Many thanks to those of you who have reviewed. Yes, it's complete, barring any more corrections, though it's part of what I hope will eventually be a series, each in one character's 'voice'. I'm just slow at finding my way around the system and forgot to tick the right box! I could usefully employ John to do this stuff for me.

Mostly TV-verse but N.B. characterisations are sometimes off-beat / a tad AU. As and when I get some more writing time, the Scott-Jeff-Grandma thing will eventually go somewhere, I promise.

This version has corrections to Chapter 2, with thanks and apologies to Quiller. Doh - how could I have forgotten that?! But the tatt stays.

...

Standard disclaimer: Much as I would like to, I do not own any of them and have merely borrowed them from their present owners. This is my first fanfic – please review if you are minded. The descriptions are not quite canonical (whose are?) but genetically almost plausible.

P.S. Am I the only person who finds Grandma just a little sinister?

…

Introductions

Two Days in the Life of Lady P.

Day 1.

- This is no way to treat a Porsche -

They were travelling slowly along the interstate. So very slowly. Aggravatingly, almost-enough-to-make-one-forget-one's-upbringing slowly. They hadn't so much as brushed with a speed limit. Penelope wondered idly how the very nice young man next to her would react if she hit him over the head and grabbed the wheel.

He seemed oblivious to the tail-gating, blaring horns, and burning rubber as other vehicles accelerated past him on either side. Sorely tempted as she was, she reined in her increasing irritation, and contented herself with a question.

"How far, darling?"

"To the airstrip? Just another fifteen, sixteen miles or so."

- Half an hour at this rate -

She stole a sideways look at the driver. They had met for the first time an hour earlier, when he had collected her from the International Airport.

She'd been expecting Jeff himself, and had initially strained to see above the crowd in the terminal, looking for his familiar tall figure and shock of greying-auburn hair. When it was clear he wasn't there, she'd tipped a porter to wheel her luggage out to the pick-up zone.

A little later the red convertible had drawn alongside and a young man leapt out over the door, surprisingly light on his feet for such a big man. Very tall, built like a bear, but pleasant looking. His light chestnut hair appeared unruffled by the journey. The flamboyant pale green suit over Hawaiian shirt would have looked ridiculous on most men, but he carried it off well enough.

"Lady Penelope?"

She had been startled. "Yes?..."

She had opened her mouth to protest as he began to bundle her suitcases energetically into the trunk of the car.

"Dad couldn't make it and sent me to pick you up."

Dad? The light dawned. "Ah. You must be John."

He'd stopped, a confused look flitting briefly across his eyes.

"No, ma'am. Maybe you're confusing me for my brother? I'm Virgil." He had seized her hand, dwarfed it in his enormous grip, and shaken it vigorously.

...

It had started some months earlier when she and Jeff had met at a charity function in London - although it was some time later before she realised the meeting had not been accidental. She had chatted vacuously to the legendary billionaire about all sorts of inconsequential things, but he had asked for her card, and the next day he had called her.

She was a little surprised that he was interested in her. At first she was flattered by the number of questions he had asked, but they became gradually more probing, and she had begun to feel uneasy. Jefferson Tracy did not seem like the type to go for dizzy young blondes.

It appeared that her carefully-constructed persona was more transparent than she had thought.

It was not until a second visit some weeks later that Jeff had admitted he knew all about the occasional work she did for British Intelligence, and had broached the topic of his plans for her. She had not taken him seriously.

The talk of a top-secret outfit with state-of-the-art equipment designed for rescue work, and a global network of intelligence gathering spies sounded like the ramblings of a wealthy if slightly deluded man with a superhero complex.

For the time being, though, she indulged him, for by then the relationship had unexpectedly – as they say – blossomed, and playing along with his wild imaginings wasn't going to hurt it any.

He visited her once more in the autumn – or as he so charmingly put it – the fall - this time at the stately home she had inherited as the only child of a minor Earl; the dear, dear departed Brigadier.

There, on their last night together, Jeff had started to tell her about his island home and a little about his private life. Only a little, as it had turned out.

"So why don't you come over to see the work we've been doing? You can get a feel for the outfit and see whether you'd like to be part of the operation. If you come next month you can meet the family too." Then he grimaced faintly. "Everybody's home for thanksgiving – Mother will be there, John will be back from…."

"John?"

"My son."

"Your son?" Penny was a little bemused.

When things had first started getting serious she'd done some scouting online. A girl needs to do her research. But meaningful information on Jeff Tracy was surprisingly sparse. There was no mention of a family.

Jeff was – at present counts – in the top five on the world's rich list. Surely if there had been a Tracy heir there would be some sign of it somewhere? She would certainly have seen the name on any self-respecting 'eligible bachelor' list, at the very least.

Perhaps, then, the Tracy son wasn't old enough to be on the lists. Or he wasn't a bachelor.

"Is he grown up?"

"Some of the time," Jeff had retorted wryly.

"With family of his own?" she had asked.

It occurred to her, as she suppressed a faint feeling of panic, that Jeff was old enough to have grandchildren. She was not overly fond of children.

"Twice married. If you count two weeks as a marriage," Jeff had said sourly. She seemed to have hit a sore spot. "Twice divorced. Both his wives cited infidelity and I have no reason to disbelieve them. And he'd think absolutely nothing of trying to steal his old man's girl. So flirt all you like. But…" he left it unsaid, but there had been a slightly possessive glint in his eye.

Penny shifted uncomfortably and tried to lighten the tone. "No Mrs Tracy?" she asked mischievously.

Jeff deliberately misinterpreted her. "Mother will be there, yes, I told you."

"I meant your wife."

