Jill pointed at his empty glass. "That looks like a small matter of alcohol deficiency. Can I get you another?"
Chase thanked her in advance and gave up his glass. Angie strolled up, her long hollow cheeks flushed, arms linked with Archie Grieve. He wondered again about her fidelity, or lack of it. Or was he being provincial and boorish? He suspected that Jill had been making gentle fun of him and was surprised to find that he rather enjoyed it.
"I'm just about to get Gavin some more of our excellent Scotch," Jill said, kissing Archie on the cheek. "Won't be a minute." She gave Chase an amused glance over her shoulder and went off.
Chase smiled ruefully. Had she got the dig about Glaswegian spot-welders? He looked at Angie, still hanging on Archie's arm, rather unsteadily, and at the drink in her hand, which fuzzed and sparkled.
"What's that?"
"Champers, darling!" Angie exclaimed. "Like some?"
Chase shook his head, feeling a little woozy himself. Noticing how the reflected sparkle made tiny dancing highlights on the underside of her chin. Remembering too that what gave champagne its fizz were bubbles of carbon dioxide suddenly released into the atmosphere.
The blond secretary with the silver claws reacted visibly when he appeared in front of her desk. Most of the men who passed through her office on their way to see the deputy director of the World Oceano-graphic Data Center were conservatively dressed in dark business suits, crisp shirts, and polished shoes. A few of the younger ones, it was true, wore open-necked shirts, sports jackets, and slacks, but here was somebody in his sixties who looked for all the world like a beachcomber down on his luck.
She half-rose in alarm, appraising with distaste the dingy crumpled T-shirt under the cord jacket with torn pockets whose peculiar shade of green might almost be mildew (she looked closely and saw that it
Quite stunned by this apparition in the sanctity of her Washington office on an otherwise unremarkable Tuesday morning, Ms. Weston could only stare speechlessly, and it was left to Theo Detrick to introduce himself. In his soft guttural accent, a remnant of his German ancestry, he reminded her of his appointment with Dr. Parris Win-throp, the deputy director.
"You--you are Dr. Detrick?"
"That is correct," he said patiently.
Parris Winthrop was less taken aback than amused. "Theo, marvelous to see you!" he enthused, striding around his huge walnut desk to greet him. He towered over Theo, clad in a dark-gray suit with a matching tie flecked with pale yellow. "You look wonderful! But what the hell are you wearing?"
"What I always wear." Theo swapped his bulging briefcase with the broken clasp from right to left in order to shake hands. "Macy's haven't got around to opening a store on Canton Island as yet."
Winthrop patted his shoulder, genuine pleasure on his broad, ruddy, well-fed face, and indicated a leather armchair. "Like something to drink?"
"Coffee, black, will be fine."
"I was thinking of something with a bit more bite. Don't tell me you've become Spartan in everything," Winthrop said jovially.
"I like to keep a clear head during the day." Theo sat back holding the briefcase flat on his knees with both hands. It was worn and scratched and some of the stitching had come adrift.
"Coffee it is then." Winthrop smiled and leaned across the desk to press the intercom tab. A gold signet ring flashed on his little finger. Having given the order he offered cigarettes from an ornate silver casket, which Theo declined, and then lit one himself with the onyx desk lighter.
The white-haired scientist let his eyes roam around the spacious office. Slats of sunlight from the Venetian blinds imprinted gold bars on the thick carpet. Parris had every reason to be expansive and highly pleased both with the world and himself. He had climbed high on the ladder since their student days at McGill. Both had come from poor homes and nonintellectual backgrounds, both had finished top in their respective subjects. Then Parris had had the good fortune to receive a Traveling Fellowship, which he chose to spend at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institut in Dresden. While Theo had doggedly embarked on the long hard slog of--in those days--underpaid research in small laboratories up and down the country, Parris had been given the luxury of several prestigious options, including the post of director of the Pacific Fisheries Experimental Station, then based in Hawaii.
After that it was plain sailing. Or maybe it wasn't, Theo considered, knowing how the outward show of a person's life was often misleading.
