Jeanette was dressed, and stared at him with astonishment.
‘How did you do that?’ she said. ‘What’s wrong with the phone Where’s the food? Have you been doing something stupid?’
He was just about to lash back at her when he realized that this was no time to start the breaking-off routine, and instead put on his best master-of-the-situation smile, as if he were just starting up with her.
‘Not exactly,’ he said. ‘But I’ve got control of the ship. Mind if I come in?’
‘Control of the ship? But – well, all right, come in. You’re in anyhow.’
He came forward and sat down at her version of his desk. She backed away from him, only a little, but quite definitely.
‘Explain yourself,’ she said.
He didn’t; but he told her the rudiments of the story, in as earnest and forthright a manner as he had ever managed to muster in his life. As he had expected, she asked sharp technical questions, most of which he parried, and her superior manner dissolved gradually into one of intense interest.
All the same, whenever he made the slightest movement to stand up, she stepped lightly away from him, a puzzled expression flitted across her face and then vanished again as he fed her new details. He was puzzled in turn. Though the enforced ship’s-sleep hadn’t prevented her from being highly responsive – in fact, it was his guess that it had helped – he was sure that she had never awoken even for a second during the morning and hence had nothing to blame him for. Yet it was obvious that she knew, somewhere in the back of her mind that something had happened to her, and associated it with him. Well, maybe that would be helpful too, in the long run; a cut cake goes stale in a hurry.