His face had remained utterly impassive, and yet somehow his expression had changed, softened a little. "She's been dead a long time."

"I'm sorry, Jeff," she had said simply.

...

And so she had given Parker and Cookie a fortnight off, and jetted out to the States, and here she was, trundling along the highway.

Virgil had, after an eternity, pulled in at a small private airfield. He had kept up an easy chatter throughout the journey, pointing out this and that along the way. He was a very likeable young man, she reflected, but so deadly earnest.

She issued a stern mental reminder to herself.

- Americans simply do not understand sarcasm -

She hoped his flying was faster than his driving. Otherwise they risked running out of fuel mid-Pacific. But she needn't have worried. Virgil, it seemed, was much more at home in the air.

Much of the journey was uneventful, hundreds of miles of open ocean. So she could not help a tiny thrill at the first sight of the island.

"There you go, Lady Penelope, that's what we like to call home."

It rose sharply from the vast still expanse of water, the volcanic shape brooding over the millpond that surrounded it.

"Goodness. How big is it?"

"About three by eight, with..."

"Base to one-niner?"

Virgil grabbed the handset.

"One-niner receiving you."

"Have you on radar. You're clear for touch-down, Virj."

"Nothing else in the vicinity?"

"Nothing due back for a few hours. Wind speed on the ground is pretty negligible. Just a light breeze west-south-west."

"F.A.B, bro'."

Penny pricked up her ears.

- F.A.B.? -

Virgil settled back and turned to smile at her. Eyes an extraordinary shade of amber, but deep-set, under heavy brows.

- Not Jeff's eyes–

She wondered about Jeff's wife.

"That was my brother, John." He grinned. "Did Dad warn you about him by any chance?"

"The lothario? Yes, dear," she murmured. "But what a dark horse your father is –I wasn't expecting two of you."

"Two of…." he stopped and shot her another confused look.

"I had no idea Jeff had two grown sons. He neglected to mention you," she admitted. She suddenly realised how this must have sounded and tried vainly to airbrush it a little. "I'm so sorry, dear. I presume it's because you're a perfect gentleman."

Virgil shook his head, a little wonderingly. "Just let me get this absolutely straight. Dad mentioned Johnny to you – but that's it?" He sniffed and fell silent.

He pointed the nose of the little jet down, and they came in impossibly low across the water, a pebble skimming the giant millpond.

- Oh dear - Penny mused. She'd offended this very nice young man, she was sure. But if she had, it was short-lived, because he turned to her and flashed her a brilliant smile as they taxied.

"Well, welcome to the island, Lady Penelope. We're real happy to have you as a guest. We're a pretty laid-back lot, but we do have just one rule, for your own safety. If you hear a loud klaxon go off, you have exactly ten seconds to get out of the swimming pool."

He appeared to be perfectly serious.

Penny pondered this.

- Do they let the pet sharks out?

...

She was still musing over this unlikely imperative as they disembarked, but was no closer to figuring it out as Jeff came forward to meet her. His eyes sparkled as they exchanged pleasantries. He apologised for being unable to meet her, but made no attempt to explain his absence.

Behind them, Virgil struggled a little to pick up her luggage in one go, but eventually managed.

Jeff directed her attention skywards. The cliffs curved steeply upwards, a long way, but close to the top she saw the gleam of glass and steel.

"That's the villa."

"I do hope we're not talking steps here, darling."

Jeff grinned. "The elevator's right this way."

And it was, built into a short tunnel in the rock.

- How much had it cost to install this lift into solid rock? -

Jeff hit two buttons. "I have a couple of things to take care of." The lift began to move smoothly. "Virgil – take Lady P. up to the guest room will you? I'm sure she'll want to freshen up. Then maybe you'd like to join us for drinks by the pool, Penny? I'll have one of the boys show you down."

She raised a quizzical eyebrow. Jeff bent his ear down to her as she moved close and stood on tiptoe to whisper discreetly in his ear.

"The guest room?"

He glanced down at her, a slightly concerned look on his face. He lowered his tone so that Virgil could not easily overhear.

"Mother's here just for tonight. She's awfully old-fashioned, and she doesn't miss much. Please, Penny? Just this one night?" he begged.

His expression was so comical that she laughed. The great Jeff Tracy, afraid of his mother? This was going to be more fun than she thought.

...

An hour or so later there was a soft knock at the door of the 'guest room' – which had turned out to be a large suite that wouldn't have been out of place in a glamorous five-star hotel.

Penny went to the door. There, leaning casually against the deep-set frame, arms and legs folded, was a devastatingly handsome young man.

The Creighton-Ward-ometer of male beauty swung violently clockwise.

She liked to think this internal scale was a purely objective measure. Penny considered herself a connoisseur of all sorts of things. Good wines, music, works of art, et naturellement, male pulchritude.

Virgil had clocked well enough, but this one almost went off the scale. Tall, topping six-feet, though certainly not Virgil's height, and a sleeveless tee showing off some serious upper body strength, he looked like he spent most of his spare time pumping iron. Both arms were heavily tattooed and she saw the flash of a mermaid. The unruly blond hair was shot through with the Tracy auburn. Amber eyes, again. They were wandering over her in curiosity. The slight crook of the nose – broken at some stage? - somehow seemed to add to the overall charm.

Very beautiful indeed, but a trifle young for her taste. Jeff need have no fears. Probably.

"John, I presume?" she said proffering a hand.

The same brief look of confusion she'd seen in Virgil's eyes earlier.

"Er, no, ma'am. I'm Gordon. Dad sent me up to ask if you'd like to join us by the pool. Or in it, if you prefer." He flashed her a mischievous grin, and there was a quick down and up action of the eyes that suggested he would like, very much, to see her in a bikini.

