No one at the table said a word. Sinclair cleared this throat and held his champagne glass high.
“Your beauty does it justice, madame.”
Anna beamed, and Vlad looked gratified. The others broke off into small conversations and Sinclair turned back to Cordelia.
“So, Cordelia. Just so you know, I am not stalking you.”
“I didn’t—”
He held up his hand.
“I think you are a genuinely interesting young woman. Who has many charming qualities.”
He made a small half bow from his chair. It was almost like the Japanese bow of respect and submission. She still didn’t reply. He leaned toward her and explained confidentially, “I actually hadn’t planned on coming. But when you mentioned it, I realized I could take a few days off.”
“I see.”
“In any event, you won’t have to put up with me for long. I will be disembarking in four days at Izmir. And, by the way, you still have my sincere invitation to visit the dig.”
It sounded like an apology. She took a sip of champagne. Complicated man. His intensity was so utterly attractive. She supposed he knew he was nearly irresistible. She looked over his impeccable dinner jacket, his flawless physique. He was leaning slightly forward, his hand resting on the back of her chair. An inch or two more and he would be close enough to kiss her. She looked at his mouth, and a quick image of their lips touching flashed through her mind. She looked away.
“Why are you inviting me to Ephesus? I don’t know anything about carbon dating.”
It sounded like a rebuff. She regretted it as soon as it came out. His pupils flared in surprise, but he didn’t flinch.
“Because it will change your life,” he said. “It is the most interesting archaeological site in the world. It means a lot to me. And when I met you, I had this impulse to share it with you. I thought you would appreciate it, and I wanted you to see it.”
She took another sip of champagne, thinking fleetingly that in the presence of such a man she should not consume it so rapidly.
“I see. I will consider the invitation.”
He smiled through his eyes.
“Thank you.”
The truce held through dinner. They talked of everything under the sun: archaeology, art, music, science, marine biology, astronomy, technology, exploration, history, religion, philosophy, and literature. As she talked to him, her guard came down. She knew she was being deliberately charmed, but she couldn’t help but be impressed by him. Never in her life had she met a man as well-read or interesting as John Sinclair. Of course, his physical attractiveness also captivated her, his conversation was nothing short of brilliant. By the time dinner was over, she was entranced.
The coffee was cold in their cups, the petits fours were gone, the champagne was flat when Cordelia realized the Britannia dining room was nearly empty. Vlad and Anna had left right after dessert, Gjertrud and Joyce were standing up to leave.
“We’re going to call it a night,” Bob said as he held Marlene’s chair out for her.
“What are you two up to?” Marlene made it sound like they were a couple.
“Oh, it’s late. I should go too . . .” Cordelia started to rise.
“I’ll walk you out.” Sinclair was immediately on his feet.
“Hey, why don’t you kids go to the theater? I hear it’s good.” Bob checked his gold Rolex. “The show starts in ten minutes.”
“Shall we?” Sinclair asked her.
“I don’t know. What is it?”
“It’s a musical review based in the Victorian era.”
She had consumed just enough champagne to abandon her earlier caution. She looked at him and smiled.
“That sounds wonderful. Lead on,” she said, daring herself to resist his charm.
Vlad and Anna were already seated in the upholstered chairs of the Commodore Club on deck 10. The jazz pianist was playing “Putting on the Ritz” with an exaggerated beat. Couples were doing a quickstep around the dance floor. Bob and Marlene plowed through the dancers and walked over to the seats near the window. The broad panes looked out on the dark ocean. Vlad’s expression was darker.
“You want to tell me who that guy is?” Vlad growled.
“Son, how the hell should I know,” said Bob in his best Texas accent. “You said she was alone.”
“She is booked into her room alone. But they clearly know each other. Did you catch that conversation?”
“Only a little bit,” said Bob. He reached into his dinner jacket and pulled out the digital camera. “But I got his picture. I’ll e-mail that to my folks in Texas and have them do a search on Mr. Sinclair’s identity.”
“Can your ‘folks’ be trusted?” asked Anna.
“Yes,” said Bob. “They want this deed more than you do, Vlad.”
“Why do they want it?” Vlad demanded. He was holding on to his drink as if someone would take it away. His entire body was tense.
“Because my church board believes the International Seed Vault goes against God’s will. If the end of the world comes, and Armageddon is under way, it just won’t do to have all those survivors with their own little hoard of seeds. End of Days, brother, it’s all about End of Days.”
“I have no clue what you are talking about,” spat Vlad.
“The officers of the church want to shut down the International Seed Vault. The Russian government doesn’t care about the vault; they just want the land. So there is no reason why we can’t work together.”
“I think it’s a great plan, honey,” said Marlene, patting Bob’s knee.
“Well, you two better get on Cordelia Stapleton’s good side if you want her to tell you anything,” said Vlad, and tossed down his Belvedere.
“But now we’re going to have to work around that guy Sinclair. He doesn’t look like he’s going to leave her side,” said Marlene.
“Leave it to me,” said Anna. “There are places men can’t go.”
