Aware that dwelling on his condition would only make it seem much worse, he guided his thoughts into other channels. He closed his eyes and conjured a vivid picture of Rita. But in order not to think of her as she might be—cold, frightened, miserable, injured, or even dead—he cast his mind back in time, back to the day they had first met. The second Friday of May. Nearly nine years ago. In Paris…
He had been attending a four-day conference of scientists who had participate in the previous United Nations Geophysical Year. From all over the world, three hundred men and women of different disciplines had met in Paris for seminars, lectures, and intense discussions paid for by a special UNGY fund.
At three o’clock Friday afternoon, Harry addressed a handful of geophysicists and meteorologists who were interested in his Arctic studies. He spoke for half an hour in a small room off the hotel mezzanine. When he had made his final point, he put away his notes and suggested they switch to a question-and-answer format.
During the second half of the meeting, he was surprised and enchanted by a young and beautiful woman who asked more intelligent, incisive questions than any of the twenty eminent gray heads in the room. She looked as though she might be half Irish and half Italian. Her amber-olive skin seemed to radiate heat. Wide mouth, ripe lips: very Italian. But the Irish was in her mouth too, for she had a curious, lopsided smile that gave her an elfin quality. Her eyes were Irish green, clear—but almond shaped. Long, lustrous auburn hair. In a group that opted for tweeds, sensible spring suits, and plain dresses, she was a standout in tan corduroy jeans and a dark-blue sweater that accentuated her exciting figure. But it was her mind—quick, inquisitive, well-informed, well trained—that most engaged Harry. Later he realized that he’d more than likely snubbed others in the audience by spending so much time with her.
When the meeting broke up, he reached her before she left the room. “I wanted to thank you for making this a more interesting session that nit might otherwise have been, but I don’t even know your name.”
She smiled crookedly. “Rita Marzano.”
“Marzano. I thought you looked half Italian, half Irish.”
“Half English, actually.” Her smile developed into a full, lopsided grin. “My father was Italian, but I was raised in London.”
“Marzano… that’s familiar. Yes, of course, you’ve written a book, haven’t you? The title…”
“Changing Tomorrow.”
Changing Tomorrow was popularized science, a study of mankind’s future projected from current discoveries in genetics, biochemistry, and physics discoveries in genetics, biochemistry, and physics. It had been published in the United States and was on some best-seller lists.
“Have you read it?” she asked.
“No,” he admitted.
“My British publisher shipped four hundred copies to the convention. They’re on sale in the news corner off the lobby.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m scheduled to an autograph session now. If you’d like a signed copy, I won’t make you wait in line.”
That night he was unable to put the book down until he turned the last page at three o’clock in the morning. He was fascinated by her methods—her way of ordering facts, her unconventional but logical approaches to problems—because they were startlingly like his own thought processes. He felt almost as though he had been reading his own book.
He slept through the Saturday morning lectures and spent most of the afternoon looking for Rita. He couldn’t find her. When he wasn’t looking for her, he was thinking about her. As he showered and dressed for the evening’s gala affair, he realized he couldn’t recall a word spoken in the one lecture to which he had gone.
For the first time in his life, Harry Carpenter had begun to wonder what life was like for a settled man sharing a future with one woman. He was what many women would call “a good catch”: five-eleven, a hundred sixty pounds, pleasant-looking if not handsome, with gray eyes and aristocratic features. But he had never wanted to be anyone’s catch. He’d always wanted a woman who was his equal, who neither clung nor dominated, a woman with whom he could share his work and hopes and ideas, from whom he could get feedback that interested him. He thought perhaps he had found her.