And Alan was the one who lost his balance. As he rolled to get up, he came face-to-face with a growling snarling angry dog. Alan froze in terror.**********Alan sat defensively, trying to be defiant, in the Bikini Beach office. Mud and muck splattered his clothes, his arms, and his face. Across the desk, the old woman sat, alternately staring at Alan and his camera. "A peeping Tom," she finally said, her tone laced with contempt.Alan frowned. "I am not. I'm just an amateur photographer."The old woman considered his words, then sat back. "Suppose we develop your film, hmmm?" She saw Alan blanche at the suggestion. "Or maybe we should summon the police? After all, you were trespassing."Alan's confidence was thoroughly shaken. He just stared at the old woman, knowing that there was nothing he could say."So why do you take these pictures, Alan?" She watched his reaction, especially when he realized she knew his name.Alan shrank in the chair. "I don't know."The old woman seemed to grow. Any attempts at conversation were firmly squashed. In between their tasks, they were, at least, able to look about them. The kitchens were impressive, if primitive. The ovens were old-fashioned and made of cast iron, like the one Audrey remembered her grandmother having when she was a child. However, she couldn't work out what powered them. There was no smoke and no coal scuttle and no wood pile. In fact, throughout the day, no-one appeared to re-fuel them. She filed this away for future consideration.Other than that, the kitchens were clean and well organised. There was plenty of fresh food; vegetables, cheese, bread and a small amount of meat. The kitchen staff were mainly older women in grey habits. Although they were all grey-haired to a greater or lesser extent and their faces showed sign of aging, they still had the striking looks and unconscious grace of their younger colleagues.By supper time they were exhausted. They stumbled back to their cell and were barely aware of the.
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