“Where?” asked Vlad.
“The ladies’ treatment rooms in the spa,” said Anna.
The Queen Victoria’s Royal Court Theater was a little jewel box, all red velvet and rococo. Cordelia picked up the train of her dress to walk down the steps of the theater. Well, this certainly was a far cry from her nights on the research vessel.
A week ago she was curled up in her bunk, dressed in a hoodie and sweatpants, watching television. She really should face it; her social life was a disaster. From time to time she endured a halfhearted date with Roger, a self-involved academic who tried to dominate her intellectually. He believed in his own brilliance with a passion. In the past year, she had listened to his whining litany of perceived academic slights over too many meals of chicken tandoori. After tonight there would be no more Roger, and she was never going to eat Indian food again.
“Would you like one of these?” Sinclair was handing her a small Union Jack flag and a handful of rolled serpentine paper streamers. “I understand the show requires some audience participation.”
They took their seats. Again there was the novelty of being so close to him, his leg alongside hers. It felt suddenly like a date. The lights lowered. She found herself wishing he would take her hand in the dark theater. He didn’t.
As the opening number began, Cordelia realized she hadn’t been to a musical in decades. The last time she had seen one was on a college break when she had gone to New York to visit Jim Gardiner and his companion, Tony. They had gone to a Broadway show, and afterward a big Italian dinner in Little Italy. It had been a wonderful time.
Tonight’s show was a classic vaudeville review about Victorian times. There were rousing pub songs and saucy little ditties by singers dressed as barmaids. A cute song-and-dance number involved Victorian explorers in pith helmets with butterfly nets. An elaborate dance number was set in Hyde Park. The finale was a rousing rendition of “Rule, Britannia.” The audience was enlisted by the singers to wave their Union Jacks and launch the red, white, and blue streamers. Corde
lia and Sinclair threw their serpentine streamers with gusto, singing at the top of their lungs. When the curtain came down, the theater was a jungle of streamers trailing down from the boxes and balconies.
“That was wonderful.” She laughed.
“Yes, it was just great,” he agreed.
“You have a pretty good throwing arm, John. The people in front of us are covered.”
She started pulling streamers off her clothes.
“Here, let me help you.” Sinclair pulled a blue paper ribbon that had become entangled in her hair, his face close to hers for a moment. She looked up at him, and again thought about kissing him.
“Well,” she started, “I should—”
“What? Go to bed early, Little Miss Muffet? You can’t do that on this ship. Its only ten thirty.”
He stood smiling at her, looking dashing in his beautifully cut dinner jacket. “There are parties going on all over this ship.”
“I have to check my e-mail.”
He made a face. And she laughed.
“Fair enough, so do I,” he admitted. “Let’s go to the computer center. And then figure it out from there.”
Not many people were at the consoles. Sinclair headed to a station with the European keyboard, and Cordelia took a U.S. keyboard farther across the room. Her first e-mail was from Jim Gardiner.
Dear Cordelia,
I hope you are having fun on the Queen Victoria!
I am writing about the property matter concerning the International Seed Vault. It has been built on the former site of the Arctic Coal Mining Company formerly owned by Elliott Stapleton. That land is now your property. The title search was botched, and Norway constructed the seed vault on your land, under the impression it was their sovereign territory.
The nonprofit organization that has contacted you—Bio-Diversity Trust—operates the vault, and would like you to donate the land to them. They do not believe any country, not even Norway, has the right to own the International Seed Vault.
No action is necessary at this point. I will investigate further. I merely wanted to let you know I have contacted them regarding this matter.
Love, Jim Gardiner
Cordelia wrote back.
Dear Jim, all this is so new. I have no idea what to do. Could you send me more information on the International Seed Vault as soon as they get back to you? Please advise. XX, Cordelia
Next Cordelia opened a message from Susan.
Hi, Delia.
We got Alvin in a hangar. The inspection is under way and all is going well. We are checking manipulators, which should take at least two more weeks.
I got your e-mail about the ball in Monaco. I bet you looked like a princess in that new dress of yours.
Joel says hi and don’t come home anytime soon. He’s kidding, of course. He misses you a lot, and so do I.
XX Susan
P.S. Joel asked me out again! Do you think I should say yes? I’ll keep you posted.
Cordelia replied:
Susan,
I will be on the Queen Victoria for a few more days and then will travel to London to take care of some family business. Did you ever think you would hear this Little Orphan Annie say the words “family business”? Miss you. I will write again soon. Cordelia
P.S. I always wondered when Joel was going to figure it out and realize the best girl in the world was right under his nose. He seems to have come to his senses. Keep me posted.
As she signed off, she turned to see the handsome John Sinclair standing, waiting for her.
Sinclair held the heavy door for her as they found their way to the promenade deck. She squeezed past him, brushing him lightly with her dress. Outside, the night was clear and warm.
“There’s no wind,” observed Sinclair as they started walking.
“Actually, we are moving at fifteen knots, but the wind is from the stern so we don’t feel it with the forward movement of the ship.”
