When in Rio (15 page)

“How’s the book?” Jack asked companionably, not looking up.

“About like you’d expect. It’s fun though. How’s the work?”

“Probably exactly like you’d expect. Is there any of the
queijo
coalho
left?”

“What thing is that again?” I eyed the dwindling food supplies, trying to recall the names Jack had conscientiously tried to teach me while we were purchasing things.

“The roasted cheese we got from the vendor by the beach,” he reminded me. He peered over his laptop at the coffee table. “That.” His reach threatened to topple several folders onto the floor, and I waved him back and handed him the remaining lump, still on its skewer, and a hunk of bread to go with it.

“Thanks. Wow, I miss street food,” he said wistfully, taking a large bite of the cheese and staring at his laptop screen.

“Street food is about to drip sauce on your computer,” I pointed out, proffering a napkin just in time. “What are these again?” The little dark purple fruits resembled grapes but were eaten by splitting the skin, eating the pulp and spitting out the seeds. Jack did this neatly, using his thumbnail and ending up with a few discreet and easily discarded seeds, completely freed from any remaining pulp. In contrast, I ended up with a lot of mashed pulp that didn’t separate smoothly from its skin and several slimy bunches of seeds—the first batch of which I’d accidentally swallowed.

“
Jaboticaba
. Hey, you’re getting better.” This time, after some practice, I was able to get the pulp free in one piece, and into my mouth without too much mess. I spit the seeds rather neatly into a napkin, supposing that in time I might actually get the hang of it. “Don’t eat too many of them at one time though, you’ll regret it.” He had speared a slice of mango on the skewer he had cleaned of cheese, and was catching the stray drops of juice from the fruit with his tongue in between bites. I tried not to watch, as watching could only lead to jumping his bones, thus distracting him further from work.

I retrieved a tiny, fat banana and a piece of sharp,
veiny
cheddar—hardly native, Jack pointed out, but it went well with all the fruit and passably with the chardonnay we’d selected—and nibbled on those, sipping my wine as I carefully ignored the antics of Jack and the fruit and slowly retreated back into my book.

I have no idea how long we sat before I nodded off. At some point, I woke to find that Jack had scooped me up and was quietly carrying me to bed. He shushed my sleepily murmured protest and tucked me in with a kiss on the forehead and another, far too brief, on the lips. I tasted wine and mango on his tongue as it slipped into my mouth just a little, and fell asleep almost instantly, dreaming of that flavor.

Chapter Thirteen

Strangely enough, possibly because I hadn’t really had time to study up on the conference in the rush to get ready for it, I only realized on Wednesday that I actually
did
know somebody there other than Jack, Kendra and Jane.

My thesis advisor, with whom I still sometimes corresponded, was participating in a panel discussion that morning, and I made it a point to sit near the front row, giving him a tentative little wave before the questions started. Too late, I considered that I probably should have prepared some dazzling question for the panel. Instead I tried to simply take good notes, as the guests were drawn from both academic and corporate settings and were providing good information about both the science and the law relevant to our field.

Dr. Johnston had politely returned my wave but had no time for anything else before the session. I wasn’t even quite sure he recognized me, and thought he might have just been returning my gesture to be cordial. Once the speakers were applauded and the session disbanded, however, he caught my eye with a beaming smile and called me over quite eagerly.

My former professor resembled nobody so much as Santa Claus, if Santa were at his fighting weight. And in a tropical suit of blue and white seersucker, Dr. Johnston also managed to look like the very picture of a South American patriarch. Although I knew him to be from Iowa originally, he was one of those people who blended in well in any setting, adapting to local customs with ease and enjoyment. And South America was a natural for him, as his wife, Lourdes, hailed from Argentina.

“Professor!” I greeted him automatically, and as always he corrected me instantly.

“Nonsense, Katherine, you know you should be calling me Arthur by now. What an unexpected delight, my dear!”

Part of the reason I loved Dr. Johnston was the way he could say things like that and sound absolutely genuine. The world would be a happier place if people still talked that way all the time, I often thought.

