Creations by William Mitchell Page B

what’s your theory on the guy?”
    Max paused before answering. “He’s someone who’s spent his entire working life using technology that just fifty years ago would have seemed impossible, but he takes it for granted because it already exists and he can see it round him every day. But as soon as you ask him to look ahead, at things that seem impossible now but one day won’t be, it’s as if some kind of mental block comes down. If he hasn’t seen it done already then there’s no point trying.”
    “But didn’t you have your doubts when we started this?”
    “Yes, and I still do, but I never doubted it was possible. We just — we need to be careful, that’s all.”
    They remained silent until they reached Victor’s house, halfway down the coast road on the beachfront. There they filed inside and joined Safi and Oliver at the table where Victor was helping his wife lay things out.
    “You’re in for a treat tonight,” he told them when she was out of earshot. “Marie used to cook for a living. She studied in Brussels for six years.”
    Another five minutes later everything was ready. Victor and Marie said grace in French, a family tradition according to him, and then they started.
    “So what do you think of our little island?” Marie asked Gillian across the table. Her accent gave away her French-Swiss origins much better than Victor’s did.
    “It’s certainly warm enough,” Gillian said. “I’m only just getting used to it. We soon learnt to stay indoors after midday.”
    “But that hasn’t stopped you building up quite a tan, I can see. Of course, you may have been that colour when you arrived here for all I know.”
    “No, I’ve done all this since we got here. I’m spending most of my time outdoors at the moment. I’m a painter, I do wildlife pictures.”
    Even Oliver, who had spent more time indoors than anyone, was several shades redder than when he’d arrived.
    “We spend as much time here as we can,” Marie said. “Usually it’s a nuisance to have to pack up and follow Victor off around the world, but coming here is always a treat.”
    “So you travel round a lot with work, do you?” Tess said.
    “Here and there,” Victor said. “Usually more there than here. I don’t like to think how many times I must have circled the Earth by now. A few I’d imagine.”
    “Victor claims he’s going to retire here,” Marie said, “but somehow I doubt it.”
    “Why, what do you think?” Max said.
    “I don’t think he’ll retire at all,” she said, laughing. “He’ll justkeep on going, dragging me after him.”
    “Of course, this place isn’t always quite so warm,” Victor said. “We’re building up to the storm season at the moment. I’d be getting ready for a couple of weeks of rain if I were you.”
    “Huh, rain,” Oliver said from where he’d been tactfully placed opposite Victor. “I could have stayed at home if that’s what I wanted.”
    “So is that why I’ve been seeing clouds lately?” Max said.
    “It is,” Victor said, “though I’m surprised you noticed them. They’re blown off the lee sides of the neighbouring islands, and the nearest ones are over five miles away. If you can see them from here then it’s a sure sign the rains are coming.”
    “Are they like cloud tails, or vortex streets? Is that what they are?” Safi said.
    “Yes,” Victor said. “That’s exactly what they are. Sometimes they’ll stretch for miles, always downwind of land. The old Polynesian sailors used to navigate the whole ocean using them. It’s called wayfaring, not a map or a compass in sight.”
    Safi was nodding. “They’re amazing when you see them from orbit. They’re like little whirlpools being swept downstream, coming off each side of the island. I once saw a whole chain of atolls giving them off, like a hundred tiny volcanoes all erupting at once. It was breathtaking.”
    She raised her eyes as she was speaking, with a faraway look on her face. It was