The Insane Journey

Chapter 40

 “Well, I reckon it’s just you and me for dinner tonight,” said Maxwell to Wendy. The angel, Zargonians and IIA agents had all gone their separate ways and the remaining two friends were standing alone as dusk descended upon the Roman ruins and cast the evening into shades of grey.

 “That will be nice,” said Wendy. “We’ve not had a quiet dinner with just the two of us in a long time.”

 “Indeed, old friend. Indeed,” said Maxwell, putting his arm around Wendy and leading her back towards the hotel. Halfway there, they passed a bistro with a terrace offering a decent view of the ruins. Although it was quiet, with just two other tables occupied, the staff served up better than local fare. They both ordered fish Quenelle. After a long internal debate about whether or not a red wine would be appropriate with fish, and following repeated assurances that the house Beaujolais would not insult the Quenelle, Maxwell ordered a bottle, a decision he did not regret.

 The two friends were content to eat in silence while serenaded by crickets and leaves rustling in the ever-present wind. As darkness fell, the shadows of the ruins grew ever longer, until the historical sight virtually disappeared into shadow itself.

 After finishing dinner with exceptional coffees, they walked back to the hotel, the dark road lit only by the half moon and the lights from an occasional house. Only one car passed them, a banged-up old Renault that gave them a wide berth – a local, presumably.

 Once they got back to the hotel, Wendy went up to her room to read. Maxwell decided to have one last glass of wine in the hotel bar. He was inspired by the angels and wanted to sketch some ideas before they faded from memory entirely.

 He ordered a glass of a local Beaujolais, pulled out his notebook and scribbled three pages of ideas. At the same time, a woman reading something on a tablet looked up. She was an attractive, curly-haired brunette seemingly in her early 30s. Their eyes met for a second and the brunette started.

 “Hey, you look like this Maxwell van Mars guy,” she said, looking at her tablet.

 Maxwell started to say something witty, about that Maxwell van Mars guy looking like him, but he knew where that would go – to someone’s bed – and he was thinking about Wendy’s remark regarding his penis getting him in trouble. For a penguin, she should could sometimes be very perceptive, and he really did not want more trouble. Not tonight.

 “Yes, a lot of people tell me that,” Maxwell replied instead. He drank down the last gulp of wine, bade the woman good night, went to his room and retired to bed with a novel which, indeed, kept him out of trouble, at least for the night.

 The next couple of days, however, would be a very different story.