Ghost Writer(40)

An amused smile lit up his face. “I sincerely hope so!”

I rolled my eyes dramatically and he laughed.

“Okay, that was not one of my more brilliant observations,” I said.

He removed and rolled his watch cap, tucking it in a pocket, leaned back against the top cable, just enough so the wind ruffed his dark brown hair.

“You have good instincts, Madame Kirby. Why don't you tell me who I am?”

I stepped back and considered him. I had edited and polished enough of Dora's work to pass an undergraduate exam in forensic psychology. Gravell could have picked up his skills in analysis the same way I did, on the job. It didn't necessarily mean he was more than a common and garden spook sent to keep an eye on the team. Yet, I knew he was. Did it matter? When my vision refocused, I found myself gazing into Gravell’s chocolate brown eyes. Was it my imagination that they seemed darker?

I took a step towards him.

“You are Chief Gravell, and you have the dubious pleasure of taking me for a walk. Shall we go?”

Bittersweet melted into milk chocolate. Gravell drew himself up and offered me his arm.

“There is nothing dubious about the pleasure, Madame Kirby.”



Half an hour later, Gravell was pouring tea. The captain was preparing scones with jam and cream. I split my attention between the two activities and wondered what I was going to about my attraction to the two men.

Maybe nothing. As long as they stuck to the doctor's prescription, I could enjoy the attention without worrying about the consequences. After all, what were the chances either one of them would be part of my life once I went home? They were ships that passed in the night, two big, heavily armed ships.

“Something has amused you,” said the captain, passing me a plate.

Bite-sized pieces of scone were arranged artfully on the dessert plate. Each piece had a layer of deep red jam and a dollop of fresh whipped cream on top.

“Looks wonderful,” I commented. I wasn't about to share my cruise romance analogy.

“Your tea, Madame Kirby,” said Gravell.

I balanced the plate on my lap and took the cup and saucer. This was looking like an accident ready to happen. I wasn't one of those ladies who could balance dishes, eat, and drink safely at the same time.

“Why don't we sit on the couch,” the captain suggested.

He looked to Gravell who had stuck around after delivering me.

“Please help Ms. Kirby over, Chief, and then you can go.”

One ship was pulling out the big guns.

“Aye, sir.” Gravell took my cup and plate and set them on the table. He then brought the pot and placed it near my cup. Once I was settled, he turned to the captain. “Anything else, sir?”

“No, Chief.”

The men exchanged stiff nods. Then Gravell turned on his heel and headed for the hatch.

At the last moment he turned back. “Call me when you need me, Madame Kirby.”

He didn't wait for a reply.

“The man is a bulldog,” the captain muttered.

“More like a Rottweiler.”

“Does he scare you?”

I looked sharply at the captain. He was serious. True, Rottweilers could be pretty scary. I was thinking of Good Dog Carl, the creation of artist Alexandra Day. Carl was big, strong, gentle, and protective of his young charge. Seamus loved the books when he was little. I still did.

“No, he doesn't scare me. He's welcome to scare Commander Redding off, if he likes.”

He relaxed. “That's Gravell’s job, to look out for you and your team and to scare off other people especially those under Captain Tinsdale's orders.”

“Captain Tinsdale and I were starting to get along.”

“He respects you, Ms. Kirby. He likes you. Everyone likes you. But Tinsdale also has his orders.”

I sighed. “Why pick on me? Dora and Reuben lead the team. Guy Franchot skippers the salvage ship. Except for having the bad luck to be trapped in the station for half a day, I'm nothing special.”

“You are something very special,” Captain Campbell said with a mixture of admiration and something I couldn't identify, but it raised a red flag.

I waited for more.

“Apart from your courage and grace, you are recording history. It's your perception of events that will find themselves in print and your story that will dominate any documentary made. Once Dr. Leland and Mr. Dawes get the word out, you are going to be a celebrity.”

It took a moment for this to sink in.

“Oh, shit.”

He laughed.

“It's not funny” I said, draining my tea and pouring another cup. Now my befuddled brain was working on overdrive. “I need to get hold of my son. I don't want him reading about his mother's near-death experience without hearing about it from me first. Will is going to go spare.”

“Will?”

“My ex. So far he just thinks I'm a bit flaky. I've got damage control to take care of.” I could feel the blood drain out of my face. “My dad. I've got to contact my father.”

“Anyone else?” the captain asked, bemused.

I thought about this seriously, though Captain Campbell seemed to be taking my concern lightly. “No. That should do it.”

“I don't suppose you can wait until after tea?”