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He ate slowly, drank an extra cup of coffee, left a big tip, and got on with packing. By cocktail hour he had cleaned his room and stashed his belongings in a footlocker and a duffel bag. The easel and the painting gear stayed, part of the decor. He packed his best brushes, his watercolors, and a block of good paper.
"Good money," Morgan said. "For good reason." "Did you sell everything?" "Just about. Kept my tools, a couple of boxes of books, some clothes. Kept the cat, Jeremy, but he jumped ship on Deer Isle at my father's. Oh yeah, my notebooks, a footlocker full I was wondering if you'd stash them for me. I'd hate to lose them; they go all the way back." "Sure. Maybe you'll write a book one of these days."
She searched it for clothing, and found nothing. She went through four more dormitory rooms before she came upon anything she could use brief shorts, clearly made for a man, and a loose, white tunic. It wasn't suitable; it wasn't the way she wanted to be dressed when she faced him. But it had to do. Mryna was pawing through a footlocker looking for boots when she heard a hesitant step behind her.
The driver, a stocky, blue-eyed Finn with a corporal's chevrons, followed him, and two privates got out from behind, dragging after them a box about the size and shape of an Army footlocker. McKenna was halfway up the drive before he recognized Rand. Then he stopped short. "Well, Jaysus-me-beads!" He turned suddenly to the corporal. "My God, Aarvo; you said his name was Grant!"
"They're going downhill. On the other hand, if they weren't, I wouldn't have any work." "Rot," Joe said, "your enemy." "Neglect," Morgan said. They finished breakfast and hauled Joe's footlocker to the barn. "I'm going to have a book shop when I retire," Morgan said. "The fortress and the cork," Joe said, putting down one end of the footlocker in a room filled with books.
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