"Who's the bored-looking young woman who hangs around while you're filming and straightens Jasper's collar and stuff?" Moira said.
"Kent's daughter, don't you know. A bit of nepotism in the film business," Daniel said. "Or is it necrophilia? The girl can barely speak. Is she alive?"
"You're bad," Mike said. "But she just hangs about, that's for certain. Her name is Brittany."
"I'm surprised a woman named Kent Clarke wouldn't call her daughter something more masculine, Sydney or something," Moira said.
"Lois," Daniel said. "As in Lois Lane. That's what I would have done. Anyway, I'm heading home. Thanks for the brew, Mike."
"I'm turning in, too," Mike said. "Long day tomorrow, and I've got to have a look at what we got today and get tomorrow organized."
"The logistics man," Daniel said. "He worries about the detail. All I have to do is point the camera where he tells me."
"And make everything look nice," Mike said. He stumbled slightly as he stood up.
"Nice," Daniel agreed, reaching out a steadying hand.
I was thinking Moira and I would also turn in for the night, but Rory showed up at this point and came over the minute he saw us. We told him we'd met Fairweather and his family.
"Great guy," Rory said. "I heard about the set-to up at Rano Raraku. He does have a temper, but basically he's one of the good ones. Couldn't talk him into joining me here at the congress, though."
"He may come tomorrow evening," Moira said. "Robinson invited him."
"They may have to tie him down," Rory laughed.
"Actually his wife gave us the responsibility of keeping him still and quiet," I said.
"Not an assignment I'd relish," Rory said. He signaled the waiter. "The usual? Pisco sours?" he asked.
"I think I'm going to pass," I said. I'd been keeping an eagle eye out for Cassandra, given she was the last person I wanted to see that evening, and I had just caught a glimpse of her heading for the terrace.
Avoiding Cassandra, however, was more difficult than I had thought. As I walked through the lounge, I saw to my dismay that she had changed direction and we were now on a collision course if I continued on my chosen route to the room. Furthermore, she stopped to talk to Mike on the walk between my current position and my goal. Fortunately, the lounge was empty except for Seth Connelly, who was reading in the armchair that had been occupied by Dave Maddox the night before. He greeted me in a most friendly fashion, so I didn't feel I could just turn around and walk out the way I had come.
"I've the better part of a bottle of wine, here," he said. "Come and have a glass with me." I chose a chair where I hoped Cassandra would not see me if she decided to go out to the terrace through this room.
Seth was very entertaining, as it turned out. He hadn't had much to say at the congress, but when I asked him about rongorongo, he was positively effusive. "It's a writing system," he said. "One of the most amazing ever. There is no precedent for it in ancient Polynesia. The old Polynesian cultures could neither read nor write. Rapa Nui was the same until the arrival of the Spanish in 1770. That year, the Spanish claimed the island. The Spanish insisted the ariki, the leaders, sign a document ceding the island to the Spanish crown. The Rapa Nui put little marks on the page, symbols of importance to them. What is amazing is that they obviously figured out that the Spanish symbols on the document represented spoken language, and after the Spanish left, the Rapanui came up with their own written language. Don't you think that's amazing? I don't think there has ever been anything like this in the entire history of literacy."
"Amazing," I agreed. "And is it still used?"
"I'm afraid not," he said. "Not everyone would have been able to read and write it in the first place. There would be wise men, called maori rongorongo, who specialized in it. Now nobody can. Progress has been made in deciphering it, but there isn't much to work with. While rongorongo was occasionally written on stone, it was usually carved on wood tablets, and a lot of these have just disintegrated in this climate. There are only fourteen tablets—twenty-eight if you count fragments—known worldwide. A rongorongo tablet is a very rare find."
"So this is your area of expertise?"
"I just work at it for my personal satisfaction. I teach history for a living. I came out here in the hope of seeing Gordon Fairweather again. Pity he's not at the conference."
"He may come tomorrow night," I said.
"Indeed! I hope so. Misery loves company."
"I take it you are not keen on Jasper Robinson?"
"I think Robinson has had some extraordinary discoveries."
"But?" I said.
"But I can't stand him," Seth said. "If the story about what happened at the quarry is true, if I'd been there instead of Fairweather, I'd have said a lot worse than 'horse manure.' " That sounded a lot like braggadocio to me. Seth was shy, almost painfully so.
We went on talking until I'd finished my glass of wine. Seth's enthusiasm was infectious, and I'd spent a very pleasant and enlightening half hour or so with him. I had completely forgotten about Cassandra, but she was nowhere to be seen, so I decided to make a run for it, leaving Seth to his book.
I wanted to go to sleep, but I couldn't, at least not right away. I had been of two minds about leaving Rory and Moira alone together. In fact, if I hadn't seen Cassandra heading my way, I'd almost certainly have stayed. I wasn't sure how I felt about the budding relationship between them. I did know I felt a pang as I watched the two of them, their heads bent close to each other, perhaps to be heard above the din, but more likely because they preferred it that way.
I know I criticize Clive a lot. He has a rather superficial glibness that lends itself to ridicule. But in my heart of hearts, I do not delude myself into thinking our marriage fell apart entirely because of his faults and foibles. I am not the easiest person in the world to get along with. I'm stubborn and judgmental and occasionally just plain cranky. I am also a workaholic. There, I've said it.
I thought Moira and Clive, no matter how painful it had been for me when they got together, had a really good relationship. They were both the better for it, and I found myself hoping that Moira would not stray. The question was, to which of them did I owe the most loyalty? I had been married to Clive. That aside, we were in business together. If he found out about any straying and discovered that I knew and didn't tell him, our shop might go down the drain. On the other hand, Moira and I also went back a long way, and we were very good friends. I was the one she asked to come to Rapa Nui with her, the number one spot on her life list.
I also lay there thinking about Cassandra. I went back over the nasty little scene of the previous evening again and again. The truth was I had not seen her face. I saw Gabriela's and the terror in it, and I had seen the back of Cassandra and heard her bracelets jangling away. Cassandra's choice of apparel was very distinctive, to be sure. I hadn't seen another gypsy on the island. She was a big woman, though, and wore loose clothing. It was possible, if not probable, that someone else had put on her clothes. It could even have been a man, given her stature.
That's ridiculous, I thought. Even if I didn't see her face, I heard her voice. But maybe that wasn't exactly the case, either. The person in the gypsy garb had not spoken clearly. Rather she had hissed at Gabriela, a hoarse whisper, in fact. Could I swear the voice I had heard was Cassandra's? I decided I could not, although I remained convinced that it was.
All of this was giving me a headache. I decided I didn't want to talk to Moira about any of it and that I would turn out the light, pretending to be asleep when she came in.