The next morning at the office, Richard tried not to notice Phillip(a)’s soft, husky voice; her elegant long-fingered hands; her generous smile.
She said, “The Pellon and Lord Simon inspections are next on the docket.”
“Lord Simon’s mansion is as ruined as the man.”
“Truflian Architecture. His fantastical era.”
“Not Truflet’s best work. Why does the belief in fairies automatically entail a penchant for curlicues?”
“Visual improbabilities,” Phillip(a) said and grinned outright.
Richard tried to also ignore that grin.
“I have my weekly meeting with Lord Rustilion,” he said. “Can you meet me at the Pellons?”
“I should track down the deeds for Lord Simon’s house.”
“You won’t go there?”
Lord Simon was an aged rake with magical proclivities. He was still capable of producing scandal, definitely not safe. He would see through Phillip(a)’s disguise.
“No—Government Library.” Phillip(a) raised her eyebrows at Richard’s stony expression.
“Good. We’ll visit Lord Simon’s together,” he added, turning away. It was a natural directive, not rooted in over-protectiveness. Not at all.
“Have a pleasant chin-wag with Lord Rustilion,” Phillip(a) said in a singing voice.
Richard had to laugh. His director, Lord Rustilion, held his office by virtue of his social position: an aristocrat, yet he supported New Government. He even defended Richard’s department. He just didn’t see the necessity. Richard’s activities appeared to puzzle him.
* * *
“Is the Pellon property so important?” Lord Rustilion said, eyes roving about his office, anywhere but on Richard’s face.
“Perhaps. The Pellon family can’t afford to maintain it.”
Lord Rustilion pondered that statement. He said doubtfully, “I guess the house is old.”
Richard said carefully, “Old doesn’t automatically bestow historical worth.”
“Hmmm.” Lord Rustilion pushed over cream and sugar, and Richard prepared his obligatory cup of tea. Every meeting with Lord Rustilion involved tea. The ritual gave the man something to focus on when his questions faltered.
“So why evaluate it?”
“It does have ties to King Erick’s reign.”
“Ah.”
“The land could possibly be transferred, in future, to the Commons Project.”
“Yes, yes. You, ah, have an interest there?”
“Sure,” Richard said. The Commons Project—a proposal to set aside land for public agricultural use—was the latest burning issue in committee meetings. Every time Richard got cornered by some overeager clerk or ambitious fellow functionary, the first question was always, “Are you involved in Com-P?” followed by confidential prattle: “George got asked to do a paper for Minister Fallon.” And: “Robert heard the latest update direct from Minister Belemont,” the head of the Commons Project and the Ministers’ Council.
Richard did a lot of “uh-huhhing” in these encounters.
He glanced now at his notes. “As for Lord Simon’s property—”
