Introductions

Our group returned to Morocco. It was starting to feel like a second home for me. Being here was comfortable.

This opinion did not seem to be shared by Ms. Chapman. “Why did we return here?” she asked as Larry snipped off her plastic wrist restraint.

“There are plans to develop as well as items to discuss,” explained the new gentleman. This felt like an accurate descriptor of him. He wasn't tall, being an inch or so shorter than myself, and he was mostly deprived of hair, apart from a dark 'U' shaped fringe. On the plus side, he was wearing a suit, which put him a step above me in the natty department. There was also a calmness about him, a quiet reassurance that all would be dealt with successfully. I got no feeling of panic from him, which was helpful under the circumstances. I had some panic for him it he wanted it.

If Ms. Chapman picked up on any of these gentlemanly qualities they did nothing to alter her opinion of the situation. “Oh really? Who are you to make such a decision for us?”

This questioning of his position seemed to politely wound him. “I am an employee of this fine establishment. As such I feel a certain... connection with it and wish to see it preserved, not damaged by mere hooligans.”

I massaged my freed wrists. “We seem to be past the point of mere hooligans sir.”

Ms. Chapman was not yet done. “I am an employee of the Museum and I don't find you familiar. At all.”

“Are you, perhaps, seeking to express the thought that you know all the employees of this establishment and, therefore, any individual unknown to you cannot also be an employee?” he questioned.

“Well, no,” she admitted. “I have worked here for a number of years and do know most of the other long time employees.”

“Are you now trying to call me old?” he wondered.

“No more than I'm trying to say that I'm old,” she defensively replied.

The man smiled at her kindly. “I fear I must admit that I have you at something of a disadvantage. You see, I recognize you as Diana Chapman but you appear to not recognize me.”

“It's not an appearance,” she reassured. “I don't recognize you.”

“For some reason, you look familiar to me,” I noted. It was weird, but the more I observed him, the more comfortable he felt to me.

It was now my turn to receive his smile. “That is most gratifying to hear.” He extended a hand. “Mr...?”

“Patrick Thompson. If we've met before, I can't say I remember your name but I must also admit to being horrible at remembering names. Faces, yes, but not names.”

We shook hands. “James P. Thorndyke.”

I considered this for a moment. “The name's not ringing a bell I'm afraid.”

He showed no signs of disappointment. “No matter. You can't have everything.”