“Shannon, my boyo,” he said, lowering his voice so even Reynolds had to lean down to hear him, “it’s time you got yourself a brain to work your tongue. If you ever get one, call me; I might think of rehiring you. Security is clearing out your desk.” Devine placed his fist in the small off Reynolds’ back and shoved him forward and, for a change, the mouth was lost for words.
Devine wheeled around to find Elia. She had been watching the two men, wondering what was transpiring but Devine, without a word, pulled Elia’s sleeve over toward Isabel. “Madam Speaker, before I apologise to you for Reynolds’ appalling breach of our agreement, I’d like you to meet Elia Cacoz. She was the brains behind this story and you can be the first to congratulate her on her promotion.”
“Mr Devine…,” was all Elia could get out.
“Ms Cacoz. Well done,” said Isabel, taking her hand. “If only I had you around last year.”
“Actually you did,” Elia said, slipping her hand out of Isabel’s warm grip and hanging her head. “I was Mike Mandrake’s researcher and, um, I sort of screwed up. I killed the research too early. I feel so, so responsible.”
“Didn’t you hear what Madam Speaker said during the interview, Elia?” asked Devine, smiling. “It’s history.”
Elia heard, but was not convinced.
Her instinct was right.
53
THE DOOR TO Ed’s study at home was closed but Davey found it unlocked, and snuck it open to peek inside. His father had his back to him, and Davey could see from the green light flashing on the desk that he was talking on his speakerphone. To the boy, the grey phone-dome sitting on a 1930s bleached oak and steel Frank Lloyd Wright desk didn’t look at all incongruous.
Nobody else was there except Ed and, with the drapes open, there was plenty of light for the bit of fun that Davey had planned. The boy slipped inside quietly and pressed the door closed behind him before sliding to the floor. Ed had chosen the same motif for the carpet here as in his office: five-pointed stars, though for the privacy of his home he’d gone for a less understated pattern.
Davey had already programmed the shutter-click on his camera to remain silent so his game would be as hushed to his father as it was to himself, and he started snapping. He began with four shots of the desk.
Eventually Ed swung around and as he did so, seeing Davey, his face compressed into a frown for a second, long enough for Davey to get him in the frame. “I’m on the phone,” he signed, relaxing into a beaming smile and pointing to the console, “Want to say something?” Ed’s face was warm and open. He vainly hoped the boy would speak to him as he’d done for Isabel.
Davey shook his head, instead pointing to his camera, so Ed got the hint and shifted his pose so he looked mean, like a gunslinger sizing up his kill. Davey gave his dad the thumbs-up and clicked away.
“You still there?” asked Niki Abbott over the speaker.
“Davey’s just come in… with his new camera.”
“I should give him some lessons,” she laughed.
“Not with what you’d teach him!”
“Funny man. I know he can’t hear, but shouldn’t…?”
Ed waved at Davey before turning away. “I’ve got my back to him now. Where were we?”
“You were saying it’s two hours till she leaves. I’m getting wet just thinking about this,” she said.
Ed shook his head. “No dirty talk.”
“Ed, he’s deaf!”
“I don’t care,” Ed said. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the light flashing red for an incoming call on the other line. “Our call’s coming through…”
BY the time Isabel was ready to fly to the shack, Davey was back in happy-mode and she guessed it was the excitement of coming to the heliport.
His toilet break was taking time. The rotors had been spinning for five minutes and Davey hadn’t made a reappearance.
“What is he doing in there?” repeated Isabel.
“Don’t wear out your watch,” Ed said, glancing at the chopper whirling outside the terminal not fifty feet away.
“It’s not as if you have appointments at the other end,” George added.
Davey burst out of the restroom door, his toy penguin Pip flying in one hand, his camera gripped in the other and his shirt flapping out from under his sweater.
“I hope you weren’t taking photos in there!” George laughed.
Davey ran straight to Isabel and whooshed up into her arms, squeezing her with all his might. She tucked in his shirt as he hung there and hugged him back, and spun him around like the rotors, with so many swirls they were both giddy.
When she stopped, and was still swaying a bit, Davey slipped down and his blond head snuggled into the down-filled squishiness of her steel-grey parka. With cuddles over, he handed Pip to George and stretched his camera out in front and pointed it back at his face, snapping a big cheesy self-portrait. He held up his hand signalling to the others to wait for a moment—this was serious business. He had to check his work was of adequate quality, inspecting it on the camera’s display screen. Finally, Davey, apparently satisfied, placed the camera firmly in Isabel’s gloved hand.