Читать книгу Spencer's Child - Joan Kilby - Страница 10

CHAPTER TWO

SPENCER TURNED LEFT off the ring road that circled the campus and swung into the faculty parking lot tucked behind the biology building. He parked away from the handful of other cars that dotted the lot and sat there a moment, picturing himself as a permanent member of the department. If. Doc decided to take early retirement, Spencer’d have a good shot at the job.

But when he tried to imagine coming here every day, month after month, year after year, the thought sent a cold shiver down his spine. He had to fight the urge to restart the car and head down to the bay with his kayak. To be on the water, alone with the cormorants and the killer whales and the thing inside him that kept him moving.

Spencer pulled his keys out of the ignition. It was too late to run. He’d committed himself, if only temporarily. He threw on a black suit jacket over his T-shirt and jeans and grabbed his battered leather briefcase from the back seat. Kicking the door shut behind him, he strolled along the path to the biology building.

Spencer pushed through the heavy glass doors. Doc’s office was on his immediate right, but he continued down the wide empty corridor, his footsteps echoing as he walked past doors that led to classrooms or labs or offices. His eyes narrowed and the hall seemed to swarm with ghosts of students past, as distant and separate from him now as they were then.

At the end of the corridor he turned right and continued along the L-shaped passage. From somewhere came the sound of a radio. The classroom to his left jogged more memories. Thursday afternoons and Meg McKenzie.

He paused in the open doorway, his gaze seeking out the second table from the back. He saw her there, thick blond hair curving around an oval chin. Trying to keep her face straight and her perfect nose in the air while he told some outrageous story just to hear her laugh. He wondered if she’d realized how hard he’d tried to impress her.

Spencer pushed away from the doorjamb. She’d probably married a stockbroker and lived in Uplands, just down the road from Mommy and Daddy.

“May I help you, young man?” a pompous male voice said from behind him. “Classes don’t start for two weeks.”

Spencer recognized the department head’s plummy English tones from their phone conversations. He turned to the portly figure in the pristine white lab coat and full gray beard. “Dr. Randolph Ashton-Whyte, I presume.” He held out his hand. “Spencer Valiella.”

Ashton-Whyte’s bushy gray eyebrows climbed his forehead as he took in Spencer’s clothes and wayward hair. Slowly he extended his own hand. “A...pleasure to meet you, Dr. Valiella”

“Likewise. ‘Spencer’ will do.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about you from Angus. He spoke so highly of you I expected—” Ashton-Whyte. broke off and patted the row of pens in the breast pocket of his lab coat as if assuring himself they were still there and all was still right with the world.

Spencer grinned. He could just imagine what this tight-ass had expected. “Doc told me all about you, too.”

The department head rubbed his hands together, his manner brisk and important. “Now that you’re here, come along to my office. We have paperwork that needs to be completed.”

Spencer glanced at his watch. “My honors student will be along shortly. And I want to get my gear stowed away in the lab.”

Ashton-Whyte smiled coldly. “Ah, but for that you’ll need the keys to Dr. Campbell’s office and lab.”

“Got ’em right here.” Spencer pulled the key ring from his pocket and jangled it in front of Ashton-Whyte. “Never got around to returning them when I left.”

He grinned, just to let Ashton-Whyte know what kind of reprehensible character he’d hired. Spencer blamed his father for his habit of baiting what Ray still referred to as the establishment. He and Ray saw eye to eye on a lot of things.

Ashton-Whyte’s lips tightened, causing his mustache to meet his beard in a double row of raised bristles. “Well, do stop by and fill out the forms when it’s convenient, won’t you, old chap? We’ll need your details—” he paused significantly “—before we can put you on the payroll.” Then he spun on his heel and strode off, white coat flapping, confident, no doubt, he’d had the last word.

Spencer chuckled to himself and retraced his steps to Doc’s lab. As he put the key into the lock, again a weird feeling came over him, as though the last seven years had somehow been leading to this day—when he’d step into the shoes of his mentor. He shook his head. Crazy New Age stuff was his mother’s thing, not his.

