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I was preparing to scribble a note and shove it through the letterbox when a door slammed somewhere in the house. A few seconds later the front door opened and a rumpled Naismith stood there, blinking at me. It seemed to take several seconds before recognition dawned."Vincent! I'm so sorry. I wasn't expecting ... I was asleep. Just flew in this morning..." Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise..." I made as if to leave but he stepped back, holding the door open, and I walked through, stumbling through a clutter of junk mail and newspapers just inside the doorway. "Been away long?" Couple of months." Naismith was striding down the hallway into the room he used as his study. It had always been my favourite room, with its views across the rolling close-cropped lawn to where the yellowing sun had already dipped behind the South Downs. "Been down under. Australia. Coffee?"His voice drifted through from the kitchen as I strolled over to the window. Someone had been looking after the garden all. Nope, but his reservations had proved entirely justified, and the Summer Paradise became a bitch, moan, and complain hell.He learned the rationale for the refuge to be a rumor from a ‘friend in high places.’ Supposedly, the Swarm was afraid of water. With replicators aboard (who knows how obtained), these prima donnas believed they could sail away from any trouble and live comfortably waited upon until such time (as their political friends assured them would happen) the alien monsters were defeated and they could return home. Aliens were always defeated in movies -- right? Right!Were it not for his super competent staff captain, Jan Tormey, and her equally competent hotel director husband, Ian ‘It’ Tormey (Send for It! Now!), he thought he would probably have gone nuts and run the ‘boat’ aground.Ringmistress of the four-alarm zoo (mixed metaphors -- but accurate) was Anita Davidson, seconded by her husband Brian. Anita was the company’s chief financial officer. She owned enough of.
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