Penny tried to regain her composure. Three grown up sons? The planned fortnight alone with Jeff in the sun seemed to be fast becoming a distant dream. She pulled herself together. It wasn't all bad.

"Not now, darling. But perhaps you and I could cool off another time?" she purred provocatively.

"Flirt all you like," Jeff had said. No harm in making a start.

...

The villa was fairly well what you might expect an outrageously wealthy man to own. The bedrooms were built around the exterior of a huge circular complex the size of a small shopping mall. The interior overlooked the huge hallway below, the whole space flooded with light from the rotunda.

The staircase which spiralled lazily upwards around the rim alone probably cost more than the average Malibu beach-house.

Gordon had taken her downstairs and drawn her into the main living area off to the side of the dome. It was another substantial space, complete with full floor to ceiling windows to take in the view, and a staged area with a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of concert grand perched on it. She wondered if they flew in guest musicians.

She lingered a few moments, admiring some of the art work on the walls. There were some very expensive paintings, and the style was eclectic. Jeff clearly liked good art, but he was not wedded to a particular style. She spotted a couple of well-known impressionist pieces, and a smaller, but exceptionally expensive renaissance piece. Much of the work, though, was modern, and, as a keen art-lover herself, she could spot some rising young stars without as much as a glance at their signatures. One large canvas, a Braquian pastiche, puzzled her. She decided she liked it, but she couldn't place the artist. Frowning, she looked at the initials. G.U.S. It rang no bells. She made a mental note to ask Jeff about it.

Overall the house was impressive. A little smaller than her Kent mansion, perhaps, but even billionaires these days couldn't compete with the Georgians.

"This way, your Ladyship," Gordon gestured.

She followed him out onto the patio which in turn opened onto an enormous pool; this was not your average beach-house pool, it was Olympic-sized, and wider in places. Laned on the house side. At the far end she could see a three-meter springboard and a high-dive platform. The water was occupied by a couple of splashing, noisily excited swimmers. There seemed to be a beach ball concerned, but who or what, exactly might be involved in the game, she couldn't quite make out from this distance.

On reflection, ten seconds might not be such a long time to abandon this particular pool.

Jeff greeted her good-naturedly, gestured to a man who at a guess was in his sixties and attired in traditional Baju Melayu. The man reached for a tray.

"Lady Penelope – meet Kyrano. He runs our household. We couldn't possibly manage without him."

Kyrano gave a short bow. Jeff reached to the tray, and pressed an ice-cold Happy Hollander into her hand.

- Perfect choice. Our Americans cousins do some things right -

To their right, an elderly lady lay on a sun-lounger, reading a magazine.

"Mother? This is Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward."

Penny extended a hand. "Delighted to meet you."

The old lady chuckled and peered at her through heavy spectacles.

"A real English Countess, huh?"

She held tightly to Penny's hand. The drawl was heavy mid-West, a little more pronounced that Jeff's own. Oklahoma. Or was it Kansas? Penny frowned, annoyed at the momentary lapse in recall.

"Was that you flying in earlier, darlin'?"

"Virgil collected her, Mother."

"Oh, you're Virgil's young lady, are you?" The old lady patted her hand. "That's good. Lovely boy, high time he got himself a nice girl." She chuckled knowingly and lowered her voice. "We'll be hearing wedding bells soon, no doubt!"

Penny opened her mouth to protest, caught Jeff's pleading look, shut it again. She extricated herself from the old woman's grasp with some difficulty.

"Lovely to meet you, Mrs Tracy."

"Oh, call me Grandma, dear, everybody does."

Beside her Jeff whistled piercingly, as if summoning a labrador. The swimmers broke off their game and started to swim lazily over.

"Hey, you kids, come and meet Lady Penelope."

A young man and woman emerged from the pool, grabbing towels. Jeff introduced the girl first.

"Tin-Tin, this is Lady Penelope."

A pretty girl, but surely not a Tracy. Her slim bikini-clad body was the colour of acorns, her glistening wet hair jet black, her eyes almost as dark. Penny wondered where she came from. The girl dried a hand quickly and extended it with a faint curtsey. She looked a little overawed.

"Lady Penelope." The English was charmingly accented.

"Tin-Tin is Kyrano's daughter. She lives with us," Jeff said simply. Tin-Tin did not appear to be simply another servant, but Penny suspected this was all the explanation she was going to get.

"Please. Just Penelope. Or Penny if you like."

She was rewarded with a shy smile.

Penny turned her attention to Tin-Tin's companion. Now this surely was a Tracy. He was rubbing vigorously at blonde curls with his towel.

"Sorry about this, your ladyship." He finally finished and shook hands.

"John, I presume?" she asked, a little helplessly.

He jolted comically. "Jeez, I sure hope not." he looked himself up and down suspiciously and looked at Gordon. "Have I morphed or something?"

"Nope. Just the same ugly mutt you always were."

"Ignore him. He has a problem with my obviously superior looks. I'm Alan, Lady…I mean, Penelope."

It made sense, on closer inspection. He didn't look old enough to be twice-married. Barely out of his teens, Penny thought. About Gordon's height and build, but less of it looked like pure muscle. The same strong Tracy bone-structure, but there was a slight sulkiness to the mouth which detracted a little from the looks. Both the puppy fat and the pout he would hopefully outgrow shortly. Jeff's piercing blue eyes he hopefully wouldn't.

Four brothers. Penny was perplexed. How was it that there seemed to be no record of this quartet of billionaire playboys?