He swung open the door. The familiar smell of a biology laboratory hit him. Its pungent bouquet of chemical reagents, marine organisms, cleaning fluids and old books felt like home. Especially to him, a man with no other home.

He’d expected to walk into the untidy disorganized lab of yesteryear. To his surprise, the workbenches and shelves were scrubbed, the glassware clean and put away, and plastic covers protected the microscopes. A new computer with a wide-screen monitor sat on a side table with a digital audio tape recorder next to it for analysis of killer whale vocalizations.

Spencer walked around the central workbench to open Doc’s office. A desk faced one wall with a table catercorner along the window and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf on his immediate left. The window slanted outward at the base and overlooked the biology pond, where an endless succession of first-year students dipped their nets to study pond organisms.

He dropped his briefcase and went back to the car for the box containing the hydrophone equipment he used to collect and record killer whale calls. It was old and pretty basic, dating from his honors year when Doc had “retired” it from his own use. Catch 22: if Spencer wanted new equipment, he had to get a research grant and stay in one spot. He’d thought about that on more than one occasion and always decided it wasn’t worth it.

Another trip to the parking lot brought in his collection of killer whale teeth and bones. He was arranging these in a glass-fronted cabinet when he heard a knock at the door.

Meg. She was early.

His heart hammering, he turned.

Through the doorway came a young man of Asian extraction, not more than nineteen or twenty years old. He wore gray slacks and a crisp white shirt with a narrow tie, which he’d loosened. He moved quickly and his gaze darted from Spencer to the bone collection.

“Hi,” Spencer said. “Can I help you?” Some lost soul from the faculty of business, no doubt.

“I am Lee Cheung.” He strode forward and pumped Spencer’s hand. “Very pleased to meet you, Dr. Var...r..ierr...a.” He threw his head back and laughed. “Very hard name for Chinese to say.”

“You can call me Spencer. How do you know me?”

“I am Dr. Campbell’s research assistant. He did not tell you about me?” Lee grinned and shook his head. “Doc and I collected data over summer from stationary hydrophones. My job will continue, yes?”

“I guess. I don’t know what arrangements have been made for transferring Doc’s grant monies to me.” Another thing he’d have to take up with Ashton-Whyte. Spencer dropped the empty box he was holding to the floor and flattened it with the soles of his boots.

Lee flipped his briefcase up on the lab bench and popped open the lid. “If you would like to review transcript of my last year’s biology grades—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Spencer said, amazed anyone would carry that information around. Still, Angus Campbell surrounded himself only with people who had a consuming passion for killer whales. Besides that, there was something very engaging about Lee’s wide smile and enthusiasm.

“Tell you what, Lee. I’ll hire you out of my own pocket if necessary—as long as you’re not in a hurry for a paycheck—until I can see about Doc’s money situation.”

“Okeydokey, thank you very much.” Lee reached out and pumped Spencer’s hand again. “I appreciate your confidence.”

“Don’t thank me, thank Doc. Now, I’ve got a trunkful of equipment and books to bring in. Want to give me a hand?”

Together they brought in the rest of the boxes and equipment, and with astonishing speed and efficiency, Lee organized everything. Two o’clock approached and Spencer glanced at his watch with increasing frequency. To distract himself, he went down the hall and got a coffee from the vending machines located in the lounge area at the corner of the L. The staff room probably had better coffee, but he might encounter Ashton-Whyte and say something really rude.

He was walking slowly back to the lab, sipping his coffee, when he felt the change in air pressure and the gust of air that accompanied the opening of the heavy front door.

In slow motion he turned around—and there was Meg. Blue eyes startled. Textbooks clutched to her chest Looking as unprepared as he was to meet unexpectedly. Time became fluid and the present turned into the past. So many things they hadn’t said. She looked different. She looked good. Her hair had grown. But...jeans and a T-shirt? Where were her designer duds?

