Mostly Harmless - Douglas Adams [10]
“Yes,” she said, instantly pulling herself back together again.
“Lady, I been looking for you for about an hour. Hotel said they didn’t have anybody of that name, but I checked back with Mr. Martin’s office and they said that this was definitely where you were staying. So I ask again, they still say they never heard of you, so I get them to page you anyway and they can’t find you. In the end I get the office to fax a picture of you through to the car and have a look myself.”
He looked at his watch.
“May be a bit late now, but do you want to go anyway?”
Tricia was stunned.
“Mr. Martin? You mean Andy Martin at NBS?”
“That’s correct, lady. Screen test for ‘U.S./A.M.’ ”
Tricia shot up out of her seat. She couldn’t even bear to think of all the messages she’d heard for Mr. MacManus and Mr. Miller.
“Only we have to hurry,” said the chauffeur. “As I heard it Mr. Martin thinks it might be worth trying a British accent. His boss at the network is dead against the idea. That’s Mr. Zwingler, and I happen to know he’s flying out to the coast this evening because I’m the one has to pick him up and take him to the airport.”
“Okay,” said Tricia, “I’m ready. Let’s go.”
“Okay, lady. It’s the big limo out the front.”
Tricia turned back to Gail. “I’m sorry,” she said.
“Go! Go!” said Gail. “And good luck. I’ve enjoyed meeting you.”
Tricia made to reach for her bag for some cash.
“Damn,” she said. She’d left it upstairs.
“Drinks are on me,” insisted Gail. “Really. It’s been very interesting.”
Tricia sighed.
“Look, I’m really sorry about this morning and …”
“Don’t say another word. I’m fine. It’s only astrology. It’s harmless. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Thanks.” On an impulse, Tricia gave her a hug.
“You got everything?” said the chauffeur. “You don’t want to pick up your bag or anything?”
“If there’s one thing that life’s taught me,” said Tricia, “it’s never go back for your bag.”
Just a little over an hour later, Tricia sat on one of the pair of beds in her hotel room. For a few minutes she didn’t move. She just stared at her bag, which was sitting innocently on top of the other bed.
In her hand was a note from Gail Andrews, saying, “Don’t be too disappointed. Do ring if you want to talk about it. If I were you I’d stay in at home tomorrow night. Get some rest. But don’t mind me, and don’t worry. It’s only astrology. It’s not the end of the world. Gail.”
The chauffeur had been dead right. In fact the chauffeur seemed to know more about what was going on inside NBS than any other single person she had encountered in the organization. Martin had been keen, Zwingler had not. She had had her one shot at proving Martin right and she had blown it.
Oh well. Oh well, oh well, oh well.
Time to go home. Time to phone the airline and see if she could still get the red-eye back to Heathrow tonight. She reached for the big phone directory.
Oh. First things first.
She put down the directory again, picked up her handbag and took it through to the bathroom. She put it down and took out the small plastic case that held her contact lenses, without which she had been unable to properly read either the script or the autocue.
As she dabbed each tiny plastic cup into her eyes, she reflected that if there was one thing life had taught her, it was that there are some times when you do not go back for your bag and other times when you do. It had yet to teach her to distinguish between the two types of occasions.
Chapter 3
The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy has, in what we laughingly call the past, had a great deal to say on the subject of parallel universes. Very little of this is, however, at all comprehensible to anyone below the level of Advanced God, and since it is now well established that all known gods came into existence a good three millionths of a second after the Universe began rather than, as they usually claimed, the previous week, they already have a great deal of explaining to do as it is, and are therefore not available for comment on matters of deep physics at this time.