He knew his uncle. This reorganization was preparatory to something else. Something big, that Lord Pirrie would announce when he was ready.
Tom knew what he had to do.
He had to know.
Moving to his desk, he called Sam Altair to arrange a meeting. He was only a little surprised when the physicist invited him over for dinner that evening. Tom assured Sam that he had no problem with Casey being present. In fact, since the warning had originally come from her, he insisted on it. He looked forward to meeting her as she really was.
He could not imagine what she would say and found himself wondering what she looked like. He could still picture Casey the boy, small and thin, agile, close-cropped red hair under a cap, inquisitive green eyes, with small hands quickly bringing order to any system they encountered. Had she given up the boys’ clothes and let her hair grow? It had been less than two months; surely it would not be very long, yet. Would she be wearing a dress? Would he recognize her?
He realized again that he had to know.
Perhaps about more than just Titanic.
The house was in the middle-class section of town, surrounded by a small, fenced yard. The grounds were tidy, with rows of hedges and winter vegetables growing along the side. The house was freshly painted and two chairs graced the porch next to a small table. He raised the knocker, letting it fall once.
Dr. Altair seemed pleased to see him, inviting him in with a delighted smile, and hanging his coat and hat on a rack. A delicious smell of bread accompanied the door opening, and Tom wondered if Casey were in the kitchen.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Andrews.” Sam was expansive. “I hope we are able to clear up many of your questions. Please, have a seat. I’ll get Casey.”
Tom remained standing as Dr. Altair left the room, unwilling yet to sit. He looked over the room. It was neat, and sparsely furnished: the divan, a couple of chairs, a small desk and telephone, a window seat with cushions and pillows that matched the lace curtains. One wall was covered with shelves and books. He smiled, remembering Casey once talking about how she liked to read.
Suddenly she was there, standing in the doorway. And wearing a dress. Tom stared. I should have come sooner, he realized. Casey had been a “pretty boy,” as was often stated around the yard, but Casey the woman—for it was a young woman who stood before him and not the girl he had been envisioning—was more than pretty.
Her red hair had grown much longer than he would have thought, falling in curls to the middle of her ears. It was too short to wear up in the style preferred by young women, so she wore it loose, and it framed her face. Her cheeks were rosy from cooking, her green eyes wide and a bit wary. A hint of rouge touched her lips. The dress was blue, and its folds made him long to touch her. How could he ever have mistaken her for a boy? She stood with feminine grace, her dress curved over narrow hips, and a small bosom that was more substantial than he would have thought possible. How had he missed that all those months?
She was altogether enchanting, and as he stared at her, she moved a hand in front of herself, as if self-conscious. Then she seemed to recover, and moved toward him, holding out her hand to shake his. “Mr. Andrews! It is so good to see you!”
She spoke with complete sincerity and he smiled as he took the hand, which was softer than he could have imagined.
“Casey,” he murmured, looking into her eyes, and then deliberately bending to kiss the back of the hand. She flushed to her roots, but made no move to reclaim her hand. “You’re wearing a dress.”
She tilted her head in acknowledgment. He continued, “It’s a very lovely dress.”
She laughed then and took back her hand, looking pleased and embarrassed. “Thank you,” she said simply. “I hope you are well?”
“I am. But something…” his lips quirked as he remembered his errand, “there have been changes at work and I wanted to talk to you, about what you said before you left.”
She nodded. “I’m glad you’ve asked. I know this is all very strange, but we really do want to help you.”
He nodded as he answered, his voice shaking a bit, “Thank you. I know this is sudden, but I didn’t want to put it off.”
She gave him a small smile, moving aside as Sam came in with a tea service. “Just let me get things on the table. I’ll only be a minute. Please sit down.”
She left the room as Sam poured tea. “We have an occasional cook, but we sent her on home,” he explained, handing Tom a cup as Tom sank into a chair. “No interruptions that way. Anyway, Casey is an excellent cook.”
Tom found his eyes returning to the doorway after the missing girl. “I am astonished at the difference.”
Sam laughed. “I guess it is amazing when you’re not used it. Should she put on the costume and hat to show you how it’s done?”
“No!” Tom shook his head vehemently and said again, more quietly, “No, not at all. I want to talk to her as she really is.”
Sam looked more serious. “She’s from the American West, Mr. Andrews. I believe in some ways, she was allowed to conduct herself in a more casual fashion than European society approves. The adjustment has been difficult for her.”
“I see,” Tom murmured. He actually did, having met many American girls on his voyages for Pirrie.
Casey returned with a tray of crackers and cheese that she placed on the small table near Tom. She accepted a cup from Sam, sitting in a chair across from Tom, who found he was taking every opportunity to examine her closely, especially the way the dress fit her.
“How is Ham?” she asked quietly. “Have you found someone to help him?”
Tom laughed a little. “He’s fine and we have, although Ham is not very pleased with the caliber of your replacement. The young man does not catch on quite as quickly as you did.”
“I’m sure he’ll improve.” She sipped her tea. “You said something had happened at the yard?”
Tom nodded, then told them about the restructure and his suspicions about his uncle’s plans. “You previously mentioned the Managing Director position when no such position existed,” he told Casey. “I believe you owe me an explanation. What is this all about?” He placed his cup on the tray and continued, “I’d like to ignore all of this and just forget about it, and I’m hoping that more explanation from you will help me do that.”
“Hmmm,” was all Sam said. Casey glanced at her guardian as she stood. “Forgetting may not be possible, but it is, of course, up to you,” she said to Tom. “Dinner is ready. Why don’t we go to the table and Sam and I will tell you whatever you need to know.”
The dining room was small, but a lace tablecloth covered the table and there was room for four to sit, even with the old sideboard against the far wall. For a few minutes, talk of warnings was superseded by dishing out food, pouring drinks, and buttering bread. Tom admired the food out loud and then silently admired the embarrassed smile this brought to Casey’s face. He really should have come sooner, for no other reason than to see how she was doing. But he returned to the purpose of his visit. “Casey, while you were at the firm, we talked about building safer ships. You were quite interested in the subject, but why that particular scenario? Why a specific ship, which, by the way, does not exist?”
She blushed, but looked at him squarely. “It doesn’t exist yet, Mr. Andrews.”
He felt a twinge of impatience. “Are we speaking metaphorically? As in, shipping rules are an accident waiting to happen? Or are you going to tell me you know the future, that you can read the stars or wind currents and tell me my fortune?” His sarcasm bordered on rudeness, but he didn’t care. If they turned out to be a couple of charlatans, he just might tell Mike Sloan to do whatever he wanted. “Who are you? What makes you think that you can help me?”