“Hi.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Hi.” Self-conscious, Meg pushed her hair over her shoulder. She’d stopped ten feet away from Spencer and couldn’t seem to close the distance. She made herself keep her eyes on his face, keep the smile on hers. His youthful features had matured into sharp cheekbones and a strongly defined chin. Warm coloring, warm smile. His hair was shorter, but still wind-tossed.

He was real. Not a dream. Not a fantasy. Real as the flutter in her stomach. And she still wanted him.

“Come on to the lab,” he said.

She made her legs move, willing her heart to stop beating so furiously. She was on the verge of tears. Or hysterical laughter. Why did the moment have to be so fraught? Couldn’t they just say a big hello and give each other a hug for old time’s sake? Why did he look so serious? After all, he didn’t know about Davis. Oh, God He didn’t know about Davis.

And then they were at the door to the lab and he halted abruptly to let her go first. She ran into him, her cheek grazing the fine wool of his jacket. “Sorry.”

He put a hand out but stopped short of touching her. Meg shrank back. It was too awful. “I don’t think we can do this,” she blurted before she could stop herself.

“Yes, we can.” His dark eyes were the color of shadowed seawater reflecting fir trees. They sucked her into their depths. “You never did tell me why you’re finishing your degree only now.”

She wanted to tell him. The explanation was on the tip of her tongue. But seeing him made her even more confused than she’d been seven years ago. “Why didn’t you say goodbye?”

From inside the lab came a discreet cough.

Spencer pushed open the door. “Lee. This is Meg McKenzie, my...honors student. Meg, this is Lee. Research assistant.”

“Hi, Lee.”

Lee’s lidded glance flashed swiftly between them. “Okay if I leave now?” he said to Spencer. “I have to get to bookstore for my texts. I’ll be back tomorrow, bright and early.”

Spencer smiled. “Not too early. But yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you, Dr. Val..i—” He broke off, laughing at himself.

“Please, just call me Spencer.”

“Okay, Dr. Spencer.” Lee gave him a relieved grin. “See you later,” he added to Meg, and moved quickly past her.

“Bye.” Meg watched him go out the glass doors and run down the steps. Only when he’d disappeared from sight did she turn back to Spencer. Suddenly the hall seemed emptier, the two of them very much alone.

“You’ve grown your hair.” He reached out again and this time his fingertips touched a few strands of the thick ash-blond hair that hung almost to her waist. Static electricity raced from his fingers right to the roots, sending a shockwave tingling along her scalp.

“It’s easier than styling it,” she said lightly, backing away from his touch. In other words, cheaper. Her life had changed in so many ways. She had changed. Undoubtedly he had, too. She realized she’d been living with a fantasy image of him all these years. Maybe they had nothing left in common.

Except for Davis.

And the killer whales.

And the chemistry that still bubbled and fizzed between them like some apocalyptic experiment in a mad professor’s laboratory. Or was that all in her mind?

Spencer gestured for her to precede him into the lab. She stepped past him and found herself breathing deeply for the scent of the ocean that used to linger in his hair, on his skin. But she wasn’t close enough. And wouldn’t get close enough.

She moved farther into the lab, glancing around. She’d seen most of the equipment when she’d met with Dr. Campbell over the summer to talk about her honors thesis, but Spencer had added his possessions. Gravitating to the glass-fronted case where killer whale teeth and bones had been laid out on black felt, she said, “Are you staying out at the cottage?”

“Yes...” He paused as though about to say more. Then didn’t.

She bent to inspect the lower shelf, searching for the baby killer whale tooth she’d found while diving off Saltspring Island. It was no longer in his collection. Disappointment kept her gazing at the teeth longer than she wanted to.

“Would you like a coffee?” he asked, holding up his cup. “The taste hasn’t improved over the years, but it’s hot. Well, lukewarm, actually.”

Meg straightened, forced a smile. “No, thanks.”

