A Heartbreaking Intrusion

Arabella’s bottom barely touched the swivel chair behind the reception desk at Hunter and Wells Laboratories. Leaning over a book, one hand supporting her forehead whilst the other pressed the pages open, she was reading a story about a mad scientist, a certain Dr Hoenikker, who had invented a weapon of mass destruction named Ice 9, capable of freezing the entire earth. The open pages in question recounted that a frozen corpse, contaminated with the lethal ice crystals, threatened to slip into the ocean, as the supposedly impenetrable waterside castle it lay in crumbled, having just been destroyed in an accident involving a burning plane from a ceremonial air display. It was somewhat of a climax in the story that had kept Arabella reading all night. It was now eight-thirty in the morning, and she felt herself on the cusp of grasping the meaning of what had been an eventful but highly enigmatic tale. She would later fall asleep at her desk with her head on her forearm, content to have pierced the mystery of a book the librarian had dismissed as ‘meaningless but witty jumble, without even a distinguishable main character’.

But for now, a shadow loomed over the counter.

‘Tina Delgrave,’ came its voice. ‘I’m here to see Dr Sneeuw. Could you point me to his office?’

Arabella spread her fingers across the double page, her mind established a tight grip on the thread of the story and she lifted her chin to frown at a neatly dressed woman with a sleek blond bob in a camel coloured coat.

‘Do you have an appointment?’ she asked. ‘He never receives anyone before ten A.M.’

‘It’s a highly important matter and I will be out of town already by ten,’ replied Tina.

‘Well. Fifth floor. Office four. But I doubt they’ll let you in up there. I hear his morning ritual is kinda sacred.’

And she slipped back into the chapter about the sliding corpse, ignoring Tina’s thanks.

Tina crossed the rather splendid lobby, conscious of the clunking of her heels on the marble floor, to where an old man sat waiting in front of closed lift doors. The gold badge on his uniform said his name was Jerry, and Jerry stood now to assist Tina on the next stage of her journey.

‘Which floor, madam?’

‘Fifth please.’

Jerry’s pale blue eyes looked at her searchingly.

‘But there’s only Dr Sneeuw works up there now, and he -’

‘Doesn’t see anyone before ten A.M?’ interrupted Tina.

‘Why yes madam. It’s not recommended to disturb him before.’

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ Tina looked at the lift buttons expectantly.

Jerry turned to his work, but his silver curls shook slightly as he set the lift in motion, and as the two strangers ascended together he peered at Tina in consternation. Every weekday morning for the past thirty-four years Jerry had transported first Dr Sneeuw’s secretary, Mrs Sims, to the fifth floor, exchanging pleasantries about the weather and her husband’s health. This happened around seven-thirty. Then at eight o’clock sharp the stern scientist himself would enter the lift and, staring out from under his black bowler hat, would not utter a word until exiting, when he would always say ‘Thank you Jerry. Have a good day now’. Recently a third passenger had joined the exclusive fifth floor club, a young lab assistant named Horace, who would arrive systematically around seven minutes late, flustered and carrying a large bunch of bananas, asking Jerry ‘Has Dr Sneeuw arrived yet?’ to which Jerry would reply, ‘Yes, seven minutes ago,’ and Horace would deflate in self deprecation, and Jerry would reassure him, ‘You know the old man is very busy till ten’.

Following that no-one would request transportation to the fifth floor until after ten o’clock.

Until today.

The lift delivered Tina to the fifth floor. The dimly lit corridor was noiseless, save a few muted cries from what she could only suppose were lab monkeys. ‘Clunk,’ went her right heel, breaking the near silence, as she began her search for office four.

Presently she came to a door with the silver sign ‘Dr Sneeuw’ and knocked clearly three times. When no-one answered she pushed the door ajar and entered just her head. Wide eyes under puffed lids and a tight grey knot of netted hair stared back at her.

‘Whatever… ?’ Mrs Sims, who only an hour ago had been jovially finding new things to say about the rain to Jerry, let her voice trail off.

‘I’m here to see Dr Sneeuw,’ Tina now brought her full body into the office and closed the door behind her. To the left towered a set of dark-stained double oak doors, ominously closed.

‘Whoever let you up?’

‘Well, the receptionist and the lift attendant made quite a good team.’

‘Reading was she, the girl?’ enquired Mrs Sims.

Tina thought back.

‘Yes I think she was actually. Can I see Dr Sneeuw now please?’

‘You’ll have to come back at ten,’ replied Mrs Sims sliding her hand underneath her desk.

Tina turned towards the double doors but Mrs Sims leapt up and got there first, guarding the entrance as if Hades himself lay in wait.

She looked both fierce and afraid. In response, Tina oscillated between fear and pity. At that moment the door to the corridor opened behind them. A young man in a white coat with dark shiny hair plastered to his head looked at the two women through perfectly round spectacles.

It was Horace, and, like every morning, Horace had been enjoying a banana with Lucie, his favourite chimp. As he stood in the doorway now, the warm feeling in his belly that he derived from sharing his fruity breakfast gave way to surprise. Back in the lab, Lucie sat forgotten on his desk, the scent of hair pomade fresh on her fingers.

