Starclimber Page 11

  “What’s even worse, my mother thinks he’s a perfect gentleman.” Kate shook her head in astonishment. “By the way, you never told me what your mother thought of me. Did she like me?”

  “Oh, very much,” I said breezily.

  I could tell she was looking at me hard, and I wouldn’t meet her eyes, afraid of what mine might give away. Her gaze could be like a crowbar.

  “What exactly did she say?” Kate persisted.

  “What a well-bred young lady you were. How pretty you were. Things like that.”

  “She didn’t like me, did she.”

  I forced myself to meet Kate’s steely gaze. “Why do you say that?”

  “You sound completely unconvincing.”

  “I do not,” I said.

  “You’re a bad liar.”

  “She’s just not used to girls like you,” I said lamely.

  Kate’s eyes widened. “Girls like me? Oh, you mean the fast, disreputable kind?”

  “Of course not.” I was scrambling now, wondering how to haul myself out of this mess. “I meant girls from high society.”

  “So she thinks I’m a snob.”

  Kate’s eyes were blazing. It drove her crazy that my mother hadn’t been utterly smitten by her.

  “She doesn’t think you’re a snob. She just worries you might be a bit…determined.”

  Kate was speechless, but only for a split second. “Of course I’m determined! Everyone should be determined, or else what’s the point of living? When a man’s determined, it’s wonderful, but if it’s a woman, it’s horrid and unattractive.” She shook her head bitterly. “It’s bad enough men judge us unfairly, but when our fellow women—”

  “I don’t think my mother was judging—”

  “I don’t see the other mothers of Lionsgate City warning their sons away from me,” Kate said haughtily. “In fact, they seem to find me highly desirable.”

  “I’m glad you’re so certain of your charms,” I said coldly.

  “Oh, so you think I’m conceited now, too, do you?”

  I gave a laugh. “Of course you’re conceited! That’s hardly a surprise to me.”

  I was worried someone might overhear us, but Mrs. Lunardi was up on the bridge with her husband now, and the wind and waves made enough noise to drown out our talk.

  “Your mother did think I was snobby, didn’t she!” Kate demanded. Then she frowned uncertainly. “Was it what I said about the roses?”

  “What?” I said, confused.

  “You know, about how roses were so much better than a vegetable garden. I worried about that afterward. It was too frivolous. Sometimes things just come out too quickly at parties.”

  She was biting her lip, twisting at one of her fingers, and suddenly seemed so full of doubt and regret that I felt sorry for her.

  “My mother liked you,” I said gently. “I think she just saw us as mismatched.”

  “Well, that’s a bit presumptuous, isn’t it?” Kate said, flaring up again. “Mismatched. It’s not like we’re engaged!”

  “No,” I said, hurt by the disdain in her voice. “She knows how I feel about you, that’s all.”

  At this, Kate seemed to soften. “I’m sorry, Matt,” she said. “I’m being beastly. I’m just worried about meeting Miss Karr. What if we can’t change her mind?”

  “You’re pretty persuasive,” I said, smiling.

  Kate looked at me gratefully. “Do you really think she’ll say yes.”

  “If it stops you talking, absolutely.”

  She chuckled. “It’s good to be just the two of us again.”

  I looked around to be sure we weren’t being watched and gave her hand a quick squeeze, wishing I could kiss her.

  “But look,” Kate said, reaching into a large wicker basket and pulling out a sheaf of pamphlets and books. “I thought we should read up on Miss Karr.”

  She seemed very insistent, so I took the book she held out and began flipping through it.

  “I was reading madly all last night,” said Kate. “A lot depends on this, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Don’t just look at the pictures. Read!”

  I couldn’t help myself and started laughing.

  “What?” Kate said.

  “You are so bossy,” I said.

  “Yes. Now read!”

  I must say, I was quite relieved when Mr. Lunardi came down and asked if I wanted to take a turn at the wheel.

  It was a quick walk from the Inner Harbour to the quiet, tree-lined street where Miss Karr lived. Gulls cried out over James Bay; from the busier streets came the occasional clip-clop of carriage horses and the sputter of a motorcar. Mr. and Mrs. Lunardi walked along arm in arm, chatting happily. I wondered if Kate and I would ever be able to stroll like that in public. I glanced over at her, but she was lost in thought, no doubt worrying about what she was going to say to Miss Karr.

