For the occasion, Nessa had baked coconut crumpets. It was an experiment, but she was very glad of the result herself. She brought them to the museum in a folded cotton cloth. All hard work had come to this; a museum, and she thought it quite beautiful. She could already imagine the plants she would suggest Dick to grow there, welcoming the visitor
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She came up smoothly beside Adrian as he studied one of the pieces. "What do you think of our island museum?" she asked, turning her head to study his expression.
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"You're still an asshole for leaving me," he murmurs, but there's a smile on his lips when he thinks of him, and his other favorite redheads safely home.
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"It seems appropriate I find you here," I said as I approached. "I haven't talked to you in far too long."
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It takes a genuine effort of will to pull back from the intimacy of his thoughts to turn and greet Polly with a smile. "Hi Polly. It probably is appropriate since this," he says with a sweeping gesture to encompass the museum. "Is probably the reason."
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And an idea was forming in my mind. I'd talked to William de Worde about keeping my goodbye letters safe, to be distributed when I disappeared. But they might be even safer here. This was an appropriate place for them.
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He stared at one of the exhibitions with an expression of complete concentration in the vague hope that he could draw some meaning from it.
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He thought it a pity he had nothing to donate - the things he could've shown them, if he'd been able - but was content just to wander through, admiring the architecture and the exhibits, trying not to get sandwich crumbs all over the place.
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It was brilliant, this museum and it would be much more if people got more interested in it. And they would if he had anything to say in it. (And he did have anything to say it, every wednesday evening on the radio.)
To be quite honest, he expected more drinks, but one supposed one had to do with what one was given. Coconut crumpets in this case. He took a bite and made his way to the time-line.
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