‘You pressed the emergency button, Mrs Sims? Who is this?’ he gestured to Tina.

‘Oh Horace, I don’t know, but she wants to see Dr Sneeuw!’

‘Dr Sneeuw!’ Horace drew his shoulders back and his round eyes looked even rounder behind the thick lenses. ‘Before ten!’

Tina looked from one shocked face to the other, and began to wonder what it was that kept the old man so busy before ten o'clock.

‘I’m sure he’ll understand when I tell him what an urgent matter it is,’ she ventured.

Horace’s eyes widened further.

‘Look, I just have to talk to him about - ’

Tina advanced towards Mrs Sims who still guarded the double doors, but Horace jumped to the old lady’s side.

‘No! It doesn’t matter what it’s about,’ he held both hands in front of him, intricately lined pink palms facing Tina. ‘He must not be interrupted before ten.’

Mrs Sims ran to the phone on her desk.

‘Hello reception? Send Brian! We have an intruder!’

Almost instantly a big bearded security guard blocked three quarters of the doorway.

Brian was grumpy. Brian had been watching the beautiful receptionist, who chose to read instead of talk to him. He had languished this way for the last four hundred and sixty six weekday mornings, which was the total amount of mornings he had worked there. He had been comforting himself with a cream puff while he sat hoping for a word or a glance from Arabella. Icing sugar from the unfinished pastry still whitened his beard and cream clung to one end of his moustache.

‘What’s the problem?’ he boomed down at the withering secretary and the shiny top of Horace’s small head.

‘She wants to see Dr Sneeuw!’ they answered in unison, pointing at Tina.

Tina watched as the square bearded jaw dropped and the eyes under heavy brows widened.

And then, behind the block of Brian, more steps sounded in the corridor. Excited voices whispered to one another, and faces began to appear around - mostly lower than - Brian’s shoulders.

He turned to face them.

‘What do you all want?’

‘Jerry told us someone wants to see Dr Sneeuw,’ said a young woman, with clogged mascara and scarlet red lips.

‘Before ten!’ added another spectacled young man in a white coat.

‘Never in all my days…’ began an old man in tweed, shaking his head.

Horace stepped forward to see the assembling crowd, forgetting for a moment his post as guard of the underworld, and leaving a clear path between Tina and the dark double doors.

Seizing the opportunity, Tina sprung towards the doors, pushing them open with both hands.

Horace turned to look in dismay.

Silence fell on the spectators.

Mrs Sims let out a small gasp.

Tina stood for a moment between the half open doors.

An old man sat with his back to her, looking out over shining slate roofs and smoking chimneys. His bowler hat lay on an empty desk, and he puffed gently on a pipe. He swivelled his chair around and looked through the smoke at Tina.

‘Good morning,’ he smiled.

‘Hello doctor Sneeuw,’ replied Tina. ‘I do apologise for disturbing you so early, but we’ve run into some issues, and I don’t know how to fix this alone.’

‘Please come in dear, and close the doors. The others will want to get back to work now.’

He looked past her at the silent gathering.

The crowd watched the heavy doors swing shut and a murmur washed over them before they dispersed.

‘Well, I shall have to talk to the receptionist about this,’ snapped Mrs Sims to Horace. And Horace stood watching as she picked up the phone to call the front desk, unsure whether it would be appropriate to return to Lucie or wait until Mrs Sims had finished scolding Arabella.

Brian was already back with his cream puff, and he watched Arabella swear under her breath when the phone rang.

Mrs Sims was unaware that Arabella had just reached the last page of her book. A wiseman with dark mysterious eyes, one of the only survivors of Ice 9 on Earth, was about to conclude the story with pearls of wisdom of the kind which Arabella would spend many more wakeful nights seeking, turning pages, letting words resonate in her soul.

But first, she must speak with Mrs Sims. The wiseman would have to wait.

‘Yes Mrs Sims?’

Brian watched as she coiled the telephone cable around her fingers. He didn’t mind the bitten nails. She rolled her eyes and threw back her head. He loved how her curls bounced.

‘Yes Mrs Sims,’ she said. ‘I know nobody is to come up before ten. But she was very insistent.’

Brian saw Arabella’s cheeks reddening.

‘I’m sorry Mrs Sims.’

Then the rosy cheeks billowed as she blew out air, making her lips swell.

‘It won’t happen again Mrs Sims.’

Brian was alarmed. There was an expression on her face now he hadn’t seen before, a wildness in her eyes.

‘It won't happen again because I quit, Mrs Sims. After my nap.’

And she slammed the phone down, and picked up her book.

‘I'm sick of these interruptions,’ she said to Brian, before returning to the wiseman on the page.

Brian licked the cream off his fingers and stared at the crumbs in the empty paper bag. After sitting motionless for several minutes he rose and said to Arabella, ‘Well, I’m off to the bakery’.

But Arabella already dozed on her forearm. Her curls tumbled over the open book. Her cheek pressed on her delicate wrist. Brian reached over her head to take the phone off the receiver.

Then he walked slowly away.