Parking the car in front of the main entrance, he went to the door, which opened as he approached. An actual human servant waited for him.
“Welcome, Lt. Hanson,” this individual said, “I’m Duffy, the butler. We’ve been expecting you. Gianna will see you in a few minutes. Let me show you to the library and if you’re in need of any refreshment after your long drive, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”
Feeling as if he’d wandered into a historical trideo (who had human butlers anymore?), Trevor politely refused the offer and a short walk later through echoingly empty corridors, was left alone in the library. There were actual books, but more interesting to him were the large paintings on the walls and scattered around the space on easels. He’d never seen real paintings before—most art nowadays was in holographic form. He went from one to the next, finding himself entranced by the colors. The canvasses were done in a variety of tones , surrealistic images that could be clouds, or nebulae or whatever the viewer wanted them to be. A small group off to the side was more realistic although done in an impressionistic style. He was no art expert! He was riveted by one which appeared to him to be a man, with three shadows, as if the subject could move between the forms as he chose.
“I did the play of shadows and man a year ago,” said a cheerful voice behind him. “I haven’t decided what to call it formally. The right title can take a long time to arrive in my head.”
He spun around, heart pounding, not used to anyone being able to enter his space without him knowing it. The damn painting had drawn him into its spell.
Gianna Nadenoft stood on the threshold, dressed in a flowing pink garment, with an animal by her side. The pair moved forward toward him in unison.
He was positive it was her, having looked at the few photos available in the historical databases Maeve had found. Her face had the same shape, although now she was an adult and her hair was still a riotous explosion of ebony black curls, held under minimal control today by a pink headband. She had a splash of paint on one cheek and sparkling green eyes.
She came to stand next to him, studying the painting as if she hadn’t been the one to create it. “I’m in a more hyper realism phase now actually.” With a smile she offered her hand, “Gianna Nadenoft.”
He introduced himself, wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Her subtle perfume wafted around him in a beguiling manner which he was positive she didn’t intend and Trevor lectured himself sternly to treat this as a business meeting, not a blind date. He might be assigned to be her escort but there was nothing personal between them, nor likely to be. Personal protection couldn’t be done right if the protector had feelings for the protectee. Best to stamp out any slightest surface attraction to the woman now. He stiffened his spine.
Unaware of his personal struggles, she continued to make conversation. “And this is Verlaine, my Tajikka service animal,” she said, stroking the creature’s back. Verlaine was the size of a small pony, with a vaguely equine face and legs, but a more canine body and tail. Verlaine’s fur was a long, shimmering white, with hints of gray here and there.
Moving away from Gianna, the doglike creature sniffed his hand, eyed him up and down, gave him a tentative lick and sat at his mistress’s feet. “He likes you,” she said, based on the scant evidence. “He never takes to anyone so quickly. A good sign for sure. I’ve been searching for signs and omens ever since the subject of this damn trip came up. I wanted my brother to be married here, on Brumel Three but of course his fiancée insisted on being married on her homeworld. I guess I’m not only an eccentric artist, I’m rather demanding too. Spoiled since I was a kid, or so people say when they don’t think I’m listening.” Gianna laughed at her own self-deprecating humor and the warm sound reached a place inside Trevor’s heart he’d thought was long frozen, if not dead. “I’m taking a break from working on my latest commission and I’m starved,” she said. “We can talk outside while I refuel. Painting is hard work.”
“I’ve never painted anything,” he said, as she led him outside through a set of doors at the far end of the library. “When I was a cadet, the upper-class students used to make us swab the decks of the training battlecruiser by hand though.”
“Not remotely the same thing,” she said with asperity although he could tell he’d amused her by the glance she gave him, those huge green eyes brimming with mirth.
A table had been set up in the shade of several large trees, with massive flowerbeds all around and a fountain nearby lending the soothing sounds of flowing water to the afternoon. Gianna pointed to his chair and took her own before selecting a small frosted cake and setting it on her plate. “Please, make yourself at home. I have real Terran coffee or a variety of other beverages.”
He selected a cup of coffee and a small sandwich and sat. This was the strangest assignment he’d ever had. The longer he sat with her, the more peaceful he felt, however. The setting was beautiful and he had no responsibilities aside from being ready to escort Ms. Nadenoft if she decided to take the trip. Trevor was at a loss for how to broach the subject of the voyage but he wasn’t here on a social call. Duty nagged at him.
“I never discuss the events of my childhood,” she said suddenly, not in a challenging way but more as a flat statement of fact.
“All right.”
There was silence for a few more moments. He knew she was staring at him but he was watching a pair of incredibly fluffy ground rodents chasing each other in a highly amusing fashion, quarreling over a nut. “I don’t discuss my past either,” he said finally, meeting her gaze, “So I’d say we’re even. Now we’ve covered that, what shall we talk about? Your home here is quite lovely.”
“Yes, we’re even as far as what events we keep off limits. I like the concept. Of course now I’m curious to know what it is you don’t discuss. My history is unfortunately searchable and legendary, whether it should be or not.” She compressed her lips tightly as if cutting herself off from more comments relating to traumatic events of the past. In a more superficial, social voice, she said, “Thank you for the compliment on the house—this estate has been in my mother’s family since early times on this planet. She was extremely wealthy and my father was a precious gems merchant. He made jewelry on occasion too, which must be where I got my artistic bent.”
He visualized the paintings in the library. “Do you sell your works? You mentioned a commission—”
“I’m quite famous,” she said with a demure smile. “For more than having been in the wrong place at the wrong time as a child. My paintings are in high demand. Would you like to see the one I’m working on?”
The sheer range of styles and subject matter he’d seen in the library had been intriguing and although he was no art connoisseur he found he was curious to see more. His hostess had a unique way of viewing the world and interpreting it for others. “Very much.”
With no further discussion she rose and set off along one of the garden paths, the Tajikka keeping close to her side. Trevor took a hasty swallow of the remnants of his coffee, reflecting he was going to get spoiled having so much of the real stuff in such a short time, between Gianna’s hospitality and the captain’s generosity. He hastened to catch up to her, his longer stride covering the distance easily.