brandon a look. "Brandy? At this hour?"

Brandon considers for a moment. He does not quite smile, but there is a definite crinkle of amusement about his eyes as he turns to Miss M and orders, "Make that some good Irish whiskey instead."

"Right awa', sir," murmurs MacLeod as she heads for the door--pausing for only a second to direct a look of pity at Dev, one that she is careful not to let him see. Puir man. An' puir wee lass!

A short time later, Dev is sipping at a glass of fine Irish whiskey, resisting the temptation to knock it back in one gulp. He knows what will happen if he does that. It will not trickle warmly down his throat, no; it will blaze down as if he had swallowed fire, and land like a flaming projectile in his stomach.

Perhaps that would be preferable to what he is feeling. Perhaps it would distract him . . . one pain for another . . .

No. If he is to help Therese, he must keep his head clear. Resolutely, he pushes the glass away and turns to The Doctor. Some distraction in conversation . . .

Mary Anne, meanwhile, is feeling much stronger after a platter of eggs and toast. Grim as the situation is, she cannot help smiling a little as she watches Dev, standing near The Doctor's armchair and conversing with the Timelord. The difference in stature appears ludicrous, rather like an Irish Wolfhound exchanging remarks with a Jack Russell Terrier. But The Doctor is stronger than he looks--Dev will remember that, now!

In fact, that is the very subject of the conversation. Lightly, as if the event had not embarrassed him at all, Dev observes, "Doctor, what sort of hold was that you used? It would be a good thing to know in a fight--" Not so light, here. "--and I may need all the tricks I can learn, very soon. Can you teach that to me?"

The Doctor hrrrmmphs uncomfortably. "Well, that could be rather difficult. For one thing, the Venusian Masters who instructed me--well, they revealed the knowledge only after I took an oath of secrecy . . ."

"Oh." Dev is clearly disappointed.

" . . . also, it's very hard to learn when you have only two arms."

Dev glances down at himself as if he expects--or wishes--to sprout a third or fourth arm, and Mary Anne hastily swallows her tea lest she choke on it.

The Doctor rises from his chair. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen--" He turns toward the sofa. "--and Mary Anne, I need to run some scans from the Tardis."

"What sort of scans, Doctor?" she asks.

"I haven't decided yet. I mean, there are many that might be helpful in checking on unusual activities around Delaford and Barton. A wide range of radiation spectrum scans, and DNA trace analyses, and just plain going out to have a look for myself at some things." There is a grim set to the Timelord's jaw that would give any man, no matter his stature, second thoughts about taking on The Doctor; he means to do all that he can to assist in the search. "Perhaps they'll aid the Commander when she returns. I will return later." And without further ado, The Doctor exits.

Brandon turns to Miss MacLeod, who is still dutifully waiting to see if she will be needed. "Find Herr Gruber, if you please," he tells her, "and ask him to join us here." As MacLeod exits, Brandon adds, "If you'll stay for a moment more, Eamon, I need your help."

And at Mary Anne's questioning look: "Yes, Mary Anne, this concerns you as well. Please remain."

Ed opened his mouth to speak, but she covered his lips with her fingers, and shook her head.

"What I didn't tell you, is what triggered the memories. The night of the wedding I went for a walk in the grounds…"

Ed pulled her hand from his mouth. "I remember."

"I was surprised by a tall man in a Highwayman's costume. He kissed me, and I remembered."

"He kissed you? The Colonel?"

"I told you not to interrupt me! No – the Interrogator. HE was here the night of the wedding."

"And you didn't tell me, didn't tell anyone!? Are you crazy … HE kissed you?!"

Oh, HE's done a lot more than that Ed.

"Are you going to listen to this? No I didn't tell anyone – which is probably why Therese has been kidnapped – all my fault, so that's why they blame me downstairs. And YES HE kissed me. HE has kissed me before, which is why it helped me remember."

"I don't know you… I don't know who you are." Ed's voice quavered, passed angry moving into hurt.

"My point exactly Ed. That is what I told you - why I had to leave. I don't know me either. I had to get some answers. Remember – I didn't know you back then. I didn't betray you. I didn't know who HE was."

"But you knew who he was when HE kissed you this time. Do you need to tell me anything?"

Oh, Ed please don't make it so hard. She could see the tears welling in his eyes now, and she couldn't be ruthless with him. "No, I didn't know who HE was until HE removed his mask. I thought it was you at first. Then I remembered, and HE was happy about that. And HE said HE would come back for me."

"They are in the kitchens getting something to eat. Not that you care, you ran off and left them, not thinking, as usual. Do you know what we've been through? Do you care?!"

"Oh, low blow. I did not run off and leave them alone. They were with you, and the Doctor and the many other people in this house. They were perfectly safe, Ed." She just about spat out his name.

He bridged the gap between them in a few long strides, then sat on the bed next to her and gripped her shoulders, shaking her hard. "Look at me, look at me! You are going to tell me exactly what is going on, and you are going to tell me now!"

Ed didn't lose his temper very often, but when he did it wasn't a good idea to get in his way. This time though, Claudia had no where to go. Ed had locked the door and pocketed the key, and besides, there was a guard just out side. Ed grabbed her chin and forced her to look into his eyes. "The truth now, mind."

She took a deep shaky breath, and tried to quash her own anger at being shouted at. "OK, but you just sit there and listen. If you scream at me again, you can go to hell!"

Claudia smiled a bitter little smile. "Right."

