The Explorer's Code (14 page)

“Excuse me,” a male voice said right behind her. “I hope you won’t mind if I join the audience.”

She recognized the voice. She whirled around and looked up at him.

“John! What . . .”

“I heard you were going my way,” said John Sinclair. His blue eyes were laughing, as if he had played a great joke on her. She felt a flash of annoyance.

“I had no idea you were coming. . . . You never said anything,” she said in an accusatory tone. She hadn’t invited him. How dare he just presume to tag along?

“I just decided at the last minute.” Sinclair looked amused.

Cordelia just stared at him. He continued, “I’m headed back to Izmir. I asked myself, why not travel in style and pick up a good lecture along the way?”

Cordelia didn’t know if she was flattered or annoyed. Now what was she going to do with this man—just the two of them on a ship?

“I hope you don’t mind,” he added. He was smiling, but less confidently now.

She shouldn’t get involved with him. He seemed like such an operator. And where was his supermodel girlfriend, anyway? Why wasn’t
she
with him?

“I’m . . . just a little surprised,” she said.

“Miss Stapleton, forgive me for interrupting. We’re about to start,” said the steward.

Cordelia walked to the podium and looked down at her prepared notes. She felt off base, irritated. Now she was nervous with Sinclair out there. For the first time since the seventh-grade science fair, her hands were shaking.

She looked out at the crowd. It was hard to focus, now that he was in the audience. She looked at a cluster of well-dressed women, who gave her a group smile. That helped. Her voice came out strong and confident: “By 2050 most physical oceanographers believe there will be very little year-round ice cover in the Arctic. It is very hard to tell what are permanent changes and what is natural variability. But the Arctic is one area where any climate change is very visible.”

She didn’t look, but she could feel him sitting there on the left, in the back. She was conscious of his presence, and it made her awkward. The flow of the speech never came, and it felt too long, and lifeless.

Finally it was over, and the applause was enthusiastic. Several guests came to the podium, but Cordelia could barely concentrate on their questions. As she answered, her eyes searched the ballroom. Some people were leaving. Chairs were being rearranged. Small tables were being set up as waiters started afternoon tea service. They shook out the white linens, flowing over the tables. A phalanx of gloved busboys streamed in, carrying trays at shoulder height. Soon the room was filled with the buttery
scent of scones and pastries. More people came in and took seats at the little round tea tables. Then waiters came around with china pots and poured the tea, as the harpist began to play. There was no sign of Sinclair.

Cordelia sat in her teak lounge chair, looking out at the Mediterranean and enjoying the beautiful September weather. Sinclair was on her mind, but she was trying to avoid thinking about him. She was going to stay on her private deck. She would deal with Sinclair later, when she had figured out how she felt about him. She adjusted her cashmere throw and picked up the journal.

O
GDEN
M
ILLS
E
STATE
, S
TAATSBURG
, S
EPTEMBER
6, 1908

I
HAD THE OCCASION TO SPEAK TO
I
SABELLE
V
AN
T
ASSEL AS THE LUNCHEON PARTY WAS DISPERSING FOR THE AFTERNOON
. S
HE EXPRESSED AN INTENTION OF WALKING DOWN THE LAWN TO THE BANK OF THE
H
UDSON
R
IVER, AND
I
OFFERED HER MY COMPANY
. A
FTER A MOMENT’S HESITATION SHE ACCEPTED, AND WE RISKED THE DISAPPROVAL OF THE ASSEMBLED COMPANY BY VENTURING OUT UNACCOMPANIED
. S
HE IS VERY BEAUTIFUL, EXTRAORDINARILY WELL-READ, AND EXTREMELY SPIRITED
. I
HAVE NEVER MET ANY WOMAN QUITE LIKE HER, BEING MORE ACCUSTOMED TO YOUNG WOMEN WHO ARE RETICENT AND SOCIALLY CONVENTIONAL IN THEIR REMARKS.

When Cordelia looked up, the sun was setting and it was time to dress for dinner.

Sitting at the table in the middle of the soaring Britannia dining room, Sinclair looked at his watch. It was fifteen minutes into the second seating for dinner, and her place was still empty. That was cause for worry. She hadn’t seemed at all pleased to see him. If she was avoiding him, he was now stuck at this table with a very strange lot. He reviewed his dinner companions.

