Ghost Writer(39)

I paused. I counted to ten. I still had to say it.

“You're an idiot! Dora doesn't care if it sells. She cares about the truth. You're here because Dora and Ruben could raise more money for the expedition if there was a documentary.”

“Does the truth matter if someone dies down there? You almost did!”

Good lord, I must give off some kind of damsel in distress pheromones. I was surrounded by heroes who wanted to rescue me. Time to show I wasn't in need of rescue any more.

“If you don't want to make anyone else mad, including me, I suggest you learn from Dora's response.”

“You have a son, right?”

I glared at him.

“I was just going to ask if you'd heard from him.”

“Seamus is at camp. He might remember to send me a postcard.”

“You miss him, don't you?” Tim said with suspicious display of sensitivity.

“Yes.”

“Then don't you think…”

I held up my hand. “Don't say it, Tim. Just don't.”

I didn't feel like dealing with Minton after enduring Tim. Instead, I started writing a detailed description of everything I saw on the station. Then, because the lines were getting blurred between what was physically there and what I saw, I set up a table for comparison. In one column was a physical description, using the images I had saved on my smartphone as reference. In the second column, I put down my memories of what I saw, including the hallucinations or dreams or whatever they were.

I needed to check the artifacts against my lists. All the papers were put in Dora's hands. Did she still have them? Were they on the Nottawasaga? Or had she sent them back to the émil Gagnan? I had to find out. Too bad I hadn't thought to ask Dora before she left.

At two, Sophie showed up with a glass of milk and some cheese and crackers. Doc's orders.

At three-twenty, I had started a third column for an artifact list. Once I had access to the list of recovered items, I could check it against what I remembered. In particular, I wanted to find the Boreman letter. Sophie poked her head in to remind me I was going to tea with the captain.

I looked through my clothes and picked out the most feminine items in the pile. I hadn't exactly packed with femininity in mind, but not everything was Palinesque. There was the sweater I wore the first time I met the captain. It was beige, of course, but it had a sweetheart neckline and was a bit clingy. I had one almost identical, in deep purple. I hadn't worn it since spilling coffee on it during the flight north. The Nottawasaga launderers managed to get the stain out, though now the top was faded to an amethyst mauve.

I like amethyst. I had an amethyst bead bracelet and matching earrings. They went everywhere with me because they were a gift from Seamus. I hadn't worn them so far because I was afraid I might lose an earring, something I was prone to do. I decided to take the chance, then laughed at myself. Here I was trying to dress to impress when the way things were going, I could show up in sackcloth and ashes and still get attention.

The earrings were still in my hand when Gravell arrived. I had opened my door in anticipation and for the air as soon as I was dressed.

“Wear them, Madame Kirby. I'll keep an eye on them for you.”

I was beginning to think the man was a mind reader. He didn't say, “Wear them, they go with your outfit,” which would have been a natural conclusion to draw from the way I was holding the earrings up. He knew what really concerned me. Then a simpler explanation came to mind. He was trained in behavioural analysis. He had the kind of observation skills I expected from Dora, when she wasn't wrapped in an academic haze.

I put the earrings on.

“They do go well with your outfit,” he added.

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Who are you, Chief Gravell?”

He gave me a half-smile. “Right now, I am the man who has the pleasure of your company for a walk on deck.”

“Very prettily said, even though I know you're laughing at me. I'll accept your reply as a polite way of telling me to mind my own business. Someday I expect you to satisfy my curiosity.”

“That would be impossible, Madame Kirby. You have, I imagine, a bottomless supply of curiosity.”

The sky was overcast. The air was cool and damp. I smelled rain in the air and hoped that didn't mean a storm. Aside from the effect it would have on my stomach, I didn't want to think of the potential damage to the station.

“If there's a storm, the station will be safer undersea, won't it? Safer than being on the surface?”

“The greatest danger is to the ship tethering the station.”

“Is that the émil Gagnan or the Scranton?”

“The émil Gagnan. The Scranton cut umbilicals after the explosions.”

I felt Gravell’s eyes on me and turned towards him. He was standing at parade rest. I suspected that as well as being chief aboard the èmil Gagnan, he was a chief petty officer in the Navy.

“How do you know a storm is coming?” he asked.

“How did you know I was afraid of losing my earrings?”

“Observation.”

“Not many people are that observant or that confident in their observations. For instance, I observed signs of a storm coming. The sky, something in the way the air smells, a pain in my wrist that has been a fairly accurate barometer ever since I sprained it falling off a horse, but I didn't know a storm was coming until you confirmed it. I assume you have access to the National Weather Service or the like. I have a feeling you have access to a lot more information than I do.”