Ed pulled her a little more roughly than he'd intended out of the door, muttering mornings as he left. The guard followed them at a tactful distance.

"Let go, Ed, you're hurting me," protested Claudia trying to pry his fingers away, one by one.

"I'm not letting go of you until we get upstairs and I have the door closed. You're not running out on me again, do you hear? And you're going to give me a good explanation as to what the hell is going on with you. And what was going on in that room? Arrest you - what have you done now?"

Claudia found herself being almost dragged up the stairs as Ed took them two at a time. "Ed! Let go or slow down will you."

He stopped and dropped his grip and she rubbed her arm as the blood ran back. "After you, my lady."

She stuck her tongue out at him on the way passed, but he didn't smile, he scowled and folded his arms. "As to what was going on in that room - Therese was abducted by the Interrogator this morning. They were all in a panic when I got here. They think, well Dev thinks it's a bit too much of a coincidence me appearing again just after she has been taken. I don't think they trust me."

She took a deep breath and stood. Another hesitant look around the room, then she marched up to the door and opened it. There was Ed, wild eyed, and arguing with the guard. He looked up and saw her. Immediately he stopped yelling, looked her up and down to make sure she was alright, then rushed the doorway. He slammed into Claudia so hard that it knocked her breath away, and she couldn't say anything as his arms were around her giving her a hug that caused the tears to well in her eyes again. Oh, Ed, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You'll never forgive me for this one. But she still couldn't speak, so he never heard those words.

"Mr…" Colonel Brandon was at a loss, ever the polite gentleman, he suddenly realised he didn't know Ed's last name. "Ed, I apologise, we should have called you straight away when Miss Claudia arrived, but things happened so quickly."

Claudia pulled away and looked at Ed. "I'd no idea everyone was looking for me. Ed, I told you I was going away for a while, why did you have to get everyone so worried?"

Ed pulled away from her with a look of incredulity on his face. "So, this is my fault now? How come you always turn things around so they are my fault?" He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the door. "If you'll all excuse me, I think I need to talk with my… with this… with Claudia in private."

Ed's fingers dug into her arm, it hurt, but not as much as she was hurting inside. "Ed, I don't know if I can go with you. It all depends…" she looked around the room at the others.

"Depends? Depends on what?!" Ed almost shouted.

"It depends on whether I'm under arrest or not."

In the morning's excitement, Andrea had forgotten about Rasputin. Mesmer's statement brings forth a flood of memories from the previous evening. She closes her eyes to focus her mind on a scan of her physical body. She searches for the expected pain, but she cannot find it. Her eyes open wide in amazement. "He healed me! -- Dot, where is Father Grigori now? I must thank him."

Dot is unsure of Raz's location. "Wherever he is, he's sleeping off the Madeira my comrades gave him last night. -- Do you really believe that he healed you?"

Mesmer also is skeptical. Touching Andrea's cheek, he comments "That bruise doesn't look 'healed' to me."

Andrea blushes slightly and looks down at her hands folded in her lap. "Father Grigori did not focus his powers on my face."

Mesmer takes a moment to read Andrea's body language. He soons understands what she believes to have happened and impartially suggests "Before you show your gratitude to -- Father Grigori, perhaps you will allow Dr. Dubois to examine you."

Claudia is uncomfortably aware of the gazes turned toward her, as everyone sits quietly for a moment and wonders what they are to do next-- about Claudia and everything else. The Doctor has returned to his seat on the arm of the chair, but somehow Claudia does not find his presence especially reassuring, not with Dev's intent regard fixed upon her.

Yes, he had apologized for shaking her, but it is clear that he is still suspicious about her return. Brandon, too, is looking at her, his grave demeanour suggesting that he will do whatever is necessary to ensure the safety of all who are guests under his roof. But especially . . .

Claudia shivers a little. Dev is not a brutal man where women are concerned, but with the threat to Therese he had forgotten himself entirely. What of Brandon? It is practically carved in stone that violence toward women is abhorrent to him, but . . . what if the Colonel perceived her as being, somehow, a threat to Mary Anne? From the way the Colonel had looked a few minutes ago when he confronted Dev--and from the way he is looking at her now--Claudia finds it only too easy to believe that, where his wife's safety is concerned, Brandon could be absolutely ruthless.

Claudia sets her teeth with determination. Well, I'll just have to watch myself, that's all. Like I told The Doctor when I said to leave that thingie HE stuck in my leg--it'll remind me to be careful . . .

Claudia becomes aware that one of the guards has shut off the recorder and stood up. "Now that we have her story about what happened--" The guard turns to Claudia. "We do have the story? There's nothing you wanted to add?"

Claudia shakes her head. "Not right now."

"Very well. Then I need to discuss this with Sifuentes. Commander Hudson will be back by this afternoon and he'll have to be fully informed for his meeting with her. My colleague will stay with you if you think of anything else we need to know. If you will excuse me--" Brandon nods, and the guard exits, bearing the recorder.

At that moment, however, Mary Anne rises from her seat, staring at the closed door of the study. "What in the world . . . uh-oh . . ." she exclaims.

Seconds later, the cause of Mary Anne's distress becomes evident to all, as a voice announces, "You can't go in there, it's a meeting--"

And a male voice shouts in reply, "I don't care if it's a summit conference at the bloody U.N. I know Claudia is back, and I know she's in there, and just WAIT TILL I GET MY HANDS ON HER!"