He nodded and moved past her to his office, giving her a wide berth.

Why was he so wary? They’d been friends, after all. Like odd socks, but still a pair. Or had that night on Saltspring rendered null and void all that preceded it? They’d never had a chance to talk after that. They’d paddled back to Victoria the next morning ahead of a squall, locked in silence. If only she hadn’t said what she’d said, maybe his subsequent flight wouldn’t have been so swift. And maybe he wouldn’t now be acting as if nothing had ever happened between them.

“Have a seat.”

Meg sank into the safety of the padded vinyl visitor’s chair that nestled in front of the overflowing bookshelf. She just caught sight of one title, The Tao of Physics, when from the corner of her eye she saw Spencer’s lean denim-clad thigh glide by. And then he was sitting in his own chair, swirling around to face her. He leaned back, looking very casual. Or did that controlled stillness mean he was tense, not just intense, as he’d always been?

Under his dark suit jacket, which looked like Armani, but knowing Spencer was probably Salvation Army, he wore a white T-shirt and faded blue jeans. Then she noticed something new. A thin black leather cord around his sun-browned neck, the ends of which disappeared under the curve of white cotton. She remembered the smooth hard heat of the chest beneath...

“...killer whale communication,” he was saying. “I’ve been working with the transient population for the past five years, first in the Puget Sound area, then down around Monterey.”

Meg nodded, relaxing a little. “It’s interesting how few calls and whistles they make compared to resident killer whales.”

Spencer’s eyebrows rose. “You’re familiar with my research?”

“When I decided to finish my degree, I caught up on the literature.” She could see the unasked questions in his eyes and ignored them.

“Then you must also be aware of Deeke’s recent findings on intra-pod communication.”

She nodded. “They gave me an idea for my thesis...” She stopped. In spite of reading all the journal articles she could get her hands on, she still felt out of touch. What she’d been about to say might be completely off the wall.

“What is it?” He leaned back a little farther and crossed an ankle over the opposite knee.

“Well, I just wonder...what are they saying to each other?” Please don’t laugh at me.

Spencer gazed at her for a moment in silence. “The repetitive staccato clicks they make are used as a form of echolocation to forage for prey and for navigation—as I’m sure you know,” he said. “Pulsed calls and whistles are used for social communication. Keeping tabs on members of the pod when they’re out of sight of each other.”

He must think she was crazy. Except that she knew him. Knew he must have wondered the same thing. “But don’t some calls occur more often in some circumstances, such as resting or socializing?” she said.

“True, but so far no one has established a definitive connection between call type and behavior that would suggest certain calls had a specific meaning.”

“Yes, I know,” she said heavily. Her idea was too far-out.

“However, I don’t think it’s impossible that we’ll eventually be able to decode their communications,” he said carefully. “You’d have to listen to their sounds in the context of their daily lives and closely monitor behavior. Given the limited scope of an honors thesis, maybe you should confine your study to one small aspect of killer whale communication. In that context, I would support such a project if that’s what you’re interested in.”

Was she interested! But wait. This was her degree they were talking about. The opportunity for which she’d scrimped and saved for seven years. If she blew her honors thesis because Spencer agreed to what someone else on her supervisory panel would consider crackpot research, she wasn’t sure she’d have the heart, or the resources, to try again.

“Have you got funding to do this type of research?” she asked. Spencer, she knew, never hesitated to go out on a limb, but if the Natural Science and Engineering Research Council was willing to believe in him, she supposed she could.

“I don’t have funding of any kind at the moment, but you’ll have access to Doc Campbell’s grant money.” He grinned, showing white, slightly overlapping front teeth. A smile that had once thrown her heart into palpitations. And still did. “Sometimes you’ve just got to take a chance, princess.”

Princess. She’d almost forgotten that detestable yet somehow endearing nickname. “My name is Meg,” she reminded him severely.

“Sorry,” he replied, looking totally unrepentant. “Not very politically correct of me.”

