Raise the Titanic - Cussler Clive - Страница 48

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    The admiral sat silently for a few moments and, when he finally spoke, Nicholson noted his deadly serious tone.

    "Okay, Nicholson, I'll string along. But God help you if there is a tragic accident or another murder down there. The consequences will be more terrible than you can possibly imagine."

43

    Mel Donner came through Marie Sheldon's front door, his suit splattered from a spring rain.

    "I guess this will teach me to carry an umbrella in the car," he said, taking out a handkerchief and brushing away the dampness.

    Marie closed the front door and stared up at him curiously. "Any port in a storm. Is that it, handsome?"

    "I beg your pardon?"

    "From the look of you," Marie said, her voice soft and slurry, "you needed a roof until the rain let up, and the fates kindly led you to mine."

    Donner's eyes narrowed for a moment, but only a moment. Then he smiled. "I'm sorry, my name is Mel Donner. I'm an old friend of Dana's. Is she at home?"

    "I knew a strange man begging on my doorstep was too good to be true." She smiled. "I'm Marie Sheldon. Sit down and make yourself comfortable while I call Dana and get you a cup of coffee."

    "Thank you. The coffee sounds like a winner."

    Donner appraised Marie's backside as she swiveled toward the kitchen. She wore a short white tennis skirt, a sleeveless knit top, and her feet were bare. The taut swing of her hips flipped the skirt to and fro in a pert, seductive sort of way.

    She returned with a cup of coffee. "Dana is lazy on weekends. She seldom rolls out of the sack before ten. I'll go upstairs and speed things up."

    While he waited, Donner studied the books on the shelves beside the fireplace. It was a game he often practiced. Book titles seldom failed to unlock the door to their owner's personality and tastes.

    The selections ran the usual gamut for the single female there were several books of poetry, The Prophet, The New York Times Cookbook, and the usual sprinkling of gothics and best sellers. But it was the arrangement that interested Donner. Interwoven among Physics of Intercontinental Laval Flows and Geology of Underwater Canyons, he found Explanation of Sexual Fantasies of the Female, and The Story O. He was just reaching for the latter when he heard the sound of feet coming down the stairs. He turned as Dana entered the room.

    She came forward and embraced him. "Mel, how wonderful to see you."

    "You look great," he said. The months of strain and anguish had been erased. She seemed more at ease and she smiled without tenseness.

    "How's the swinging bachelor?" she asked. "Which line are you using on poor innocent girls this week, the brain surgeon or the astronaut?"

    He patted his paunch. "I've retired the astronaut story until I can shed a few pounds. Actually, because of the publicity you people are getting on the Titanic, I can do no wrong by telling the little lovelies crowded around the Washington singles' bars that I'm a deep-sea diver."

    "Why don't you simply tell the truth. After all, as one of the country's leading physicists, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

    "I know, but somehow playing the real me takes the fun out of it. Besides, women love a lover who's phony."

    She nodded at his cup. "Can I get you more coffee?"

    "No thanks." He smiled, and then his expression became serious. "You know why I'm here."

    "I guessed."

    "I'm worried about Gene."

    "So am I"

    "You could go back to him . . ."

    Dana met Mel's eyes evenly. "You don't understand. When we are together, it only makes things worse."

    "He's lost without you."

    She shook her head. "His job is his mistress. I was only a whipping post for his frustrations. Like most wives, I'm not geared to take the anguish that goes hand in hand with a husband's insensibility when he's overburdened with on-the-job stress. Don't you see, Mel? I had to leave Gene before we destroyed each other." Dana turned and held her face in her hands, then quickly composed herself. "If only he could quit and go back to teaching, then things would be different."

    "I shouldn't be telling you this," Donner said, "but the project will be completed in another month if all goes according to plan. Then Gene will have nothing to keep him in Washington. He'll be free to return to the university."

    "But what about your contacts with the government?"

    "Finished. We enlisted for a specific project, and when it's finished, so are we. Then all of us take a bow and head back to whatever campus we originally came from."

    "He may not even want me."

    "I know Gene," Donner said. "He's a one-woman man. He'll be waiting. . . unless, of course, you're involved with another man."

    She looked up surprised. "Why do you say that?"

    "I happened to be in Webster's Restaurant last Wednesday night

    Oh God! Dana thought. One of her few dates since leaving Gene had come back to haunt her already. It had been a foursome with Marie and two biologists from the NUMA marine sciences laboratory, a friendly, comfortable evening. That was all, nothing had happened.

    She stood up and glared down at Donner. "You, Marie, and yes, even the President, all expect me to go crawling back to Gene like some damned old security blanket he can't sleep without. But not one of you has even bothered to ask how I feel. What emotions and frustrations do I face? Well, to hell with all of you. I am my own woman, to do with my life as I please. I'll go back to Gene if and when I damn-well feel like it. And, if I feel in the mood to go out with other men and get laid, so be it."

    She spun and left Donner sitting there stunned and embarrassed. Up the stairs and into the bedroom where she threw herself on the bed. She had mouthed nothing but mere words. There would never be another man in her life but Gene Seagram, and some day, soon, she was sure she would return to him. But now the tears came until there were none left.

    Imbedded in one of the mirrored walls, a phonograph record, watched over by a female disc jockey, thundered through four huge quad speakers. The postage-stamp dance floor was jammed, and a thick haze of cigarette smoke filtered the brightly colored lights that exploded on the ceiling of the discotheque. Donner sat at the table alone, idly watching the couples gyrate to the blaring music.

    A petite blonde wandered up to him and suddenly stopped. "The rainmaker?"

    Donner looked up. He laughed and got to his feet. "Miss Sheldon."

    "Marie," she said pleasantly.

    "Are you alone?"

    "No, I'm the third wheel with a married couple."

    Donner's eyes followed her gesture, but it was impossible to tell who she meant amid the jumbled bodies on the dance floor. He pulled back a chair for her. "Consider yourself escorted."

    A cocktail waitress happened by and Donner shouted an order above the din. He turned to find Marie Sheldon studying him approvingly. "You know, Mr. Donner, for a physicist, you're not a bad-looking man."

    "Damn! I had hoped to be a CIA agent tonight."

    She grinned. "Dana told me about a few of your escapades. Leading poor innocent girls astray. For shame."

    "Don't believe all you hear. Actually, I'm shy and introverted when it comes to women."

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