Across the table, Vlad and Anna had the look of fast money. Anna’s jewels and clothes indicated they had managed to get a lot of cash out
of dear Mother Russia. The Americans, Bob and Marlene, had waistlines as broad as their accents. They introduced themselves as televangelists from the Church of the Enlightened Gospel, but they clearly enjoyed the material world. Bob wore a gold Rolex on one wrist and a platinum Atlas bracelet on the other. He had the shifty eyes and jovial manner of a double-dealer. Next to them was Joyce Chin. The young Asian woman was a really high-strung New Yorker. Any guy would be nuts to go for her—a perfectionist, by the look of her designer dress and impeccable coiffure. And watch out for those hard, calculating eyes. Gjertrud Flagstadt was a real Norwegian grandma type, and the mousy clothes spoke of a modest background. She must have saved up for the trip.

Sinclair took a place next to Bob, making sure the seat next to him was open.

“Where you from, son?”

“The States originally, Boston,” Sinclair said, keeping it simple.

“Did you hear the talk by that lady oceanographer?” asked Marlene. “She was just terrific this afternoon.”

“She was? No kidding,” Sinclair deadpanned, hoping like hell she would turn up.

Another few moments went by in aimless chitchat. Suddenly Sinclair noticed Bob shift into a more artificially jovial manner. Although Sinclair was facing the back of the restaurant, he could tell from the expectant look on Bob’s face that Cordelia was approaching. How curious that Bob seemed to be waiting for her as anxiously as he was. Sinclair looked at the others. They also seemed to be aware that she was approaching the table; their expressions were anticipatory. Cordelia seemed to have quite a fan club on this ship.

Sinclair resisted the impulse to turn around until the last moment. When he did, he was astounded at how beautiful she looked. She was wearing something formfitting and elegant in a silver blue color. He met her eyes, and fought with himself not to look her up and down.

Her pupils flashed recognition, but her gaze slid past him to the others, taking the introductions with easy grace. He stood as the waiter held her chair for her, and then sat down.

A string quartet was playing dinner music; at the moment, Pachelbel’s Canon drowned out the sound of cutlery.

“That was a fascinating lecture this afternoon, Cordelia,” Sinclair said, reaching for his napkin and unfolding it slowly.

“Thank you.”

There was a tense silence. She didn’t look at him as she unfolded her napkin and put it in her lap.

“Are you angry with me for some reason?”

She turned to him, and looked him in the eye.

“I’m not mad at you. But you
could
have let me know. Why are you following me?”

“I assure you I have no intentions other than . . .”

“Miss Stapleton, would you mind if Bob took a picture of our table?” the middle-aged woman, Marlene, was asking, a small camera in her hand.

Cordelia looked away from Sinclair, and answered with a gracious smile.

“Oh, of course not. That would be fine.”

They spent a moment arranging themselves for the picture.

“Could you move closer,” Bob asked, waving his hand to indicate that Cordelia should sit closer to Sinclair.

“One, two, three.” Bob took the picture, and then sat down all smiles and compliments. “Great shot.”

“That was good, honey,” Marlene said.

Cordelia moved back away from Sinclair and settled her chair a chilly distance from his. Just then the waiter came with the menus. Cordelia accepted the leather folio and began to study the selections without further comment. Joyce Chin interrupted her perusal.

“I don’t know if you eat seafood or not, but the Alaskan crabmeat risotto and the lobster bisque with tarragon are incredible. I highly recommend it. It’s better than they make it at Daniel in New York.”

“I had the chicken cordon bleu with sherry cream sauce last night,” suggested Gjertrud.

“I’d like to propose a toast,” said Vlad. He poured the bottle of Krug he had ordered for the table. His wife picked up her flute with a heavily ringed hand.

“To our planet, and the people who protect it,” Vlad toasted, pronouncing it “PLAH-nyet.” He raised his glass to Cordelia.

Anna smiled. She was wearing a very elaborate black chiffon dress with ruffles all along the neckline. Nestled in between the two mounds of her breasts was a dark green emerald the size of a jawbreaker. Cordelia couldn’t stop staring.

Anna caught her gaze and smiled.

“I love your necklace,” Cordelia felt compelled to say.

“Thank you, dahling.” She fingered it with her very long French manicured nails. “Vlad gave it to me for our anniversary.”

“Hey, that is a real beaut,” said Bob, and it was not entirely clear whether he was referring to the necklace. Then, for the benefit of his wife, he added, “What
is
that, an emerald?”

“Yes, it’s called the Star of Jaipur, and was once owned by Empress Eugénie,” Vlad answered. He sat back and took a long swill of his champagne.

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.”