“It’s hard to adjust to us not both being students—to you being a prof and me being under you.” Meg immediately blushed at her choice of words.

Spencer swiveled to the window as though he wanted to leap out. “It feels strange for me, too. Can we just skip the professor-student thing and be two people interested in killer whales? The way we used to be?”

Was that what they used to be? “Sure, I guess so.”

“Good.” He spun back. “Do you still have your kayak?”

“Yes, but I haven’t used it in a while.” Like seven years.

“Get it out, check it for leaks.” Spencer got to his feet. “We’ll pay a visit to Kitasu and the rest of her maternal group. Are you doing anything tomorrow? We could catch the early ferry to Saltspring, drive up to Southey Point and paddle out from there.”

“I—I don’t know,” she said, rising. She’d have to ask Patrick to take Davis to day care in the morning. She’d accounted for afternoon care but not for earlymorning starts.

He gazed at her quizzically. “Mornings bad for you? I suppose you’re working.”

“No. Yes. It’s just that I need time. I have things to...arrange.”

“Okay, but we really should get in a preliminary look-see before classes start and things get busy for both of us.”

She turned to walk out ahead of him. “What will you be teaching—Marine Mammals?”

“Yes. Plus a unit of first-year biology and a course in the philosophy of science. It’s a graduate-level course, but you’re welcome to sit in on it.”

“I’d like that.”

“It’s in the evening. Wednesdays.”

“Oh. Evenings are hard for me, too.”

He paused a beat. “Are you married, Meg? Or living with someone?”

“No!” It was so not what she’d been afraid of his asking, she jumped. And probably looked guilty as hell, anyway. “Are...are you?”

He shook his head and laughed. “Me? Not likely.”

Of course not. How could she be so foolish? More foolish still that the news he was free made her heart go flip-flop.

“Can we leave the kayaking till Saturday?” she asked. Patrick would be on maneuvers all weekend, but this Saturday was the Uplands Garden Club open house and garden sale. Her mother would be busy from early morning till evening, which meant her father, who avoided the annual event as he would a plague of aphids, could look after Davis. He didn’t get many opportunities to spend time with his grandson, but when he did, he jumped at them.

“That should be fine. Give me your address and I’ll pick you up at eight o’clock.”

Uh-oh, complications already. “My kayak is at my parents’ place. You know where that is.” She started to back out of the office. “I’d better run. I’ll see you Saturday. Bye.”

She left without waiting for a farewell from him. She’d learned not to.

WHEN MEG GOT TO the ring road, instead of turning toward Esquimalt and the California-style bungalow she shared with Patrick, she pointed her Toyota toward Cadboro Bay Road. If she hurried, she had just enough time to drop by her parents’ house to check out the kayak before picking up Davis.

Stone gates guarded the entrance to the parklike estates of Uplands. Meg rubbed her temples as she drove through, aware of the tension already starting to mount. She hoped her mother wasn’t home. Helen never lost an opportunity to inform Meg that dropping out of university at the age of twenty-one to become a single mother had ruined her life. What Helen really meant was that Meg had ruined her life. Oh, the shame of having to tell her garden club friends that her daughter lived in Esquimalt. God forbid she would ever consider visiting her and Davis there.

Meg had learned to live with her mother’s disapproval, but what really hurt was the way Helen couldn’t warm to Davis. She was a control freak, and Davis was someone she couldn’t control. Rather than learn how to deal with his behavior, Helen shunned his company. It was hard for her little boy to understand. And harder still for Meg to forgive.

She turned into the long curving driveway flanked by a high box hedge. It was all so clichéd it would have been boring except that this was her family. She missed the big Sunday dinners with her three brothers and their families and the holiday gatherings she now avoided because she couldn’t stand having to constantly defend her life. Or to protect her son from feeling slighted by his grandmother.

Thank goodness for Daddy. He wasn’t terribly happy with the way her life had turned out, either, but at least he tried to let her live it her own way. And although he’d never thought Spencer good enough for his only daughter, he loved his grandson and treated him accordingly.

