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第18部分

p&c.icelimit-第18部分

小说: p&c.icelimit 字数: 每页4000字

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 mess。
 McFarlane stopped。 He had been expecting the indifferent dining area of a working ship。 But once again the Rolvaag surprised him。 The mess was a vast room; extending across the entire aft forecastle deck。 Huge windows looked out onto the ship's wake; boiling back into the darkness。 A dozen round tables; each set for eight and covered with crisp linen and fresh flowers; were arranged around the center of the room。 Dining stewards in starched uniforms stood at their stations。 McFarlane felt underdressed。
 Already; people were beginning to gravitate toward the tables。 McFarlane had been warned that seating arrangements on board ship were regimented; at least at first; and that he was expected to sit at the captain's table。 Glancing around; he spotted Glinn standing at the table closest to the windows。 He made his way across the dark carpeting。
 Glinn had his nose in a small volume; which he quickly slipped into his pocket as they approached。 Just before it vanished; McFarlane caught the title: Selected Poetry of W。H。 Auden。 Glinn had never struck him as a reader of poetry。 Perhaps he had misjudged the man after all。
 〃Luxurious;〃 McFarlane said as he looked around。 〃Especially for an oil tanker。〃
 〃Actually; this is fairly standard;〃 Glinn replied。 〃On such a large vessel; space is no longer at a premium。 These ships are so expensive to operate; they spend practically no time in port。 That means the crews are stuck on board for many; many months。 It pays to keep them happy。〃
 More people were taking their places beside the tables; and the noise level in the room had increased。 McFarlane looked around at the cluster of technicians; ship's officers; and EES specialists。 Things had happened so quickly that he only recognized perhaps a dozen of the seventy…odd people now in the room。
 Then quiet fell across the mess。 As McFarlane glanced toward the door; Britton; the captain of the Rolvaag; stepped in。 He had known she was a woman; but he wasn't expecting either her youth … she couldn't be more than thirty…five … or her stately bearing。 She carried herself with a natural dignity。 She was dressed in an impeccable uniform: naval blazer; gold buttons; crisp officer's skirt。 Small gold
 bars were affixed to her graceful shoulders。 She came toward them with a measured step that radiated petence and something else … perhaps; he thought; an iron will。
 The captain took her seat; and there was a rustle as the rest of the room followed her lead。 Britton removed her hat; revealing a tight coil of blond hair; and placed it on a small side table that seemed specially set up for that purpose。 As McFarlane looked closer; he noticed her eyes betrayed a look older than her years。
 A graying man in an officer's uniform came up to whisper something in the captain's ear。 He was tall and thin; with dark eyes set in even darker sockets。 Britton nodded and he stepped back; glancing around the table。 His easy; fluid movements reminded McFarlane of a large predator。
 Britton gestured toward him with an upraised palm。 〃I'd like to introduce the Rolvaag's chief mate; Victor Howell。〃
 There were murmured greetings; and the man nodded; then moved away to take his position at the head of a nearby table。 Glinn spoke quietly。 〃May I plete the introductions?〃
 〃Of course;〃 the captain said。 She had a clear; clipped voice; with the faintest trace of an accent。
 〃This is the Lloyd Museum meteorite specialist; Dr。 Sam McFarlane。〃
 The captain grasped McFarlane's hand across the table。 〃Sally Britton;〃 she said; her hand cool and strong。 And now McFarlane identified the accent as a Scottish burr。 〃Wele aboard; Dr。 McFarlane。〃
 〃And this is Dr。 Rachel Amira; the mathematician on my team;〃 Glinn continued; continuing around the table。 〃And Eugene Rochefort; chief engineer。〃
 Rochefort glanced up with a nervous little nod; his intelligent; obsessive eyes darting about。 He was wearing a blue blazer that might have looked acceptable if it had not been made of polyester that shined under the dining room lights。
