Ghost Writer(59)

She held up a pink t-shirt.

“I have a buddy whose daughter put her red sweater in with Daddy's whites. He has matching pink boxers, but I didn't think we should accept those.”

I laughed and shook my head.

The t-shirt was a couple of sizes too big for me. It fell off one shoulder. I adjusted it and it fell off the other.

“It looks cute that way. I got just the thing to make the outfit work too.”

“What?”

“Scissors!”

She slit the shirt up one of the side seams so she could tie it at my hip. She fluffed my hair, applied some eyeliner and lipstick, then stood back and grinned.

“Not bad. Not bad at all.”

“Thank you—” I hesitated.

“Call me Marian.”

“Jen. Good. I’m getting tired of being addressed as Ms. Kirby or worse, Mrs. Kirby.”

“Sometimes I feel the same way about being called Sloan. Although, I don’t think I’ll mind being called Chief Sloan, when the time comes.”

“How about Mister Sloan?”

She laughed. “No way! It would take me forever to get over the pay cut of becoming a junior officer. Plus, eventually I’d be expected to purchase mess dress.”

I wracked my memory. In Navy League, the cadets only had one uniform. Did Seamus have to learn about more?

“Mess dress is military formal wear,” Marian explained.

“For ceremonies.”

“No. That’s ceremonial dress. And in the navy, it gets worse.”

She didn’t get to tell me what was worse. Someone was knocking on the door, no hatch. Whatever.

Gravell walked through the hatch in a high-necked white uniform with naval insignia.

Marian leaned toward me.

“Ceremonial whites. For winter we have ceremonial blues. Only commissioned officers wear mess dress.”

She straightened and addressed herself to Gravell. “I was answering Ms. Kirby’s questions about uniforms, Chief.”

He smiled. “I see you also found something for Madame Kirby to wear.”

“Yes, sir.”

Gravell turned his attention to me. “Are you ready to go to dinner?”

“Hm?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you I was also in the navy.”

I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t have to. I guessed.”

“So, are you ready to go for dinner?”

I shrugged and turned around slowly. “You tell me, Chief Gravell.”

He looked me over and there was attraction as well amusement in his eyes.

“Perfect. The amethysts add a touch of class.”

He offered me his arm. I took it and for a moment he covered my hand with his, then he opened the hatch and helped me over the coaming. It was then he noticed that I was wearing flip-flops. I had packed them in lieu of slippers and wore them tonight because they went with the outfit better than running shoes or hiking boots.

“You're going to laugh at me, aren't you?”

“Not at all. I was just going to say, nice shoes.”



As I feared, all the Canadian naval officers wore mess dress which, to my civilian eye, looked like a hybrid of what Gravell was wearing and a tuxedo. Captain Tinsdale and Lieutenant Redding were present from the Scranton, wearing dress whites. Captain Franchot was present in dress blues. Gold embroidered epaulettes indicated that he was a merchant captain. One of the divers was present, similarly dressed, but with the rank of commander. Franchot reminded me his name was Alexis Mercuros. He was a wiry fellow, not particularly young, but with a boyish face. When he smiled, he reminded me of George Clooney. The thought occurred that this was the Skipper’s Gilligan.

The Nottawasaga's First Officer, Commander Belinda Harvey, introduced herself and told me she was happy to finally meet me and complimented me on my resourcefulness in finding dinner attire.

I looked at her, tall, elegant and professional, then down at myself. As I took her offered hand, I leaned in towards her.

“It isn't too much, is it? I feel a bit like mutton dressed as lamb.”

She chuckled and shook her head.

I could see that the situation amused her, but since she seemed inclined to laugh with me rather than at me, I decided to go with the flow. It wasn't like I had much choice.

She introduced me to the five other Nottawasaga officers present, of whom I had only met Jones and Dr. Stern.

Doc looked me over with eye wide and brows raised.

“You better not go on deck without a jacket. You're likely to catch more than a cold.”

“Not on my ship,” said Captain Campbell. He welcomed me with a hand clasp and then pulled my hand through his arm.

“Shall we sit?” he asked, addressing the assembly.

He led me to the seat on his right. Gravell took the seat to my right and everyone found their places. The numbers were odd, so the far end of the table was clear. It might have led to an international incident deciding who would sit there.

“Thirteen for dinner,” Redding remarked.

He didn't add that superstition held that this was very unlucky, but it was clear what was he thinking. I wondered if he was aware of the belief that when thirteen sat down to dinner, one would die. I wasn't particularly worried. I'm not free of superstition, but I knew there was a fourteenth guest. Lieutenant Minton was back. I gave him a discrete nod of acknowledgement. He responded with a worried smile and sat at the head of the table in a non-existent chair.