“Defensive, maybe.” Chelsea took another sip of wine, attempting to relax. “Like any other scientist, my father has detractors.”
“At the moment. I’m more interested in you,” said Remo.
“Why?”
“The subject of our interview, remember?”
“I assumed—”
“That I’d be pumping you for dirt about the clinic?”
“Elegantly put,” she said. “But, frankly, yes.”
“But you can see, I’m not.”
“It’s just as well,” she said almost defiantly, “because there isn’t any dirt. My father is devoted to the work of building families, or giving them a second chance. Besides the clinic, he encourages adoptions through a home for unwed mothers, up in Indiana, and provides his services at no charge to a boys’ home several miles from here, at Ekron.”
“Boys’ home?” Remo felt the light go on above his head, as if he were a cartoon character.
“That’s right. You sound surprised.”
He tried to cover with a shrug. “Well, I assumed that he confined his work to treating infertility.”
“By no means. He—”
The waitress interrupted Chelsea as she set their plates in front of them. They took a break from talking for the next few minutes, Remo chewing pensively on his duck, watching her as she ate her veal.
“If we could just get back to you,” he said at last.
“I’m not that interesting.”
“I disagree.”
Suspicion lingered in her eyes, but she was warming up a little. Remo spent a moment thinking what it would be like to heat her up a lot, then put the thought behind him.
Stick to business.
“You’re in no position to judge me,” Chelsea said. “Much less my father or his work.”
“I’m a reporter, not a judge,” he replied.
“Is there a difference?”
“I should hope so.”
“Maybe in a perfect world,” she told him, sounding dubious.
“I take it you’ve had some unpleasant run-ins with the media,” he said.
“In my experience, reporters pander to their audience. They crave approval. Give the people what they want—or what they think they want—instead of what they need.”
“It’s hard to do a fair job from the outside, looking in,” he said, “especially when the blinds are drawn.”
“My father has his reasons for the secrecy,” she responded.
“Such as?”
“You mentioned one yourself. The whole genetics field is frightfully competitive. Some so-called honorable men of science aren’t above stealing from a genius and putting their names on his work. Failing that, they will do anything within their power to smear him and misrepresent his work.”
“Sounds more like Washington or Hollywood than the frontier of science,” Remo said.
“There’s precious little difference.”
“You’ve shattered my illusion.”
“A reporter shouldn’t have illusions, Mr. Washington.”
“Touché. Your father must have something pretty special going on to generate that kind of animosity.”
“I really can’t discuss it any further,” Chelsea said.
“Not even off the record?”
“I’m supposed to trust you now? A perfect stranger?”
“No one’s perfect,” Remo said.
“In any case…”
“I’d think your father would be glad of the publicity. I mean, once his discoveries are down in black and white, it would be much more difficult for anyone to rip him off.”
“You are naive,” she said.
“Enlighten me.”
“My father’s work is more than just original,” she explained, “It’s revolutionary. He—”
She caught herself about to cross the line, and stepped back from the precipice. A slight blush added color to her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” Chelsea said.
“What for?”
She shrugged and forced a smile. “For rambling. I get carried away sometimes.”
“There’s nothing wrong with passion,” Remo told her. “But I have a problem putting it across on paper, if I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“I understand,” she said. “But after everything my father’s been through, he can be a little—”
“Paranoid?” suggested Remo.
Chelsea stiffened, glaring at him. “No! There’s nothing wrong with him. He’s brilliant. You have no idea how much his work—his dream—has cost him.”
“So, enlighten me.”
“What’s the point?”
“Assume that my reporter’s curiosity won’t let me drop the story. If you freeze me out, you’ve got no input on the final product, nothing in the way of quality control.”
“That’s blackmail, Mr. Washington.”
“Not even close,” he said. “I’m interested in truth, and I’ll pursue whatever sources I can find. You know I’ve done my homework on your father’s background, as it is. The people who refuse to talk with me have no legitimate complaint when I omit their point of view. I don’t read minds.”
“And I don’t care for threats,” she said. “Not even when they’re phrased politely.”
“I’m not threatening your father, Chelsea. I have no stake in attacking him or making him look foolish. As for confidential details of his work, most of my readers wouldn’t understand it, anyway. Some kind of plain-folks summary is all I’m after.”
“Something that will sell your magazine,” said Chelsea.
“Absolutely. Is there something wrong with that?”
“Depends on how you do it,” she replied.
“You’re absolutely right. I give celebrities a boost from time to time and I’ve been known to comment on their shortcomings, but hatchet jobs are not my style.”
“So you say.”
He shrugged. “You have to trust somebody, sometime.”
“Why?”
“You have to ask. I’d say there’s more at stake here than your father’s academic standing with his peers.”
“Psychology’s my field, remember? Spare me the analysis.”
“I’d like to know where all that bitterness comes from.”
“None of your business,” Chelsea snapped.
“Okay. Just let me get the check, and we can hit the bricks.”
“Hang on,” she countered. “I thought they taught persistence in your average journalism school.”
“They do,” he said, “but beating a dead horse is something else.”
“So I’m a horse, now?”
“Chelsea.”
“Listen, this is difficult for me, all right? My father’s not the only one who’s suffered losses, following his dream.”
“I’m listening.”
“My mother left him thirteen years ago. She couldn’t take the arguments, the isolation, the back-stabbing office politics. She found somebody else, and six months later she was dead. A car wreck. I was still in junior high school.”
A car wreck? Remo thought of Mrs. Jasper Frayne, and said, “I’m sorry, Chelsea.”
“Not your fault. Nobody’s fault, in fact. Stuff happens, right? You need to understand that he’s been there for me, no matter what. As for his work…well, dammit, there I go again.”
“If you could only give me some idea…”
She shook her head. “I’m sorry, no.”
“Try this for size—suppose I got you final editorial approval, put it down in writing. Let your father set his own parameters for any technical discussion. Think you could convince him?”
She thought about it for a moment. “I’ll ask, all right? No promises. Don’t get your hopes up.”
“Fair enough.”
They finished up with small talk, over coffee. Remo paid the check and walked her to her car. She offered him a cautious smile before she drove away, and left him standing in the twilight, watching as her taillights disappeared.
It would not qualify as any kind of major breakthrough, nor could Remo even claim to be closer to the truth, but he was certain that the lady and her father had a secret. Now, all he had to do was try to find out what it was.