'You haven't been nipping into the cooking sherry, have you?' Tom joked.

'But, Tom.' I shook my head, bewildered. 'These things weren't here a minute ago, honestly.' My brother looked down at me, his expression concerned, and when he finally spoke, his voice had lost its mocking edge. 'Listen,' he said, 'why don't we leave the rest of the tour until later? You must be exhausted after this morning.'

'I'm not crazy.'

'Of course you're not. Feel up to a pot of tea?'

I trailed unhappily after him down the stairs.

"That room was empty when I looked.'

'I'm not saying it wasn't. I'm not saying that you didn't see what you said you saw. I just think there's probably a good reason why you saw what you said you saw.'

'I see,' I said. 'Such as?'

Tom lifted his shoulders in a shrug. 'I don't know. You're tired, you've been pushing yourself too hard.... When did you get to bed last night?'

'Late,' I admitted. 'But I can't believe that has anything to do with ...'

'And what time were you up this morning?'

'Just after six. But ...'

'There you are,' he said, raising his hands to emphasize his point. 'You're not getting enough sleep.'

I was familiar with my brother's moods, I waited until the tea was brewed and we were sitting facing each other across the kitchen table, before I dared to contradict him.

'As a matter of fact,' I told him firmly, 'I am getting plenty of sleep. And I'm not tired, honestly. I've not done any real work since I moved in here, I've only unpacked a few boxes.'

'You look tired.'

'Tom'—I smiled at his obstinacy—'listen to me. I am very well rested. I've been sleeping like a log. And dreaming every night, come to that.'

'Really? That's rather unusual for you, isn't it? I thought you hardly ever dreamed.'

'Maybe it's the country air.'

'What sort of dreams?' 'I really can't remember most of them,' I said, frowning slightly as I drank my tea. 'One of them was about a comet, I think. Yes, that was it... there were two comets, one right after the other, and everyone was saying how that meant something terrible was going to happen. What does Freud have to say about comet dreams?'

'Not Freud.' Tom shook his head. 'Jung. And I really haven't the foggiest idea. I didn't study psychology. Which reminds me'—he sat forward suddenly—'Rod Denton is giving a dinner party next Saturday at his house in London.'

'How can my comet dream possibly remind you of Rod Demon's dinner party?'

'Rod did study psychology at college,' Tom explained. 'Among other things.’ Roderick Denton had come down from Oxford at the same time as my brother, but had been destined for rather more worldly pursuits. He had married the daughter of an earl, inherited a house in Belgravia, and was doing quite well for himself in the financial world.

'Anyhow,' Tom continued, 'his parties are usually rather fun. I thought you might care to come with me. Might do you good, getting out for a day.'

'You make it sound as though I've been cooped up here for weeks."

'I only thought'—he shot me a dark, sideways glance— 'that you could use a break from all this work.'

'Well, I could, actually,' I conceded, draining my teacup with a smile. 'Thanks. Next Saturday, you said? What time?'

'Cocktails at six-thirty. You remember where he lives?'

I nodded. 'I'll meet you there, then, if you like. I'm sure my friend Cheryl would be happy to put me up for the night. I can park the car at her place, up in Islington, and take the tube down to Rod's. Okay with you?'

'Fine.'

'Right. Are you ready for the rest of my guided tour?'

'Are you sure you feel up to it?'

'Of course. Besides,' I said, putting an affectionate arm around my brother's shoulders, 'I want you to take a look at my drawing board.'

He frowned. 'I've already seen your drawing board.'

'A really close look, if you know what I mean.'

Tom caught my meaning and sighed heavily. 'Don't bat your eyes at me, love, I know entrapment when I see it." He led the way back up the stairs to the first floor, and I heard a shockingly irreligious oath as his dark head connected a second time with the low ceiling.

'And a good thing it is for you,' he said, turning to me with a broad grin, 'that your neighbors weren't around to hear that'

*-*-*-*

Later that afternoon, I found myself once again on the narrow paved road leading into the village, walking with my face turned toward the wind and reveling in the cool, fragrant country air that blew the packing-box dust from my lungs.

Tom had been gone for nearly an hour. The remainder of his visit had passed smoothly—I had no more hallucinations, and to my great relief, every room we entered had appeared exactly as I had left it. I decided that my brother must have been right, after all. Tom, I reasoned, had an irritating habit of always being right. Perhaps I had been pushing myself too hard, trying to do too much all at once.

I had planned, after he left, to clear away the remains of the morning's impromptu tea party, do the washing up, and try to tighten the leaking tap in the bath, but instead I decided to take Tom's advice and get away from the house for a while.