Chapter 5 #2
Alexander was almost immediately drawn away into conversation with a flustered Templeton, so Saffron wandered to an urn of hot tea.
A footman in a Western uniform—the hotel seemed to have embraced the Western tradition of servants’ black and white—served her a glass of dark, fragrant tea.
She took the small sweet offered along with the glass and went to sit near an open window.
Warm air scented with lavender and grass drifted over her.
It would have been soothing, if not for the loud laughter and conversation coming in through the window, too.
Dr. Henry had made his way outside, and she could hear him grumbling. It seemed he’d reached his limits of tactful amiability, for he was saying things she prayed the Turkish officials did not overhear.
She managed to tune him out, instead watching the interplay of the crew and officials inside. There was much muddled Turkish and handshakes and bows and all manner of entertaining behavior, especially from the younger members of the crew who’d likely had limited experience traveling abroad.
Though, now she looked about, there were fewer young assistants about than usual. Martin Neill came to mind, and Saffron wondered if he would do better than his peers, though she rather doubted it, with his tendency to stammer and ramble. She looked for him amid the crew but didn’t find him.
A loud curse erupted from the open door leading to the hotel’s front foyer.
She leaned over, only to see Dr. Ames bearing down on a fellow she recognized as one of the historians.
Considering Dr. Ames was barely above her own height, it was impressive he managed to menace the younger man so effectively.
“What do you mean, they’re gone?” Dr. Ames demanded
“They’ve gone down into the city,” the other historian said. He didn’t seem affected by Ames’s poor temper.
“They went into the city? What city?” spat Ames. “Half the damn city is still burnt to a crisp!”
The historian shrugged. “They said something about finding a bit of fun before work got underway.”
“Work is underway!” Ames cried, pointing to the stairs. “They were meant to be preparing the papers for drafting the maps tomorrow!” Nostrils flaring, he marched away, calling, “Henry!”
Through the window, Saffron could hear Ames as he exited the foyer and rounded the house to the garden that Dr. Henry occupied.
“What is it, Ames?” he replied. Saffron could see he’d calmed down and was now smoking a cigar with a few other people. Alexander had joined the group, dark eyes watchful as the drama unfolded.
“The assistants are gone,” Ames said, coming to stop before Henry. He was nearly two feet shorter but made up for it in pure vitriol. “They took off to the city.”
Dr. Henry chuckled. “Can’t blame them for wanting a bit of fun, can you?”
“I don’t blame them,” Ames cried, jabbing a finger at Henry, “I blame you! You told me this expedition would be different! No nonsense. No alcohol. No disappearing into brothels for days at a time! It’s not even the first day and the assistants you selected can’t even grid a piece of paper before haring off to dip their wicks—”
“Now, Ames, see here—”
“You see here! I only agreed to come on this expedition—to give you my endorsement for this new department of yours—because you promised me research worthy of publication.” Ames drew closer, looking almost like he might try to poke Henry in the chest out of agitation.
“Thus far, I have no one to do the very basics—”
Dr. Henry waved dismissively. “All right, all right, keep your shirt on. You’ll have your grid papers. I’ll get the damn assistants back.”
It was not a particularly diplomatic response, but Saffron was rather shocked he’d replied without shouting.
She hadn’t seen much of the infamous Lawrence Henry temper, and even the exchange after dinner was mild compared to the tales she’d heard of him shouting birds out of the trees during the Amazonian expedition.
Dare she hope it a good omen of his leadership on this expedition?
“Ashton! Banks!”
“Yes?” Saffron could hear the resignation in Alexander’s voice.
“You’ll go round up our wayward youths,” Henry declared.
Saffron sighed. So much for a good omen.
“I can’t go—Cynthia would kill me.” His joking smirk seemed to mask real disappointment. “But you can track them down, I have no doubt.”
Alexander and Banks left the group. Saffron rose from the window seat to meet them in the foyer.
It was slightly cooler in the tiled foyer, with the doors open and a delicate breeze circulating.
Alexander came to a stop before her with an apologetic smile. “I take it you heard that?”
“I would be surprised if the errant assistants didn’t hear it all the way down in Smyrna. Do you think you can find them?”
Banks cleared his throat meaningfully, exchanging a look with Alexander.
“There are only so many places a group of rowdy young men would go, Miss Everleigh, if you’ll pardon the allusion.
I doubt it’ll take us more than a few hours.
” He must have noted how her face fell, for he added, “But have no fear, we’ll be dragging the lot in by their ears before long.
” He flashed a grin at her and clapped Alexander on the shoulder.
“Meet you here in five minutes. Can’t go out like this, can we? ”
Two foreigners out in the city at night in dinner jackets would likely draw quite a lot of attention.
Alexander waited until Banks had disappeared up the stairs to take Saffron’s hands, lifting one to press a kiss to the back. “And I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Be careful,” she said softly, squeezing his hands back.
After she bade Alexander and Banks goodbye, she idled in the foyer, wondering if it was time for her to retire. The Turkish officials and the consul general had made their departures moments before, and now the gathering felt even less appealing.
“Miss Everleigh, join me, won’t you?”
Fighting the way her muscles tensed, she turned to see Clark, who leaned against the door to the parlor. For once, he seemed to be alone.
“I think I’ll be heading to my room now,” she said. “Good night.”
“Oh, come now, don’t be unsociable.”
She’d rather eat dirt than socialize with Clark. But if there was a chance they could actually speak about their work—which began tomorrow—then she had to take it.
He offered her one of the full glasses he held. “Champagne?”
She eyed the bubbling golden liquid in a plain water glass. “Where did you get champagne?”
Tipping one of the glasses to the light, he smirked.
“With our esteemed hosts gone for the evening, a bottle mysteriously appeared on the sideboard. I suppose someone’s luggage was not very carefully examined at customs. Or perhaps one of their customs officers finds their prohibition laws as tiresome as the Americans do.
” He shrugged and held out the glass of champagne again.
“A peace offering. I put you through the wringer on the voyage. It’s all a part of the expedition, you know.
We’ve a tradition of giving the new blood a hard time.
But now we’re here, it’s time to move on.
” He tilted the glass toward her again. “Colleagues?”
She saw nothing in his gaze to suggest this was genuine, but neither did she see his usual contempt, so she took the glass.
He smiled and lifted his own. “To our success.”
Warily, she clinked her glass against his. “To our success.”
He gulped down his champagne, and a look of mild disapproval crossed his face when he saw she’d only taken a small sip. Unwilling to be the first one to undermine their new truce, she dutifully finished the glass, wincing a little at the sharp brightness of the bubbles.
“Excellent,” he said, plucking the glass from her hand. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Everleigh. I’ll see you bright and early.”