Several officials had closed ranks while others were scurrying around gesticulating to one another. The girl, attractive and amply blessed, was by turns raging at and then pleading to a harassed-looking official whose stock mannerism seemed to be a little shrug of the left shoulder and a display of his palms as if warding off an invisible army. Above them the chairman, a Norwegian, waited unhappily at the microphone, uncertain whether to ignore the commotion and carry on regardless or hang on in the hope that it might, like a summer thunderstorm, quickly blow over.
"And I thought this was going to be dull," Nick said, enjoying the spectacle, straining his curly head to get a better view. "Who
Chase shook his head. "No idea. But the girl sounds American."
They watched as the officials escorted the man and the girl along the aisle and through a side door, the girl arguing as fiercely as ever. The auditorium, silent and rapt till now, droned with speculation like a beehive disturbed by an intruder.
Nick grinned delightedly. "I hope the next act is as good," he said, but his face fell when the Norwegian began to speak in that unrhythmic swaying singsong that grates on some people and sends others to sleep.
It sent Nick to sleep.
The official held up his hands, palms outward, and twitched his left shoulder. "The governing committee is not required to give a reason, mademoiselle. It is their decision alone. You understand?" He gave a weak smile as if to say that while he personally might sympathize with them, he was powerless to do anything.
Cheryl nodded slowly, now icily calm. "I see. The fact that my father has flown seven thousand miles to be here doesn't matter a damn to your committee. They can decide, just like that, and we don't have the right to ask why or to receive an apology or even a reply. That's how you run things here, is it?"
"I am sorry, mademoiselle. The decision is not mine."
"You won't even give us a
"As I have said, it is not required. The rules of the conference state that all papers must receive prior approval--"
"But the paper was accepted!"
"No, not so in this instance, mademoiselle. It was provisionally agreed that Dr. Detrick would be allowed to address the conference, subject to his paper being cleared by the committee. The committee has now seen the paper and made its decision." Again the half-shrug, the tepid smile.
Cheryl ground her teeth. It was her father's passive attitude, his air of resignation, that angered her almost as much as this bland, round-shouldered nonentity in the dark suit with shiny elbows. Didn't he care? Damn it, he was a scientist, like herself, and for that reason she felt keenly the injustice of years of effort wasted on the whim of a faceless committee. To be treated in such a despicable fashion and told that not only was his paper disbarred but he would not be permitted to take part in any discussion from the platform. Christ, it was galling!
"By all means Dr. Detrick and yourself are free to attend the conference as delegates," the official informed her, speaking directly to Cheryl, having decided that she was the one to appease. "The conference is, after all, international, and we are pleased that you have decided to attend."
The young girl swallowed her anger. "That's most kind of you, Monsieur--"
"Carpentier." He made a little bow.
"Monsieur Carpentier." She breathed and said in a low voice, "But if you think that's the end of it, you're very sadly mistaken, Monsieur Carpentier." His smile faded around the edges. "My father didn't come all this way to sit around exchanging small talk. He came to deliver a paper and you haven't given us one reason why you won't let him. You say the decision isn't yours; okay, I accept that. You also tell us that we can't talk to the people whose decision it is. Right. But you can't stop us talking to the press. Maybe what this shambles of a so-called conference needs is a rocket up its ass."
"Monsieur, please . . ." The official looked pained and appealed to Theo. "I can do no more. I am the spokesman, that is all. I have much to do. You will excuse me, please." His shoulder twitched and he seemed to drift away and disappear.
Theo turned to leave, his face impassive.
"Aren't you going to say anything?" Cheryl cried, enraged by his docility. "Just let these people walk right over you? My God, I thought your work
There and then she could have cut her tongue out, but it was too late. It had been said.
"You were only saying what you felt," Theo said to her later, at