"Good to meet you, Alan. My goodness…" She swallowed, almost not daring to ask the next question. "There aren't any more of you, are there?" She shot a sideways look at Jeff. "I thought I was coming for such a nice quiet little holiday."

Jeff's face screwed up a little. She suspected he was actually finding this funny. "Remind me who you've met and who you haven't"

Penny mentally ticked them off. "Virgil, Gordon and Alan, dear, and you war…told me about John, though I haven't actually bumped into him yet."

"Okay," Jeff said. It looked as though he was having some trouble remembering, as he was actually counting them off on his fingers. "Sounds like that just leaves Scott." Was he joking? She looked at him, hoping fervently that he was. But he looked deadly serious.

"Scott?" she asked faintly. "He may be just one Tracy more than I can cope with, darling."

"Don't worry, honey" Jeff told her with dark humour. "He frequently has that effect on the rest of us too."

...

She had finally met the elusive John. As she was on her way in to change for dinner that evening, two men had emerged from the lift talking softly together. They paused as she approached.

- Chalk and cheese -

One was tall, rangy man, almost Virgil's height, but slimly built, and altogether more angular. High cheekbones, lovely bone structure, she noted approvingly. The long blond hair was slicked back neatly into a ponytail. He had been wearing spectacles but he slipped them off, and regarded her with piercing, enquiring blue eyes. He extended a hand slowly. His eyes didn't leave hers for a moment.

"You must be Penelope. It's real good to meet you, ma'am."

"John," she said, with some satisfaction.

He took her hand, and gave a lazy, knowing smile, but his eyes never dropped from hers, his attention utterly focused on her. "I've been looking forward a great deal to getting to know you, ma'am."

She'd seen these tactics before.

- Make a woman feel like she's the only thing in the world that matters –

She extricated her hand somewhat regretfully, and dragged her eyes away from the deep blue pools over to the cheese, who was shuffling impatiently, hands in pockets.

There had been a lottery in the Tracy gene-pool, she reflected, and this poor guy had lost, big-time. He was almost a head shorter than John, a slight, unkempt man with a mop of thinning, unruly hair. Eye colour was impossible to ascertain, as his eyes were hidden behind thick horn-rimmed spectacles. The teeth were crooked. He was dressed shabbily for someone with such a lot of money, and his clothes were stained with something that looked suspiciously like mustard. Penny swallowed a mild feeling of repulsion and extended a hand cautiously. He kept his firmly in his pockets.

"You must be Scott?" she asked uncertainly.

His expression changed. "M-m-m-must I indeed?!" he snapped, and swung about on his heel. As he strode off into the distance, Penny turned, utterly confused now, to John.

"Hackenbacker. Professor Hiram J." John said. "He works closely with us on the technical side of the operation. He lives here on base."

"Hiram J. Hack..hack….Is that a real name?"

"Hackenbacker. We tenda just call him 'Brains'".

"I seem to have offended him."

"Don't mind him. It was probably the Scott reference. Brains is a good guy really, but he's kinda Asperger's. Doesn't like people much, 'specially Scott." He read her querying expression. "Brains designs our planes, Scott tests 'em. Usually to extremes." He grinned. "We call them the 'make 'em and break 'em twins'. They pretty well detest one-another."

- They build planes here? -

"So where can I find Scott?"

"He's off-base right now. Don't worry. He'll come back when he's hungry, always does." He shot her a half-amused glance.

...

Some time later Penny stole a glance at her watch.

"Oh dear," she muttered. "Late again. Parker, however will I manage without you?"

She was used to her clothes being laid out for her. Half an hour late, and she hadn't yet quite put the finishing touches to her make-up. Jeff had said formal dress. Should she wear the tiara?

A soft bell sounded and a voice sounded over an unseen intercom. John's, she thought.

"Clear the pool area please. I repeat, clear the pool area."

- Time to feed the barracudas? -

She giggled at little at the thought. As she reached for her perfume, the glass ornaments on the dressing table began to tinkle. Penny frowned. The tinkling grew louder. The at-first almost imperceptible vibration slowly became a low-pitched roar.

"What on earth…?" Penny gasped. Her hands went to her ears.

The voice on the intercom continued to drone on.

"Scott's on approach right now, folks. Apologises for being late, and says to mind out 'cause he's COMIN' IN KINDA HOT!"

The voice rose to a shout as the roar became truly deafening.

Penny clamped her hands over her ears and tried not to grimace. The roar began to fade, to be replaced by a banging noise. It took some moments before she realised someone was knocking at the door.

"Penny?!"

She opened the door to find Jeff standing there looking resplendent in dinner jacket and black tie.

"Just checking to see how you're getting along."

He drew her out into the circular walkway and stepped back to admire her.

"You look absolutely fantastic." He sounded as if he meant it. Always a good sign.

"Really? I'm almost done, dear." She realised she was shouting.

"Almost?"

She chose to ignore the slight agitation in his voice.

"What was that noise, darling?" she enquired. Jeff shook his head and said something back at her. "Sorry?" she asked. Still a little deaf.

"That…was Thunderbird One."

"And what is a Thunderbird One, exactly?"

He shook his head again and chuckled. "It's kinda hard to explain. I'll get one of the boys to show you tomorrow. Are you ready to go down, now?"

Penny protested. "I just need to powder my nose, darling."

"You look perfect. Dinner's practically on the table." He looked a touch desperate.

"Just ten minutes. Please Jeff."

Her eye was caught by movement on the stairs behind the billionaire. A breathless young man was advancing upwards at an extraordinary velocity from the nether regions of the house. He appeared to be taking the steps at least four at a time, muttering to himself agitatedly all the while. He was dressed in some kind of flying uniform but he was streaked with mud and other indeterminate substances, leaving a trail behind him.

