Chapter 4 #2
The main ballroom had been transformed into a spectacular sight. Soft lighting glowed from a chandelier webbed across the ceiling like a constellation. Each round table was draped in white linen and decorated with a centrepiece of orchids, ferns, and a taper candle.
Table eight was near the edge of the room, close to a side exit but with a clear view of the stage. Marise guided Kathleen there with a hand hovering behind her back, not touching but with her. There were eight seats at the table.
Two older men were already seated—distinguished, greying, in tailored suits with committee pins on their lapels.
Their wives sat beside them, wearing gowns and pearls, the kind of elegance that suggested generations of wealth.
The two other chairs were occupied by a couple in their forties, glamorous in a bold way.
The man wore a checked jacket that verged on too casual.
The woman, all silver-blonde hair and glossy nails, wore something low-cut and expensive.
The Institute board members offered polite nods.
“Dr. Knowles,” one of them said, his voice rich with familiarity. “Lovely to see you again. This must be your guest?”
Kathleen gave a tight smile. “Yes. This is Veronica Hale.”
Marise smiled warmly, extending a hand, but not pressing. The introductions passed quickly, and they took their seats. Marise made sure to position herself on Kathleen’s right, placing a small buffer between her and the couple across the table.
The donors introduced themselves as Greg and Lianne Asher, supporters of “forward-thinking environmental ventures,” as Greg put it, while helping himself to the first pour of wine.
Lianne leaned forward, flashing a white smile. “So, you’re the Dr. Knowles. We’ve been hearing your name in all sorts of interesting places.”
Kathleen nodded. “Yes.”
“We read a profile in Scientific Weekly . Your work on... what is it—synthetic root networks?”
“Electrically conductive vascular systems,” Kathleen corrected, voice cool but even.
Greg chuckled. “Right. Right. Some of that went over my head, I’ll admit. But the gist is, you’re growing magic plants.”
Marise felt Kathleen tense beside her, not visibly, not to anyone else at the table. But she saw it: the slight narrowing of her mouth, the fingers curling under the linen napkin.
“They’re not magic,” Kathleen said. “They’re engineered.”
Lianne pressed on, undeterred. “We were wondering, hypothetically, if something like that would ever be available commercially. You know, for properties in the desert. Or for ornamental purposes. Maybe a boutique version?”
Kathleen hesitated. Her lips parted, then closed again. She clearly didn’t know how to answer the statement.
Marise stepped in quickly. “What you’re asking, Lianne,” she said, with an easy smile, “is whether the technology has lifestyle applications. I’m guessing that’s a little like asking if rocket fuel could be used for a garden torch.”
Greg laughed. “Well, that puts it in perspective.”
Marise turned slightly toward Kathleen, her tone shifting slightly. “But it’s a good question. People want to understand. It only takes a little translation.”
Kathleen’s eyes flicked to her briefly, with the faintest touch of gratitude. Then she gave a single nod and didn’t elaborate.
The board member on her other side leaned in. “So how close are you to viable deployment, Dr. Knowles? You must be field testing by now.”
Kathleen opened her mouth, then shut it again. Marise leaned in, annoyed. These weren’t neutral inquiries, they were fishing expeditions and they were putting Kathleen on the spot.
“I'm afraid we signed an NDA,” she said lightly, smiling. “Even I don’t get to know the details, which is a shame. I’d love to brag.”
Lianne chuckled again, this time a little more subdued. The moment passed. Someone commented on the wine pairing. Conversation shifted to the upcoming speeches.
Kathleen took a slow breath. She hadn’t touched her drink. Her fingers were still curled under her napkin. “You didn’t have to do that,” she murmured.
“Yes, I did,” Marise said softly. “And I will again.”
Kathleen’s expression didn’t change much. But she turned slightly toward Marise, her posture loosening enough to suggest she was feeling easier.
It wasn’t trust. Not yet. But it was close.
The first course arrived—delicately plated greens with a citrus vinaigrette and a shard of crisped goat’s cheese. The conversation ebbed and flowed around the table in low, refined voices, but Marise kept one ear trained on Kathleen’s breathing, her hands, the stillness in her shoulders.
Kathleen barely touched her food.
Greg, meanwhile, grew bolder with every swallow of his wine. “You know,” he said, cutting into his roast duck with far too much enthusiasm, “what you’re doing could make someone very, very rich. I assume you've had offers?”
