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Inside the spa,
you literally step into a different world: the music is cool jazz piano and
saxophone; the décor and furnishings of the lounge area are modern.
Notices
on bulletin boards tell of upcoming golf tournaments; of procedures for
checking out croquet equipment and reserving tennis courts; suggested scenic
walks about the estate; sign-up sheets for skiing and camping excursions in the
North of England and Scotland; dress codes to observe when using the saunas,
Jacuzzis and swimming pool. This
is a huge facility you’re standing in. The beige-violet carpet is striking. You
see numerous seating areas with round glass tables surrounded by chairs with
cushions in bright floral patterns. Ideal spots, you think, for daytime
reading, sharing tropical drinks and conversation, or perhaps a game of bridge.
You like it here. The room is alive, though no one is present. Or
so you thought.
You
walk over to the pool entrance to try out the plastic card. The door slides
open. You step onto the tiled floor on the upper level of a double-deck
facility. The area is silent, save the intermittent hiss of steaming Jacuzzis.
Below, an Olympic-sized pool with potted palm trees between circular columns
along the length of its right walkway, floor-to-ceiling picture windows and
columns along the left.
You descend the steps. In
one of the far corners, is an electromechanical timing device that swimmers
apparently use to train or compete. The hands of the timer are frozen at 59
minutes and 4 seconds—a reading that suggests training for long-distance
events.
The
receptionist?
All
the while, you’ve been walking along with your briefcase in one hand and that
mysterious controller in the other, absent-mindedly tapping your thumb on its
curved blue surface. Nothing happens, save the light and the hum; you just like
the feel of it.You’re
about to mount the tiled steps when you see her.
