Ghost Writer(36)

Franchot set aside his juice, took my shoulders and drew me into a Gallic embrace. I half expected him to kiss both my cheeks. Then he held me at arm’s length and gave me the once over.

“You're looking much better than I expected. From what I heard, you were at death's door.”

“Ms. Kirby is making an excellent recovery. The doctor wants to keep her under observation. She has a history of lung disease in her family.”

Franchot looked startled and slightly reproachful. All the members of the research team were supposed to be in excellent health.

I reassured him. “My mother died of emphysema after smoking for fifty years. As far as I know, I'm fine.”

“Well, I'm trying to negotiate your release. So far, Captain Campbell has agreed to let the other members of the team return. Dora and Reuben will be leaving to take our case to higher authorities. I think the good captain is keeping you hostage.”

I turned my head, waiting for the captain's response, not sure what I wanted to hear.

“In many cultures, hostages were exchanged as a gesture of alliance. That's why I'm giving you Mr. Hassan in exchange for Ms. Kirby. You can have Mr. Neville back too if you like, though you may have a hard time convincing him to go.”

Franchot gave a loud bark of laughter, drawing everyone's attention towards us. At that moment, the captain leaned towards me and said softly, “I hope you're not in a hurry to leave.”

Knowing that I was blushing, I decided it wiser not to try to reply and further embarrass myself. While I was gathering my wits, Gravell appeared beside me with a glass of orange juice. I started slightly, setting off a chain reaction. Gravell steadied me, only slopping a drop or two of juice on his uniform. Franchot stepped forward, shifting from boisterous to protective in nanoseconds. At the same time, the captain pulled my free hand through his arm.

For a moment I was surrounded by three very attractive men, apparently squaring off on my behalf. Almost overwhelmed by the desire to giggle, I managed to stifle the urge and just as well. The assembly wasn't complete. The hatch opened and Mr. Hassan appeared. He stepped back for a man who could only be Captain Tinsdale.

“Permission to join you, Captain?” he said, his voice deep and gravelly.

Captain Campbell released my hand with a squeeze and stepped forward to greet his guest. I could feel Gravell and Franchot take up position behind me. I sipped my juice, hoping it would steady my nerves. Then I drank it down quickly when I saw the two captains heading my way.

Gravell took the empty glass.

“More?”

I nodded.

I will never forget the comfort that Captain Campbell's calm voice brought me when I was trapped. Neither will I forget the irritation that Tinsdale's brusque questions and abrupt manner engendered. His face matched his voice: rough, lined and a bit bristly. He reminded me of Humphrey Bogart in the Caine Mutiny with a bit of John Wayne swagger.

Captain Tinsdale offered his hand. It was square and callused and not that much bigger than my own. I could look him in the eye, without standing back, which more than I could say of the two men behind me.

“We made a bad start, Mrs. Kirby. I hope we can get along better now.”

“We were both under a lot of stress,” I replied, trying to sound gracious, though I hated being called missus.

Captain Campbell gestured us towards the table.

Dora had taken the seat she had the night before, on the captain's left. Reuben was beside her and Tim was in the seat Doc had taken, leaving the seat on the captain's right open for me. He gave me a bright smile and stood to hold my chair.

I hesitated. As much as I would have liked to sit beside Captain Campbell, I knew that Tim would pick up on any hint of romantic interest and exploit it for the documentary. I didn't doubt that the captain would give anything away. I wasn't sure I could be trusted.

“Madame Kirby,” Gravell said, directing me with a firm hand to my back. “If you will allow me.”

Captain Tinsdale had been placed at the opposite end of the table to Captain Campbell. Gravell sat me on Tinsdale's left, across the table from Franchot who was waiting to sit. Tim found himself holding a chair for Mr. Hassan, who also waited to sit. Since there were four places on this side, Gravell could act as a buffer between me and the filmmaker.

I sat. Captain Campbell sat. Everyone else sat. Had it been this formal last night? I ran the scene back in my head, a talent I had honed from years of having to process too much information during interviews. Yes, the naval officers had observed the formality of seating the guests first, then waiting for the commanding officer to sit. Somehow it seemed less stilted last night. This morning there were three captains at the table with three different agendas. No doubt there would be some polite sabre rattling over the meal.

Dora caught my eye. Her grin told me she analysed the situation differently. Her gaze made the rounds from Captain Campbell, to Chief Gravell, and then to Captain Franchot, then they darted momentarily to Captain Tinsdale, who I noted, was offering me my napkin.

“Rather warm,” she muttered, looking at me over the rim of her raised coffee cup.

“Your coffee must be cold by now,” said Reuben deliberately misinterpreting her.

“So it is. We need more hot coffee here.”

Coffee was served and the juice jug made the rounds. I was feeling a little lightheaded and sucked back my glass of juice quickly, so I could refill my glass.