Sinclair nodded, suppressing a smile. This woman was incredible! How refreshing after Shari’s tiresome posturing. They began to walk, and Cordelia kept up a good pace despite the fact she was on an open deck in high-heeled sandals.
“I’m glad we went to the show,” she said. “I didn’t realize they had entertainment like that on board.”
“Isn’t it great? And there’s a different show every night.”
“This one was perfect,” Cordelia said, smiling. “I just love the Victorian era.”
They lapsed into silence, listening to the sound of the breaking waves alongside the ship. As they circled the promenade deck, Sinclair noticed how evenly their strides matched. She was a fabulous girl; how had he ended up with her?
“You know, I hadn’t noticed it before, but I just realized that there is something about you that’s very Victorian,” he said out loud as if thinking to himself.
Cordelia turned and made a face at him. “Really? Why do you say that?”
“No, don’t get me wrong. I mean it in the best possible sense.” Sinclair laughed. “You have a wonderful air of elegance about you, yet you are very adventurous at the same time.”
“I’m just kidding,” said Cordelia. “I know it’s a compliment.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief. I thought I had offended you.” Sinclair laughed.
“Actually, you are very perceptive,” Cordelia said, taking his arm to walk across a slippery section of the deck.
“Careful,” he cautioned.
“I’m not used to doing this in high heels,” Cordelia admitted, tiptoeing through the area where seawater had sprayed onto the wooden deck.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let you slide off into the ocean,” said Sinclair, tucking her arm tightly under his.
“You mean the sea,” Cordelia corrected.
“Right. It’s the Mediterranean Sea,” Sinclair agreed. “You were saying . . . about the Victorians.”
“Yes, well, the Victorian age of exploration has always interested me. There were spectacular achievements in science, medicine, botany . . . And, of course, it saw the birth of modern marine science.”
“And the birth of Elliott Stapleton.”
She smiled up at him.
“I’m glad you know him too. Thank you again for giving him that award. By the way, the journal is fantastic! It’s wonderful to finally meet him through his writing.”
“That has to be very moving.”
Cordelia turned to him. “I can’t thank you enough for returning the journal to me. It means more than you can ever know.”
“I noticed you were very emotional when I gave it to you.”
“I am sorry about that.” Cordelia turned away. “I really shouldn’t have left the gala without saying good-bye. It was rude of me.”
“Not at all. But I wondered why you did it.” His voice showed concern. He was looking at her intently.
“I should explain,” she said slowly, searching for a way to begin. She looked up at him and blurted out her painful story.
“I am an orphan. My parents died when I was twelve. My lawyer, Jim Gardiner, took care of me because I had no one else.”
She stopped walking and was looking out to sea. The powerful bow wave churned below the railing.
“So the journal was like recovering a family member,” Sinclair prompted.
“Exactly.” She looked up at him, grateful for his quick comprehension. “My parents’ property was liquidated after they died in the car accident. Everything was sold for the money to send me to boarding school. They only let me go into the house one last time to take a few things.” She stopped talking for a moment, looking at the sea. “I was just a kid. I took my dad’s favorite tweed jacket, my mom’s silver hairbrush. A few random things. All the rest was sold.”
“That is so tragic,” said Sinclair, turning his back to the wind and stepping in front of her to block it.
“So this journal is very precious. It represents a lot to me.”
She was facing the beautiful nighttime coas
tline of Italy, but Sinclair could see she was not looking at the view. She was seeing a dark place, deep in the past.
“I can’t take credit for finding the journal,” Sinclair admitted. “The folks at the Oceanographic Institute discovered it in their archives a few months ago. They asked us to return it at the gala.”
“Was it there all those years?”
“I guess so. Nobody knows how it got there. Maybe it was mixed in with some papers.”
“Well, I heard stories about my great-great-grandfather when I was really young. I idolized him. He was everything I ever wanted to be.”
They stood for a moment in silence, looking at the water churning on the side of the ship. Sinclair didn’t want to break into her thoughts.
“This journal . . . it almost feels like he’s communicating with me.”
Sinclair stayed silent.
“The oddest thing is, I just inherited Elliott Stapleton’s house in London. It was a complete surprise. I’ve never been there before. So after this cruise I’m going to London to take care of all that.”
“How did you inherit it just now?”
“A distant relative, Peter Stapleton, died. He owned it up until now.”
“And you inherited it?”
“Yes. You see, Elliott Stapleton was English. He married in England in 1889, and a descendant from that marriage inherited the house. It was my great-uncle Peter Stapleton—my only relative after my parents died. He was my guardian on paper, even though I never met him.”
“OK, I follow you.”
“So when he died last month he left everything to me, including the Stapleton family’s house in London.”
“So how did your side of the family end up in America?”
“Elliott Stapleton divorced his first wife in England and ran off with my great-great-grandmother, who was American. He walked away from everything in London—the house, the wife, the child—to start over in Boston. I am the sole surviving heir on the American side.”
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