“A lot of to-do about one little number,” he teased.
“But I’ve already told you!” She sounded shocked. “It’s not just one little number. It is the only yardstick we have to measure the universe with, and we don’t know how long it is! If we knew that distance accurately, we’d know not just how far the stars were, but we could deduce the distance of all the planets in the solar system. We’d then know their mass, which would allow us to test our measurements of the gravitational constant, see if this so-called ether exists…” She trailed off once again, looking up at him. Slowly, the light drained from her eyes. Watching her slide back into self-consciousness was like watching a candle flame flicker in a sudden wind and then go out.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice. “You were teasing me.”
“No,” Stephen said. “I was proving a point.”
She flinched. “What, that you can set me to babbling?”
“You keep looking for dark, complicated reasons, Miss Sweetly. I don’t complicate. I’m simple. I like hearing you talk about the solar system. If I didn’t like it, I wouldn’t ask.”
“You can’t pretend you’re a mathematical enthusiast. I’ve seen you wrestle with an arctangent, Mr. Shaughnessy, and I wasn’t sure you would win.”
Stephen leaned toward her. “It’s because your enthusiasm is a contagion. You look at the sky and see not pretty little lights, but a cosmos to be discovered. If I could listen to you talk and not smile in appreciation, I would be an unfeeling brute. And you think the praise I give you is over-extravagant? One of these days, you’ll realize how much I’m truly restraining myself.”
She stole a glance over at him—one that was both wary and hopeful all at once.
“So tell me,” he said. “When will Venus next intervene between us and the sun? The way you were speaking, it sounds as if it will be soon.”
Her fingers fumbled with a teaspoon. “It’s just days from now,” she told him. “On the sixth of December at almost precisely two in the afternoon.”
“And naturally, you’ll be observing this event.”
“Oh…” She looked down again. “From here in London, only about half of the transit will be visible, and that only weather permitting. The sun will set before it’s finished. I have a piece of smoked glass that I’ll be using to observe—which is hardly ideal, the planet is so small, and…” She trailed off.
“And I don’t understand. You work at an observatory. Surely you’d have access to better observational tools than smoked glass.”
“I’m not one of the astronomers,” she said in a low voice. “I’m just a computer. There’s only so much space, and everyone else wants to see it.”
Just. She still didn’t believe him.
“Well, then.” He gave her his best smile. “Next time, you must attach yourself to one of the scientific teams going to…where was it you said? Bermuda?”
But she was shaking her head again. “No, no.”
“You think you can’t?” He paused, considering her. “The fact that you are female poses some difficulties. The race, I assume, is also a hindrance?”
She nodded.
“But then, those must be overshadowed by the utter brilliance of your mind.”
She smiled, but it was a shaky, wavering smile. “It’s not that, Mr. Shaughnessy. I mean, it is that, but in this case, it wouldn’t help.” She swallowed. “You see, the transit of Venus is a rare astronomical event—exceedingly rare. There is no next time, not in my life. It won’t happen again until June of the year 2004.” She gave him a sad shake of her head. “So yes, Mr. Shaughnessy. I’m not one of the people who will watch this happen in all its glory. Women like me will have to content ourselves with glimpsing the phenomenon in smoked glass.”
Stephen hadn’t known what he intended when he first approached Dr. Barnstable. But looking at her now, her head bent, disclaiming all importance… Now, for the first time, he knew what he wanted.
Chapter Four
“ROSE,” PATRICIA SAID THE NEXT MORNING, “I particularly think you should read this.” She slid a paper across the breakfast table to sit alongside Rose’s teacup.
Rose looked up from her toast to see the Women’s Free Press opened to Mr. Shaughnessy’s latest column.
“I thought you didn’t want to encourage me in this.”
“This isn’t encouragement,” Patricia said gravely. “It’s a reminder of who he is, what he is. He’s flirting with you…”
Rose felt her cheeks heat. Patricia didn’t know the half of it.
“…and at the same time, he’s carrying on like this, in public. In a newspaper.”