Kathleen hesitated. Her fork hovered over her plate.
Marise interjected with a light laugh. “That depends. Are we talking about offers from tech venture capitalists, or eccentric billionaires who want to terraform Montana?”
The table chuckled politely. Greg grinned, but didn’t back down. “I’m saying that someone will turn it into a product. Might as well be the person who invented it.”
Kathleen blinked slowly. “It’s not a product,” she said. “It’s a system. A living system. It’s not meant to sit in someone’s penthouse beside a potted fern.”
Marise smiled behind her wineglass.
Greg raised his hands. “Touché. I’m just trying to understand. The public's curious, that's all.”
Kathleen gave a nod that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She remained silent.
Marise leaned in slightly, turning her body so Greg’s line of sight no longer quite reached Kathleen. It was subtle, practiced and cut off the angles, redirecting the flow of conversation back to the board members on her left.
Dessert came and went—some lemon and elderflower thing that Marise barely tasted. She kept her eyes on the room, scanning the small signals: Kathleen's posture, her breath, the twitch of her fingers against her napkin.
By the time the speeches began, Kathleen sat with her shoulders drawn slightly forward and her hands folded carefully in her lap, not moving. She wasn’t even trying to feign interest anymore.
The lights dimmed as the foundation chair stepped to the microphone. Applause followed, polite and measured, and then the usual platitudes began—about progress, innovation, the future of sustainability. Kathleen’s name was mentioned briefly, and the table turned to clap for her.
Marise leaned in quietly. “Smile now, or they’ll think you hate saving the planet.”
Kathleen gave her a brief, sideways look that was half annoyance and half amusement. She smiled.
The applause faded. The lights rose again. Plates cleared. A quartet began playing a tasteful instrumental version of something vaguely jazz.
And then, predictably, the dance floor opened.
Couples rose. Laughter began to hum under the lights. Greg stood and offered a hand to Lianne, who took it with a theatrical smile. Even the board wives moved delicately toward the edge of the floor with their partners.
Kathleen didn’t move.
Marise turned toward her, ready to have a quiet talk while the others were dancing, but Kathleen beat her to it. “Can we leave?” she asked firmly. “I’ve...had enough.”
Marise nodded. “Of course.” She pulled out her phone and called a cab.
They slipped from their table quietly and headed out the door, the echo of music fading behind them as they walked down the hallway.
“I hate the dancing part,” Kathleen said. “Everyone’s enjoying themselves and I don’t know the steps.”
Marise glanced curiously at her. “Was there anything you liked about tonight?”
Kathleen was quiet for a moment, then said, “The part where you made that man stop talking.”
Marise gave a soft, amused breath. “I’m happy to do it again.”
Kathleen stopped walking. She turned to face Marise, something unreadable flickering in her expression.
The city seemed to exhale around them—cooler now, less gilded.
Marise however, was beginning to mildly panic.
The night hadn’t turned out how she planned.
She hadn’t learned a blessed thing about Kathleen’s research.
She had thought they might have had a chance to quietly talk when the dancing started, but that oaf, Greg had put an end to that.
Kathleen was coiled up tightly as a spring.
“Would you like to go somewhere for a cup of coffee,” she asked hopefully.
Kathleen turned to look at her in surprise. “Oh. I thought I only paid for you to be with me for the dinner.”
Marise looked at her, disconcerted. She felt like a package from the supermarket—bought and paid for until her used-by date. “No. The night’s still young.”
Kathleen slid her eyes away, “I’ll have to get to bed. The plants must be monitored every two hours and I have the early shift. My assistant doesn’t come in until noon.”
Marise swallowed her disappointment and plastered on a bright smile. “No worries. I’d better get you home then.”
She had no more spoken the words, when the cab pulled up at the curb.
They were quiet on the way home. Kathleen had withdrawn into herself and Marise wondered what she’d done wrong.
Perhaps she had been too attentive. Strangely, she had genuinely enjoyed being Kathleen’s protector; there was something about the reclusive scientist that interested her.
She couldn’t put her finger on what it was exactly, but she knew underneath that shy exterior, there was an intelligent woman who needed to be encouraged out of her shell.
Though she had no idea if she could win her confidence back.
All too soon, the cab pulled up in front of the apartment block, and with a hurried, “thank you, Veronica,” Kathleen was out the door.
Marise watched her fit her key into the lock, and disappear inside without a backward glance.