Jeff made an odd growling noise as the newcomer powered passed them, a breath of oil-fume-laden air in his wake. The youngster swung around, moving off backwards, barely more slowly than before. He waved an arm above his head.

"Dad…Lady…you must…Pen….sorry, your Ladyship."

He came to a stop, and hovered indecisively for a moment, danced forward a little, held out a hand, and then realised it was covered in grime. After a quick attempt to wipe it clean on the jump suit, he apparently realised it was a hopeless cause and abandoned the attempt to shake hands. He started to back off again.

"Late, I know….I'm really sorry. Sorry about the touch-down, sir. Shower. I really need to take a shower. Ten minutes. Ten minutes." He held up all ten digits, in case, presumably, they were unclear what ten might mean. "Really, really sorry…" gestured helplessly, and fled.

Penny took another deep breath. This force twelve hurricane was presumably the final Tracy brother. Jeff confirmed it by yelling after his son.

"Scott?! Get your sorry ass back here!"

The reply was lost in the ether. Jeff grunted unhappily.

Penny turned on him sternly. "There you are, you see. We do have ten minutes."

"We can start without him. In fact, that's probably a very good idea…"

"Nonsense."

"You don't know Scott," he grumbled.

"I promise to be done in five minutes," she said firmly.

Jeff let her retire back into the guest room, though the look in his eyes suggested he feared he'd never prise her out again.

Penny sat on the ottoman and closed her eyes. This really wasn't turning out the way she had expected. She exhaled forcefully, opened her eyes again, and reached for her lipstick.

...

By the time Penny reached the top of the stairs ten minutes later, the hurricane had reappeared at the bottom, showered and shaven - and changed, at least in part.

By now Virgil had calmly taken charge, and, having got his brother into cuff-links, was turning his attention to the bow tie, hindered by a considerable amount of squirming.

"Will you stand still?" Virgil complained.

Penny contemplated the newcomer. Mid-twenties, perhaps? Over half a head short of his giant of a brother, an inch or two shy of six foot, perhaps. Slender; like John, just a touch too thin.

- But very, very pretty -

"Dad's going to kill me if I make us any later for dinner."

"He'll kill you if you come in to dinner looking like something that got caught up in Gordon's tow line." Virgil responded evenly. "He wasn't terrifically pleased by the way you brought your 'bird down, either. Stand still for Pete's sakes!"

"I'm late."

"So is Penelope,"

"I hear she's a woman – kinda goes with the territory," the youngster muttered sourly.

Virgil caught sight of Penny on the stairs and gave his brother's tie a warning tug.

"Yeah, well your little manoeuvre blew out a bottle of Dad's thirty-year old single malt and shattered the pool drinks table," he said loudly, and straightened. "You are not flavour of the month in there."

Scott moaned and swore softly.

"Mind your language." Virgil looped a hand around the nape of his brother's neck, pulled him close until their heads touched briefly. An odd gesture, but it seemed to have a faintly calming effect. "There. All done. You set?" he said, and to Penny's amusement actually turned his brother's hands palm-up to inspect them, before finally releasing him.

He glanced up and smiled at Penelope who was descending the last few steps, then crooked his arm in an obvious gesture. She gave him an old-fashioned look but took it, and they made an entrance together, Scott trailing somewhere behind them.

Jeff smirked as he saw them enter. He stepped up and wrapped her free arm firmly around his own, at the same time disengaging Virgil's.

"I'll take it from here, son, if you don't mind."

He shot a filthy look over his shoulder at Scott, standing behind them.

"Good of you to join us, boy. And so quietly."

It prompted a rush of sarcastic comments from around the room.

"Yeah, nice one, Scott…"

"Just land her on the roof next time. It'll do less damage..."

Scott threw up his hands in anguish.

"I'm sorry. Guys. Really, I'm really sorry…everything took forever…" He caught the look on his father's face and mumbled another apology.

Jeff turned to Penny, and said loudly.

"Penny, I thought I had a beautiful old malt to offer you, but apparently I'm right out. What else can I get you?"

...

Shortly they moved off into the dining room and took their places around the table. Jeff held a few thousand dollars' worth of chair for Penny, next to his own seat at the head of the table. Virgil sat himself on the other side of her, and John eased his rangy frame into the seat opposite her, studying her again with that cool, half-amused expression.

Beside her, though, Jeff had caught Scott's sleeve purposefully and the younger man bent low to his father. Penny was close enough to make out the exchange, although she could not really follow it.

"How'd it go, son?" Jeff's tone had changed. Altogether more business-like and less irritated.

"No real problems, sir."

Jeff waited, clearly expecting something more. Scott shrugged.

"There were some problems with the hydraulic supports."

"Why didn't you call for back-up?"

"I knew by the time the cavalry arrived I'd have her out of there. And I did."

"That's hardly the point."

"No, sir."

"I'm putting Alan on standby tonight."

Scott started to protest, but Jeff was having none of it.

"You've been on the go for thirty-six hours straight, boy. You're not fit to fly. Now relax tonight and have a drink if you like. You're not going anywhere tomorrow, either. I have another job for you. Full debrief at oh-nine-hundred."

"F.A.B., sir."

- F.A.B. again? -

Penny was curious. What was all the talk about back-up and cavalry? Had Jeff had duped the whole family into playing along with his hero fantasy?

Meanwhile at the opposite end of the table, Alan was helping his grandmother into her seat. The rest of the Tracy brothers, together with Hackenbacker and Tin-Tin, fell into place. Penny was a little taken aback when Kyrano, the Tracy manservant, came over to seat himself calmly between John and Scott.