The elegant white three-story house came into view, afternoon sun glinting off the mullioned windows. Meg pulled up in front of the portico and got out She glanced at the conservatory but couldn’t see her mother’s slim figure moving among the plants.

Daddy was home, though, practicing his putting on the side lawn, his salt-and-pepper head bent in concentration. Meg waited till he’d made his shot, then called out. Roger McKenzie’s handsome face broke into a smile. Dropping his golf club into the bag, he strode across the lawn to envelop her in a hug. “Meggie! How’s my little girl?”

“Twenty-eight and all grown up,” Meg teased as she hugged him back.

Roger glanced hopefully at the car. “Is Davis with you?”

“No. I just came from the university.” Dam, why did she go and open that line of conversation?

“Have they found you a new supervisor yet?”

“Yes. An expert on killer whales from Monterey.” Daddy would have to know sometime that Spencer was back, but right now she didn’t have the time or the emotional energy to discuss it. The fact that Spencer didn’t even know he was a father had never absolved him of guilt in Roger’s eyes. “We’re going kayaking on the weekend to locate the group of killer whales I’m going to work on,” she went on. “I came to see if my kayak still floats.”

“Andrew used it a few times over the summer. I said he could. Didn’t think you’d mind. He said he replaced the ‘spray skirt’ because the neoprene rubber had deteriorated in spots.”

“That’s great. There’s nothing worse than getting soaked from the waist down because a leaky spray skirt lets water into the cockpit. Let’s go have a look.”

They went in through the open section of the fourcar garage. In the far slot sat Roger’s restored Model-A Ford next to his silver 500 SEL Mercedes. Helen’s smaller, cream-colored Mercedes was absent. The rest of the garage was given over to sporting equipment—skis and tennis rackets, snowboards and sailboards, golf clubs and archery sets.

Meg’s single-seater Orca kayak had been taken down from the overhead beams and was propped on wooden blocks at the back of the garage. She ran a hand down the shiny red fiberglass hull, then lifted the new spray skirt to inspect it. “Looks okay.”

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Roger said. “You know how finicky your brother is.”

“I’ll be sure to call and thank him for using my stuff,” Meg replied with a grin, and walked to the stern to test the rudder movement. “Where’s Mother?”

Roger’s voice became deliberately casual. “She’s looking after Cassie and Tristan a couple of afternoons a week. Maybe you haven’t heard—Anne’s gone back to work, part-time.”

Cassie and Tristan were Meg’s niece and baby nephew. Meg bit her lip, hoping the physical pain would override the inner pain. It wasn’t that she wanted to use her mother as a baby-sitting service, but never once had Helen offered to look after Davis. The few times Meg had asked, Helen had always been too busy. Finally Meg had stopped asking. Helen sent expensive and inappropriate gifts for Davis’s birthday and at Christmas, but Meg could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times she’d gone out of her way to see her grandson.

“I’d better go,” she said. “I’ve got to pick up Davis at day care. He hates it when I’m late.”

“Is he excited about starting school?” Roger asked as he walked her back to her car.

“One minute he can’t wait and the next he’s not so sure.” Meg opened her door. “Oh, I almost forgot. Would you be able to look after him on Saturday while I’m kayaking?”

“Sure! He can caddy for me.” Roger put his arm around her. “We don’t see enough of him, darling.”

Meg gripped her father’s hand where it rested on her shoulder. “You know Mother and I can’t be in the same room for more than ten minutes without fighting.”

“Your mother is just proud and stubborn—like her daughter. She does love you, Meggie.”

Funny kind of love. “Bye, Dad,” she said, giving him another hug. “I’ll see you Saturday morning. Early.”

It wasn’t until she’d turned her car out of the driveway and onto the road that she remembered Spencer would be picking her up at her parents’ house at roughly the same time she’d be dropping Davis off. She had to decide fast what, if anything, she was going to tell Spencer about his son.