  “Here we are,” said Mr. Lunardi.

  Beyond the picket fence, a path led through an overgrown garden to the veranda. For such a famous person, Miss Karr was obviously not vain about her house. The windows had an unwashed look, and the gutters needed mending. Paint flaked from the gables.

  Mr. Lunardi held the gate open for Kate and me, and then stepped back.

  “You’re not coming with us?” I asked.

  He gave a quick shake of his head. “I think I’d just annoy her. Inflame her artistic sensibility and all that. Last time I came, she set her dog on me. Her guinea pigs too. You’ll have much better luck without me. Holler if you need help.”

  Kate and I walked up the path.

  “Guinea pigs can be quite fierce,” she said, and we both had a giggle.

  I rapped on the front door, which after a moment swung open by itself. It took me several seconds to realize that a monkey had opened it.

  He was a tiny thing, not more than a foot tall. Dressed in a sailor suit, he had large gray sideburns and looked like a very short, very old British admiral. He peered up at us expectantly.

  I glanced over at Kate, not knowing what to do.

  Speaking very slowly, Kate said, “Good—morning. We—are—here—to—see—Miss—Karr.”

  The monkey gazed back at her pensively.

  “You’re talking to the monkey?” I asked.

  “Well, he does look quite bright,” she replied.

  The door swung open wider and the monkey scampered back, as if inviting us inside. We hesitated, but the little fellow chattered so insistently that we stepped into the hallway.

  “Hello, Miss Karr?” I called out.

  There was no reply. I peeked into the parlor—or what I thought was the parlor. It was hard to tell because there was so little furniture in it. Then I looked up and saw that all the chairs dangled from the ceiling by ropes.

  “Oh, I read about this,” Kate whispered. “She hates visitors, and only lowers the chairs if she wants you to stay.”

  I nodded. “Makes perfect sense.”

  The monkey barraged us with more chittering and then scampered deeper into the house, looking back to see if we were following.

  “He seems to know what he’s up to,” Kate said, smiling.

  The back room of the house was enormous, with a high, pitched ceiling. Sunshine streamed through the skylights and large windows. This must have been Miss Karr’s photography studio, for there were large lamps on stands, and umbrellas with silvery undersides, and several large cameras on sturdy tripods.

  Hung carelessly on the walls were some of Miss Karr’s most famous photographs. There was the Prime Minister, sitting on the cowcatcher of the first train through the Rockies. There were our Parliament buildings, encased in ice and glittering like a fairies’ palace after a winter storm. And there were the polar bears of Churchill, sitting in a row and staring like bored children in a church pew.

  But where was Miss Karr? The monkey scampered out into the backyard. It looked more like a zoo. There were all sorts of birdcages, and there were dogs and rats a
nd cats and guinea pigs capering about.

  And there, beneath the shade of an arbutus tree, sat Miss Karr behind a small easel, painting. She was a stolid woman in her early forties, dressed in a shapeless, stained smock. On her head she wore an odd kind of hairnet with a band around her forehead. The monkey leapt up onto her shoulder and pointed back at the house.

  Miss Karr turned and stared. She hurriedly put down her paintbrush, stood, took her painting off the easel, and slammed it facedown on a table. Then she stomped toward the house, the monkey clinging to her shoulder.

  “Does she look angry to you?” Kate said worriedly.

  I nodded. “Yes, I’d say so.”

  Miss Karr strode into the house and glared at us.

  “Who are you?” she demanded.

  “Miss Karr,” I said nervously, “my name’s Matt Cruse and—”

  “Yes, yes,” she said, with an impatient wave.

  “And I’m Kate de Vries,” Kate said. “Mr. Otto Lunardi asked—”

  “Parasitic little weevil,” Miss Karr muttered darkly.

  I glanced at Kate, hoping she wouldn’t contradict Miss Karr. To my relief she said, “That’s a very fine Javanese monkey you have.”