A hush fell over the table. Penny had an uncomfortable feeling that she knew what was coming next, and she wasn't wrong. The old lady started to croak out a grace. Penny bowed her head but glanced sideways at Jeff. He was grimacing slightly and scratching his nose. Embarrassment? Wasn't Jeff Tracy one of the more outspoken humanists of his generation?

- Curious -

Grandmama Tracy droned on about friends and good company and thankfulness, oblivious to the coughing around the table, and toe-poking underneath it.

Finally, though, the old lady was done, and the room had broken out again into moderate pandemonium. As soon as glasses were filled, there was a toast.

"Happy thanksgiving, everyone."

"Here's to the farm, grandma."

Kyrano had somehow kept everything from spoiling or going cold, and there was much enthusiastic passing of serving dishes. There seemed to be enough to feed a small rock concert crowd, Penny mused. But, unused to the self-service style, she longed, very briefly, for Parker to appear at her elbow.

Jeff, must have read the look on her face, because he reached over, smiled and served for her.

"Allow me." He shook his head. "They're a boisterous lot. I'm sorry."

"You're very naughty. You might have warned me," she said reproachfully.

He chuckled. "I was afraid you wouldn't have come."

Penny glanced around and her gaze softened to a smile. "Of course I would, darling. It's just going to be more …eventful than I expected. All your boys. Who would have thought it. There are…well, just so many of them. No girls?"

"Well it wasn't for want of trying," he chuckled. "Why do you think there are so many of them?"

Penny's gaze was arrested once more by the sight of Scott, who was still furiously animated, talking non-stop to Gordon. His right arm was hooked loosely around the other youngster's shoulders, pulling him close while he murmured some confidential aside.

While he was doing this, he was simultaneously ladling food, left-handed, with pinpoint accuracy from the serving dish to his plate. As his eyes were firmly fixed on his brother he hadn't actually looked at what he was doing once, and since he was wearing his watch on his left wrist, Penny was also pretty confident he was right-handed. She watched, surreally fascinated. It brought a whole new meaning to the term eye-hand coordination.

By now, most of the considerable contents of the serving dish had worked their way onto his plate, nary a drop spilled. She began to understand why Jeff thought it might be a good idea to start without him, and why Kyrano had provided enough to keep a small army provisioned.

No-one else gave him a second glance, except for…

"Scott Carpenter Tracy!"

The words rang out shrilly enough to stop the whole table in mid-sentence. Alarmed, the perpetrator dropped the serving spoon he was holding. It clattered down noisily and he froze guiltily. His eyes swivelled towards his plate and his colour rose instantly. There were a couple of sniggers from around the table.

"Mind your manners, boy," his grandmother snapped waspishly.

He did not meet his grandmother's eye, but muttered something which may or may not have been "Sorry Gran...skipped lunch…".

Jeff speared a sweet potato, a little irritated.

"Let him eat, mother. He's just pulled a double shift," he grumbled, but not quite loudly enough, Penny noted with amusement, to be audible to the old lady.

Amidst some hilarity and obvious scorn from the other end of the table, Penny turned back and tried to break the awkwardness of the moment.

"Carpenter? That's unusual. Is it an old family name?"

Virgil turned, apparently surprised. "Dad didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what, dear? Believe me, your father hasn't told me very much at all."

"He named us all for the Mercury seven."

"Seven? There aren't any more of you, are there?" Penny was, frankly, alarmed at the prospect.

"No, no." Virgil was quick to reassure her. "Just us five."

- Just! -

"Then who are the Mercury seven, darling?"

Virgil gestured with a fork between mouthfuls. "Astronauts…Mercury – the earliest space programme. NASA chose seven pilots. Dad named us for them." He gestured around the table in turn. "Johnny here is named for John Glenn."

John Glenn she had heard of.

"Scott for Malcolm Scott Carpenter." He lowered his voice. "Don't call him Malcolm …Leroy Gordon Cooper – for Malcolm, read Leroy, but worse; under no circumstances call Gordo Leroy; his idea of retribution usually involves tar and feathers – and…" he struggled a little to gesture round the table "…Alan Shepard."

She dredged something up from the back of her memory. "The man who played golf on the moon?"

"That's right", Jeff said in approval.

John grinned at her. "And Virj drew the short straw. Virgil Grissom Tracy." He ignored the look his brother was dealing him. "Though it could have been worse. The remaining astronauts were called Wally and Deke."

"I think Virgil's a charming name, dear. So Wild West. Was there a reason for this flurry of nostalgia?"

Jeff frowned. "I dunno. Seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Dad was trying to write a book on early space flight, back then. It never did get published. He doesn't like to be reminded." There was an odd softness in John's voice suddenly, that Penny couldn't quite place.

"So change the subject," Jeff advised loudly. Penny made a mental note. Jeff Tracy was clearly not a man who liked to leave a project unfinished.

John did so, dutifully. He ducked under her gaze and did that thing with his eyes again. "How was the journey, Penelope?"

"Slow, dear. Sorry, I meant to say long."

John laughed. He risked his eyes leaving hers long enough to shoot a look at Virgil who blanked him. "Yes, probably a good deal longer than it should have been."

Scott had apparently recovered from his grandmother's berating and had paused long enough in his conversation with Gordon to eavesdrop on this exchange.

"Dear g…" he choked back the blasphemy in time, apparently unwilling to risk another run-in with the old lady. Penny suspected that all the men-folk, Jeff included, had cleaned up their language for the benefit of their guests. "Dad, you didn't send Virj for her, did you? It's a wonder she's not still on the interstate."

