Dee’s summer house had once stood. Jade, who had traded in her normal working attire for a pair of light cotton slacks and a loose fitting silk blouse, waited there gazing out at the peaceful water of the Thames. She watched scullers darting across the river channel like water skippers, thinking about the people that might once have contemplated the same view: Dee, himself, Queen Elizabeth, who visited her favorite astrologer on several occasions, and of course, the man whom she was most interested in, Gil Perez. She was alone, though Dorion and the security detail were in a car parked nearby on Mortlake High Street. “Miss Ihara?” She turned to greet the speaker, a fit looking man in his late twenties or early thirties. It was not Roche, she was certain of that; a personal assistant or more likely a bodyguard. She affected her most supercilious demeanor. “Doctor, actually.” The man blinked as if the distinction meant nothing.