  Miss Karr grunted. “You know your animals, I see. This is Haiku. I found him two years ago in a curiosity shop in Chinatown.”

  “Hello, Haiku,” Kate and I chimed in at the same time.

  Miss Karr stared hard at us, wiping her hands on a rag.

  “I’m sorry if we interrupted your painting,” I said.

  “It’s nothing,” she said tersely. “Stand over there. In front of the backdrop.”

  She was referring to an enormous piece of canvas, violently painted with swirling blacks and grays and whites like weather you’d do anything to avoid. Kate and I glanced at each other, then promptly did as we were told.

  Miss Karr stepped behind one of her cameras, peered through the viewfinder, then busied herself adjusting bamboo blinds to sculpt the light in the room.

  “Miss Karr,” Kate said, “I’m a huge admirer of your work. I particularly like—”

  “I particularly like people who don’t flatter,” Miss Karr cut in.

  Kate swallowed. I don’t think she was used to being spoken to so curtly.

  “I know why you’re here,” Miss Karr said. “Now, stand close together. Closer! You make a very handsome couple.”

  Kate cleared her throat. “We’re not really a couple, Miss Karr. We’re just—”

  “Yes, yes,” the photographer said impatiently. “Matt Cruse, point and stare off into the distance. You’re contemplating a long and dangerous space voyage.”

  “Like this?” It seemed best to humor her, so I furrowed my brow and tried to pretend the backyard was the shores of Mars.

  “And Miss de Vries,” the photographer instructed, “look longingly at Mr. Cruse. Goodness knows when you’ll see that brave astralnaut again.”

  “I’m going with him, actually,” Kate said, sounding a bit put out.

  “Pretend you’re not,” said Miss Karr sternly.

  Click went her camera.

  “Now,” said Miss Karr, “Miss de Vries, you are going to swoon, just like a heroine in a penny dreadful.”

  “I’m sure I’ve never swooned,” Kate said indignantly.

  Miss Karr ignored her. “Arm up, throw one hand across your brow, let’s have that other hand clutching your heart. And, Matt Cruse, move in close to catch her in your arms when she faints away completely.”

  Miss Karr was certainly eccentric, but I found it rather fun to play at these clichéd parts. Kate, however, did not seem to be enjoying herself.

  “Miss de Vries,” said Miss Karr angrily, looking up from her camera, “you are supposed to look distraught. That is not distraught. That’s ‘My tea is cold and is there no marmalade for my crumpet?’ Can we have something a bit more hysterical, please?”

  “Think of Miss Simpkins,” I suggested.

  “Think,” said Miss Karr, “how disappointed you’ll be if I don’t come on this space voyage.”

  Kate looked utterly horrified, and at that moment Miss Karr clicked the camera.

  “That was quite good,” the photographer said.

  “Miss Karr,” said Kate, sounding desperate, “you really must come on the expedition. It’s a historic moment for our nation. Only you can capture it in words and pictures to show the world.”

  Miss Karr gave a snort. “Why bother with outer space? It can’t be photographed.”

  “I’m surprised to hear you say that, Miss Karr,” I said, suddenly remembering something I’d read in one of Kate’s books. “Didn’t people once tell you the Canadian forest couldn’t be photographed? But you showed them how wrong they were.”

  Katie nodded eagerly. “And didn’t you say recently, Miss Karr, that there was nothing more you wanted to photograph. Well, maybe not on earth. But outer space would present you with a new challenge to master!”

  I thought I caught a glimmer of a smile on Miss Karr’s face, but it was quickly replaced by a stern frown.

  “Matt Cruse, get down on one knee as if proposing to Miss de Vries.”

  “Is this really necessary?” I asked, feeling uneasy.

  “I pretended to swoon,” Kate pointed out with a mischievous grin.

  The monkey scowled at me. I got down on one knee. I didn’t want to do it, for it seemed too momentous a thing even to play-act. Kate peered down at me with great satisfaction, like she was hoping I’d quote love poetry, or at least yip like a puppy.

  “Look her right in the eye, Matt Cruse!” the photographer instructed me. “This one’s going to take some convincing.”