"There is nothing wrong with my driving," Virgil said in a dignified manner.

Gordon joined in. "Well, there's nothing wrong with a snail – in its natural habitat. Driving is not your natural habitat bro'."

Virgil drew himself up to his full six-four-or-five and raised his voice. "What they are neglecting to tell you, Penelope, is that Dad sent me because I am now the only Tracy who has a clean driving license…

"...easy, big fella…" Alan interjected.

"…or in some cases…" Virgil looked pointedly at his father "…has a license at all…".

Jeff merely scowled in response.

Someone coughed lower down the table, "Mine's clean"

Virgil swung back and glared fiercely down the table, "…or who has not totalled his wheels in the last twelve months."

"I did not total my car" Scott said, eyeing up a forkful of turkey.

"It was a wreck," Virgil retorted.

"I did not total my car. The vehicle flying through the air at me from the wrong side of the carriageway totalled my car. I had nothing to do with it." He dispatched the turkey.

"Boys," Jeff growled. "If you don't calm down a little then some of you are going to be on latrine duty in the morning."

"Is it always like this?" Penny whispered into his left ear.

Jeff sighed. "No," he admitted. "Tonight they're on their best behaviour."

...

Point-scoring was clearly a favoured Tracy sport, but it had toned down, at least a little, after Jeff's threat. Penny was increasingly fascinated by the strangeness of this noisy family. She wondered, briefly – but only briefly - what it might have been like to have had brothers.

It all seemed so very different from her own quiet upbringing as the only child of an indulgent father and absent mother. It had simply been herself and the old Brigadier, and a handful of retainers, who came and went, as domestic staff do. She had had an idyllic relationship with her father, and she missed him terribly.

Since the Brigadier departed, leaving her a stately home, a title, and a heap of death duties, Parker had been the most stable thing in her rather exciting and rollercoaster life as executor of a large estate, fashion guru and sometime spy.

Penny spooned a little pumpkin pie into her mouth, wondering what it would taste like. It was nicer than it sounded. Then she settled back to do what she did best, observe.

Penny was a keen student of human nature, and it fascinated her to try to work out all the ins and outs of the Tracy family. Grandmama, she noted, had clear favourites. Her attention had been firmly fixed right – perhaps Alan, perhaps Tin-Tin, perhaps both, Penny could not quite see – for most of the evening. Gordon she did speak to, once in a while, but Scott she ignored.

- Black sheep? -

John's gaze rarely strayed from Penny herself. He seemed interested in anything she had to say, however inconsequential. She wondered if Jeff had noticed.

Virgil or Tin-Tin would occasionally engage Hackenbacker in polite conversation, but even with Virgil's considerable bulk in the way, she could tell that Tracy celebratory family meals were a source of strain for the young scientist. It was clear he was only here for the food. She was not at all surprised when he excused himself after the main course.

Gordon and Scott seemed particularly close. It dawned on her suddenly what the bond was. They were not remotely identical, but there was something. Sitting where she was, Penny had a fine chance to compare the two.

The C-W–ometer went into a lively dance, swinging to and fro. It couldn't settle on either of them.

Gordon's astonishing amber-eyed, blond-copper combo gave him a distinct advantage in the 'striking' stakes.

Scott would not turn heads quite so immediately, she thought, but once you did look closely...another of Jeff's blue-eyed boys, though more muted with grey than his blond brothers, hair a soft brown, close-cropped and neat. There was something faintly vulnerable and fresh-faced about him. That helpless thing he did must be a real babe-magnet for maternal types, Penny mused drolly. But when his father had called him aside, she had had a momentary glimpse of something steelier. This one, she decided, needed to grow into his looks, but in his thirties he was going to be drop-dead gorgeous.

"Penny for 'em, Penny?" Jeff enquired. He gave her an odd look.

She turned, a little flustered. Had he read her mind?

"Er…no, nothing, really." She tried desperately to think of something to cover up. "I was just wondering which of your boys is the eldest."

The conversation around the table stopped as though someone had hit a switch. The entire table turned and stared at her. Penny swallowed. She had the oddest feeling that they had been waiting for this.

Gordon's eyes opened impossibly wide. "Why, Lady Penelope…isn't it obvious? I mean, what with you being a secret agent and all that, we figured you'd have it all worked out in an instant."

Virgil glanced down at her. "Yeah, Penelope. How about having a go at placing us all? Surely you've figured out what the Tracy family pecking order is?" His mouth twitched faintly.

There were some encouraging murmurs around the table.

"Yeah, come on Penny."

Penny smiled. So this was how it was going to be. She decided to play along.

"Well, all right. I'll have a go, boys." She swallowed. "Are there any sets of twins?"

"No twins," Jeff told her.

- One cherished theory out of the window -

Penny re-thought quickly. The table order was surely be a clue. Older boys near to Dad, younger boys near to Grandmama.

Virgil seemed to be used to acting as a surrogate mother to his younger siblings. But John strutted an air of sophisticated coolness that his brothers seemed to lack.

- So. The mother-hen, or the womaniser? -

"All right. Well, I'll go from the youngest upwards. I hope I don't offend anyone. So, Alan, dear, I'm sorry if I'm wrong, but I can't help thinking you're the baby of the family." She was fairly confident here.

They waited expectantly. Clearly they were not going to confirm or deny anything until she had gone through the lot.

"Then Gordon, I think…"

Still silence. This was clearly the way to shut them all up.

"Then Scott…. then John…." there was a faint snorting sound from somewhere, quickly quashed, "making Virgil the oldest."

The room erupted.

"Oh, man."

"Pay up, losers."