“It was unexpected for me too. I’m a last-minute replacement for somebody far more senior who had an unfortunate case of morning sickness, so here I am.”

“And no doubt hating every minute of it, if I recall correctly. You never had a fondness for the sun. Our Irish rose, with the instant sunburn. You seem to be managing it well this trip, I see.” The professor tucked my arm around his, another courtly gesture now almost lost to political correctness, and we walked together out to the lobby where coffee, sweet rolls and cookies were still on offer. “But you must have dinner with us. Lourdes is here and I know she’ll insist. And are you going with the group to
Pao
de
Acucar
this afternoon?”

The cable car trip to the top of
Pao
de
Acucar
, Sugarloaf Mountain, was meant to be a highlight of the conference. I had indeed planned to go, although Jack was threatening to skip the cable car and go rock climbing there instead.

“Of course. Well, and we’ve already been exploring the park…”

Some ten minutes later, deep in a discussion with my old mentor of the sights I’d seen in
Tijuca
, I was startled to look up and see Jack over Dr. Johnston’s shoulder, eyeing us quizzically.

“Jack! Have you met Dr. Arthur Johnston?” I asked enthusiastically. “My thesis advisor. We still keep in touch every so often, and he was just part of the global warming panel. Dr. Johnston, this is…ah…”

Fortunately for me, Jack was quicker on the uptake than I was. I had just realized I didn’t know how to introduce him. As my boss? My friend? Boyfriend? Nothing quite seemed to fit.

“Jack Benedict,” he cut in smoothly, shaking the professor’s hand in that firm, ultra-professional, alpha-male way. “It’s an honor to meet you, Dr. Johnston, I’m a big admirer of your early cross-disciplinary work on climate change in the North Atlantic. I drew pretty heavily on your baseline research when I was formulating
my
thesis.”

Jack had struck the perfect note, and indeed he stole Dr. Johnston’s attention almost completely away. It was several minutes before they paused long enough to finish the introductions.

“And you are Katherine’s boss, now that she’s moving up? I have that correct? You’re a senior vice president with Globe, if I recall the conference literature correctly. I hope you realize what a resource you have here in Katherine.”

“Oh, I do, sir,” Jack said, smiling broadly. “Believe me, I do.”

It was broad daylight, I was blushing, both men were smiling at me and I felt just plain stupid. Still, it was very flattering. At least, I recognized that the appropriate professional response would be to feel flattered, because the appropriate professional response would not include a sudden unbidden memory of being turned over the boss’s knee.

“The professor’s here with his wife and we were hoping to catch up over dinner,” I said to Jack, hoping to strike a note that didn’t sound like I was asking permission.

“Would you mind my tagging along?” he asked. “I’d love the chance to hear your perspective on some of the sessions, Arthur. And Kate’s always spoken very highly of you.”

It was quickly settled. We would ride together in the cable car to the top of Sugarloaf, and then upon our return we would all retire to our rooms—the professor confessed he was likely to want a
siesta
before eating—and then meet up again for dinner. I was looking forward to it, to the conversation and to catching up on what my old friends at school were doing, since so many of them had continued in academic pursuits while I’d defected to the corporate world. And although at first I had thought Jack was simply schmoozing out of habit, he seemed genuinely interested in hearing the academic viewpoint on the climate change issues the conference was about.

All in all, it promised to be a very educational afternoon and evening. During which, I thought with resignation, I doubted I would be able to do so much as hold Jack’s hand.

* * * * *

The ride up the mountain was truly spectacular. True, I had envisioned myself nestled in Jack’s arms, enjoying the sights with him pointing out all the best parts. But even as it was, jostled platonically between Jack and Lourdes Johnston, it was a vista that could not be disregarded. Draped out over the bay, the long cables seemed to disappear straight into the side of the mountain, although of course instead of crashing into the granite wall we were eventually able to disembark and enjoy the view from the top of the giant rock before riding back down.

“I still want to climb it,” Jack insisted, looking longingly back at the steep face.

“You look like a kid with your face all pressed up against a toy store window,” I said with a giggle, forgetting I was trying to set a professional tone in front of our companions. “How come you haven’t done it before now, anyway?”