  I was starting to feel very uncomfortable. I wondered if Miss Karr, like my mother, had already sensed Kate’s steely character.

  “This is great fun,” said Kate.

  “Take her hand, Mr. Cruse. That’s it. Now look at her beseechingly. Very good. Now, Miss de Vries, what would you say to this fellow?”

  Kate gave me a glacial stare.

  Click went Miss Karr’s camera.

  “You’ll have a battle getting a yes from her,” Miss Karr cackled, clearly enjoying herself immensely.

  “It won’t be a battle at all,” Kate said breezily. “I’ve decided I’m never going to marry.”

  I laughed nervously.

  Kate turned to me. “You think I’m joking, Mr. Cruse? I’ve been thinking about this a great deal.”

  “Is that right, Miss de Vries?” I said, as though this were just polite conversation. I glanced awkwardly at Miss Karr, embarrassed. She was watching with great amusement. Haiku hopped up and down giddily.

  “Absolutely,” said Kate. “I reject the whole institution of marriage. Did you know, not so long ago women were considered the legal property of their husbands. Like a comfy armchair, or a rug.”

  “That’s changed,” I pointed out.

  “In the letter of the law. But once a woman marries, she’s just a wife. I’d cease to be my own person.”

  “I can’t see you being anyone’s person but your own, Miss de Vries,” I said, attempting a pleasant laugh. I honestly wasn’t sure if Kate was serious or still playacting for Miss Karr’s benefit. If she was, she was overdoing it a bit, I thought.

  “Men always make all sorts of promises,” Kate went on, “but once they’re married, they expect the woman to stay at home and cook and fetch their slippers and pass them their pipe…”

  “Not all men smoke pipes,” I said, meaning me.

  “There’s too much I want to achieve,” Kate said. “It’s hard enough as a woman. As a wife it’s completely impossible. Miss Karr, what would you say on this matter? You’ve achieved great things.”

  Miss Karr nodded, looking amused. “I doubt any man would have allowed me to work and live the way I have.”

  “Precisely,” said Kate. “I mean to live my life on my own terms! I won’t marry.”

  “I’ll come,” said Miss Karr.

>   Kate and I both looked at her in confusion.

  “To outer space,” Miss Karr said. “I’ll come on your expedition.”

  “You will?” I said.

  “You’ve piqued my interest. And you’re right. What a challenge to capture outer space in words and pictures. I wouldn’t miss it, especially not with you two aboard.”

  I didn’t dare tell her that I might not be coming.

  “What wonderful news, Miss Karr!” said Kate. “Thank you so much!”

  “I have one condition,” she said. “Haiku comes too.”

  “I’m sure that won’t present a problem,” Kate said without a moment’s hesitation.

  “Good,” said the photographer. “Now, go outside and tell Mr. Lunardi I won’t set my guinea pigs on him. I’ll just need a moment to get Haiku changed and into his pram, and then I’ll take you all to lunch at the Empress.”

  THE RACE NARROWS

  Drenched to the skin, I ran, my burning legs spattered with mud from the rain-churned field.

  It was day nine of training, with only a few days to go, and I was on the final stretch of the obstacle course. We were down to forty-two candidates now, and everyone was a little leaner, and lot fiercer. We knew that most of us wouldn’t make it to the end of the week, and we were pushing ourselves hard.

  “Come on, gents!” yelled Eriksson from the sidelines in his rain slicker. “You can do better than that!”

  Shepherd and Bronfman had the lead, as usual, but not by so much this time. Every night after dinner, I’d been doing extra laps on the track—it was the last thing I wanted to do at the end of the day, but I needed to build my endurance, and I thought it was working. Tobias was keeping pace with me, though I could tell he was flagging.

  We reached the timber wall, the final and most dreaded obstacle. Twenty sheer feet with only a rope to help us over.

  “Can’t believe I gave up smoking for this,” Tobias wheezed.

  He grabbed the rope and started up, but the wood was slick, and he was exhausted. He didn’t even make it halfway up before slipping down into the mud.

  With every second, Shepherd and Bronfman were pulling farther ahead. I looked back and saw Reg Perry and Tim Douglas coming up fast.