A great deal of money changed hands, mostly twenty-dollar bills. The exchange seemed to have its own internal logic, but Penny couldn't follow the wheeling and dealing and what it might mean. John and Virgil seemed to be the primary recipients. She turned back to Jeff, to find he was wiping away a tear of laughter. As the noise subsided he looked up at the ceiling.

"Well, you deserved that tonight, boy," he said.

She had no idea who he was talking to or what the significance of the comment was.

"Not quite right, then?" she asked dolefully.

"Not quite right. Care to guess again?"

"I think, on reflection, I may have got John and Virgil the wrong way round."

The room erupted for a second time. Again, money changed hands. This time it all went to Gordon.

"Oh dear. I don't think I'm very good at this."

"Well, we're not being very fair," Gordon said charitably. "You've just met us, after all. How about we give you twenty-four hours to figure it out?"

"Boys," Jeff growled.

"Aw heck, Dad – you keep telling us she's a great sleuth. Let her prove it."

"It's all right, Jeff, dear. I'm up for the challenge," Penny said. How many more sensible combinations could there be? "But only if you'll solve one other mystery for me."

"Sure, Lady P., fire away," Gordon said amicably.

"What does F.A.B. stand for?"

There was a sort of stunned silence. Then a low murmur around the room.

"Well it doesn't really mean…" Virgil began, but he was cut off by Gordon.

"Fine and bright."

"Fine and bright?"

"Yeah, fine and bright. You know, kinda like fine and dandy, roger, over and out, that kind of thing," Gordon gabbled.

None of them quite met her eye.

...

She finally had her chance to grab a quiet moment with Jeff somewhere after midnight.

Over coffee, there had been music. Virgil, it turned out, was an astonishingly good pianist. No need for visiting artists, then; the Tracy family had its own recitalist. After a couple of short classical pieces he turned his attention to light jazz. After he was done, someone put on some dance music, and the boys set to clearing the table.

At one point, as the music changed, Virgil and Scott, who happened to be passing one another, had swung round and without so much as a word or glance at the other had clinched hands and broken into a passable tango across the living room, Virgil leading. They were deadpan throughout. When the music finished they calmly continued to clear the table as though nothing had happened, leaving Gordon, Alan and Tin-Tin helpless with laughter, and even the ultra-cool John grinning.

But one-by-one, they had all gone to bed. Alan, Gordon and Tin-Tin had been the first to leave.

"Fine and bright?" Penny had heard incredulously in the distance. The reply had been lost.

A couple of cognacs later, and Jeff lit a cigar and she took it as a signal to fetch out her cigarette holder. She perched on his knee and laid her head on his shoulder, suddenly kittenish and they smoked in companionable silence for a few moments.

"What do you think of them all?" he asked.

"You run a madhouse, Jeff Tracy," she said sternly.

He chuckled. "They are a high-octane bunch, aren't they?"

"How do you run a multi-million dollar business with all this going on?"

"They are my business. You'll see what I mean tomorrow. Tracy Industries I've largely handed over to some very capable people. Most of the corporate stuff gets done by my executives, and the bits I need to sort out myself usually get done between about five in the morning and breakfast. Scott's the only one up then, and he has the sense to stay out of my way unless I need him."

Penny remembered that Jeff survived on about four hours sleep a night. The very thought made her yawn. She had no intention of being up before ten the next morning.

"You've had an awfully long day."

"Yes." She suddenly realised she had. A combination of claret and cognac was also having an effect.

- Shame about the malt –

Had she said that out loud, she wondered? She yawned again.

"You are tired. Up you come, Missie," he said, and to her delighted amusement, swept her up into his arms like a ten year old.

She began to giggle as he headed for the stairs. Surely he wasn't going to carry her all the way up?

"Ssh!" he admonished.

She felt Jeff hesitate as he approached the stairs. Maybe he was getting a little old for this. But the pause was to let someone else come down. She heard the thundering sound of approaching feet. Penny glanced up.

Despite his reported lack of sleep, the hurricane was still up. Down to storm force, now, perhaps. An early riser, Jeff had said, so he obviously took after his father, burning the candle at both ends. He'd changed into a black t-shirt and shorts, and was barefoot. He looked a little taken aback to see them.

"Are you okay? If her Ladyship's ill, I'll be glad to take her upstairs for you. You know you need to watch your back, sir."

"She's not ill."

"Is she…?" he hesitated.

"No, she's not drunk, either." Penny felt, rather than heard, a deep chuckle part-interrupted by a smoker's cough. "Honestly, boy, you can be awfully dense, sometimes."

Scott mulled this one over and gave them a look that Penny couldn't quite fathom.

"Tell you what," Jeff continued. "I'll cut you a deal. Say nothing to your grandmother, and I won't tell her that it was you who was responsible for the midnight raid on the refrigerator."

At this threat, Scott backed away. "I'll just…" Whatever he had been about to say, he stalled, flushed, and fled again.

Jeff sobered a little. "He's probably right about my back. Down you go, little one."

"Poor baby. I think we embarrassed him. Is he really off to raid the fridge?"

It was just two hours since they had finished eating.

"Sure is."

Penny shook her head wonderingly. "Where does he put it all? He's such a slim little thing compared to the others."

"Crazy metabolism. Burns carbs faster than anyone I know. Up we go."

Jeff had ushered her up the stairs like a school-girl.

But despite her sleepiness, she had stayed awake for some time that night, musing over the curious day she had had, and half-expecting Jeff to creep into her room like a badly behaved sophomore in the girls' dormitory.

He didn't. Clearly Grandmama Tracy's influence was more powerful than hers. She drifted into sleep, dreaming of pools full of sharks, and rumbling thunderstorms.

...