“I just never get around to it,” he said, frowning. “It’s on the to-do list, but I’m usually staying with Mario when I’m down here and he doesn’t climb anymore.”

“Really? Did he have an accident or something?”

Jack laughed, a little unkindly. “Yeah, he accidentally keeps eating too much. He’s put on quite a bit of weight since he got married. Marta, his wife, is almost as tiny as you but she can
cook
. Well, you’ll see. But there’s no way Mario could haul himself up a rock face these days. And it’s never a good idea to climb alone.”

“That doesn’t look like a place for a beginner,” I said, eyeing the rock face behind us skeptically. I was only a little regretful. It looked scary, to tell the truth. “Otherwise I’d offer.”

“Are you kidding? I’m going to start you out at the rock gym, Katie, with so much safety gear you’ll barely have room to move your arms and legs around enough for climbing. I’m not letting you out on something like
that
until I’m absolutely sure—”

His look of mild alarm was cut short by Dr. Johnston’s pointed but polite throat clearing. The professor lifted his eyebrow at me but said nothing, only turned back to Lourdes and began discussing the sights once more.

“So,” I asked into the awkward silence that fell between me and Jack. “There’s a rock gym?”

“Yes,” Jack said blandly, “there is a rock gym. We’ll discuss it later.” He pointed over my shoulder at the approaching tree line. “Oh, look, a monkey.”

“Where?”

“Made you look.”

He was a grown man—a more-than-grown, Very-Important-Person kind of man. He had two graduate degrees, a single one of his power suits cost more than my clothing budget for a year…and he had just pulled a “made you look”.

What was more, I couldn’t smack him on the shoulder for it, not in front of Dr. Johnston and his wife, who was a professor of Romance languages and therefore also a Dr. Johnston. The jig would have been entirely up if I had smacked him, and it was clearly just about up already. I fully expected to hear a dating-the-boss cautionary lecture at some point, either from the professor or from Lourdes, who was now also lifting an eyebrow at me in a way that only haughty, South American aristocrats could really do well. Not that she actually was haughty most of the time, she was usually a lovely woman to be around. But she sure could do the eyebrow thing to great effect.

I was starting to wonder whether dinner was such a good idea, after all.

Chapter Fourteen

“Sure I don��t know how she found the time, but she made quite a contribution to the article. I miss her way with organizing a piece. Even purely academic work from her had such a flow, such style.”

“I actually agree with you, sir, and I know she’s still in touch with several other researchers as well. I think it’s probably just a matter of time before she decides to go back to that line of work.”

“I
am
sitting right here, you know,” I said with yet another blush. “And flattering though this is, I admit it’s disconcerting to hear you planning my departure from my job, since you do employ me at the moment.”

“Just resigning myself to the inevitable,” said Jack, lifting his wineglass in a gallant little salute. “I’ve known all along we won’t keep you, Kate. Not just the fact that you’re still more interested in fieldwork, but the way your face lights up when you talk about research and the fact that hardly a week goes by that you don’t latch on to some topic and mention what a great dissertation it would make.”

“That’s just the problem, Jack. A different topic every week. It took me forever to narrow down my thesis, there’s no way I could decide what I would write a dissertation on, which is why—”

“Now, now, children.” Lourdes tapped her fingers abruptly but elegantly on the table between us, stopping the banter instantly. I had often wondered what her university classes must be like. The students were very well behaved, no doubt. “We are here to eat. You’ll ruin your digestion. No arguments, please.” She turned to Jack, her aquiline features softening a bit, making it easy to recognize the flirtatious beauty she must once have been. “Jack, Arturo tells me you know a Coelho family. Is this the same Coelho family of Carlos
y
Fernanda
? They…have a few boats?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Jack said obediently. It was adorable, watching him fall into step for Lourdes, around whom he seemed completely docile and in awe. I had seen this effect on many of my fellow researchers during my graduate school days, as the Drs. Johnston enjoyed entertaining the students regularly. Her power over men never seemed to fade, and I could only watch in admiration as she twined Jack around her little finger. “Although, of course, to say they own a
few
boats—”