 His eyes landed on McFarlane's; then darted away again。 He seemed ill at ease。
 〃And this is Dr。 Patrick Brambell; the ship's doctor。 No stranger to the high seas。〃
 Brambell flashed the table a droll smile and gave a little Japanese bow。 He was a devious…looking old fellow with sharp features; fine parallel wrinkles tracing a high brow; thin stooped shoulders; and a head as glabrous as a piece of porcelain。
 〃You've worked as a ship's doctor before?〃 Britton inquired politely。
 〃Never set foot on dry land if I can help it;〃 said Brambell; his voice wry and Irish。
 Britton nodded as she slipped her napkin out of its ring; flicked it open; and laid it across her lap。 Her movements; her fingers; her conversation all seemed to have an economy of motion; an unconscious efficiency。 She was so cool and poised it seemed to McFarlane a defense of some kind。 As he picked up his own napkin; he noticed a card; placed in the center of the table in a silver holder; with a printed menu。 It read: Consomme Olga; Lamb Vindaloo; Chicken Lyonnaise; Tiramisu。 He gave a low whistle。
 〃The menu not to your liking; Dr。 McFarlane?〃 Britton asked。
 〃Just the opposite。 I was expecting egg salad sandwiches and pistachio ice cream。〃
 〃Good dining is a shipboard tradition;〃 said Britton。 〃Our chief cook; Mr。 Singh; is one of the finest chefs afloat。 His father cooked for the British admiralty in the days of the Raj。〃
 〃Nothing like a good vindaloo to remind you of your mortality;〃 said Brambell。
 〃First things first;〃 Amira said; rubbing her hands and looking around。 〃Where's the bar steward? I'm desperate for a cocktail。〃
 〃We'll be sharing that bottle;〃 Glinn said; indicating the open bottle of Chateau Margaux that stood beside the floral display。
 〃Nice wine。 But there's nothing like a dry Bombay martini before dinner。 Even when dinner's at midnight。〃 Amira laughed。
 Glinn spoke up。 〃I'm sorry; Rachel; but there are no spiritous liquors allowed on board the ship。〃
 Amira looked at Glinn。 〃Spiritous liquors?〃 she repeated with a brief laugh。 〃This is new; Eli。 Have you joined the Christian Women's Temperance League?〃
 Glinn continued smoothly。 〃The captain allows one glass of wine; taken before or with dinner。 No hard liquor on the ship。〃
 It was as if a lightbulb came on over Amira's head。 The joking look was replaced by a sudden flush。 Her eyes darted toward the captain; then away again。 〃Oh;〃 she said。
 Following Amira's glance; McFarlane noticed that Britton's face had turned slightly pale under her tan。
 Glinn was still looking at Amira; whose blush continued to deepen。 〃I think you'll find the quality of the Bordeaux makes up for the restriction。〃
 Amira remained silent; embarrassment clear on her face。 Britton took the bottle and filled glasses for everyone at the table except herself。 Whatever the mystery was; McFarlane thought; it had passed。 As a steward slipped a plate of consomme in front of him; he made a mental note to ask Amira about it later。
 The noise of conversation at the nearest tables rose once again; filling a brief and awkward silence。 At the nearest table; Manuel Garza was buttering a slab of bread with his beefy paw and roaring at a joke。
 〃What's it like to handle a ship this big?〃 McFarlane asked。 It was not simply a polite question to fill the silence: something about Britton intrigued him。 He wanted to see what lay under that lovely; perfect surface。
 Britton took a spoonful of consomme。 〃In some ways; these new tankers practically pilot themselves。 I keep the crew running smoothly and act as troubleshooter。 These ships don't like shallow water; they don't like to turn; and they don't like surprises。〃 She lowered her spoon。 〃My job is to make sure we don't encounter any。〃
 〃Doesn't it go against the grain; manding…well … an old rust bucket?〃
 Britton's response was measured。 〃Certain things are habitual at sea。 The ship won't remain this way forever。 I intend to have every spare hand working cleanup detail on the voyage home。〃
 She turned toward Glinn。 〃Speaking of that; I'd like to ask you a favor。 This expedition of ours is rather。。。 unusual。 The crew have been talking about it

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