Ghost Writer(58)

“Sounds great. How are the Americans reacting?”

He laughed.

“What?” asked Lil.

“You haven't been on deck today, have you?”

He wouldn't say any more so I rushed my food and took my coffee to go. He took me up to the far side of the deck for maximum impact when we reached the foredeck.

The first thing I noticed was a diving platform tethered to one of the lines between the émil Gagnan and the station. Divers were already in the water.

Mike explained.

“Early this morning we found out that we had permission to go back to work. Reuben and Dora pulled it off.”



Other than clucking over me like a mother hen for not taking proper care, Doc Stern didn't make a big fuss over my injuries. Once he checked my x-rays to make sure nothing was cracked, he was pretty stoic. My blood pressure was on the low end of normal. There were no other indicators of trouble. Since I had passed out and then fallen down and hit my head, not the reverse, concussion wasn’t a given. Regardless, he wanted to keep me aboard the Nottawasaga so he could observe me. He also told me to stay away from electronic devices for the next twenty-four hours. I was assigned a guest stateroom with a portal. If I didn't pass out again, I would be allowed to return to the émil Gagnan the next day. Since Dora was en route, by then I'd have her to keep an eye on me.

Too tired to do much else, I let Briseau take me to my quarters. She would be checking in on me periodically during the day. When she left, I called my dad for a dose of normalcy, which was fudging Doc’s prescription, but too bad. Dad reminded me that Shay would be at his father's in a couple of days. I would be able to call him there soon. I hung up feeling better. Who needed romance when I already had two great men in my life?

Well, maybe I did, but it wasn't absolutely essential.

I must have been tired because I lay down for a rest and woke up several hours later when Briseau returned to check my vitals. She brought a couple of sandwiches and glass of milk, since I had missed lunch. Gravell showed up just as she was packing up the blood pressure cuff. He brought my luggage.

“Am I moving in?”

“I brought your clothes over and mine because I thought we could make use of the ship's laundry services.”

I grinned. “Good plan.”

“Planning is one of my fortes.” He produced a thermos and two mugs from the top of my bag. From a pocket he pulled out a ziploc bag of Cookie's brownies.

“Tea?”

I might as well resign myself to it. He was going to make a tea drinker out of me. “Want to split my lunch?”

He accepted the offer and we set up on the table that would double as my desk. Compared to my cabin on the émil Gagnan, the stateroom was comparatively roomy and well appointed. If I had to, I could get used to the accommodations.

“So, what were you up to while I was being poked and prodded? “

“Sitting in on the conference of the captains.”

“How is Captain Tinsdale taking the news?”

“I can only guess.”

Casting my mind back on the man I met briefly and my impressions of him, my guess was that he would be taking it one of two ways. “If his first interest is in controlling the situation, he'll be pissed-off. If his first interest is the truth, he might be relieved that the Canadian government is determined to find out what his government is trying to cover up.”

Gravell shook his head and swallowed his last bite of sandwich. “There are plenty of people who want the truth on both sides of the border, and only a few well-placed people who are afraid of what will be discovered. In any case, the meeting was about logistics. Captain Tinsdale still has some negotiating leverage there.”

I finished my sandwich and drank my milk in thoughtful silence.

After a while, Gravell spoke. “There's something else you want to ask me, Madame Kirby. What is it?”

I looked across the table. His face held a mildly troubled expression, as well it should.

“There are a lot of things I want to ask you,” I said, trying to return his gaze without getting lost in it. “Some of them are quite personal and have nothing to do with Arctic Station Alpha. Right now, I'm thinking of what I need to tell you.”

“Which is?”

“I need to go back on board. Raised, sunken, in a wetsuit if need be, I need to go there.”

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, breaking eye contact. “I know,” he said with a sigh.

“I don't particularly want to, mind you,” I said, reaching for the thermos. I poured us each a cup, closed the thermos and pushed a cup towards him. “I just need to do this. I won't get any peace until I do.”





Chapter Thirty-Two ~ Mess Dress



Next time I go to sea, I must remember to bring formal attire. My amethyst purple sweater was ruined, thanks to Minton. This left me with an assortment of t-shirts and sweaters chosen for warmth and washability, not style. Even my dressier khaki pants were in the laundry. That is why Marian Sloan found me in bra, underwear, and amethyst beads and a robe.

“I've got shorts, cargo pants…or shorts or cargo pants.”

“Or a wrap skirt,” said Sloan, holding up a length of colourful woven material. “Sophie mentioned that you might need something to wear tonight. I picked this up to make a skirt eventually. But wait, there’s more.”