Chapter 6

Near the end of the dock a white MG convertible was parked, its top raised. As Alan Maitland approached from the Vastervik, his collar turned up against the cold damp wind coming off the water, Sharon Deveraux opened the driver's door.

'Hullo,' she said. 'I called at your office and Mr Lewis said to come here and wait.'

'Sometimes,' Alan responded cheerfully, 'old Tom shows real horse sense.'

Sharon smiled, the dimple appearing. She was hatless, with a pale beige coat and gloves to match. 'Get in,' she instructed, 'and I'll drive you wherever.'

He went around the other side and eased his length gingerly into the tiny two-seater. On the second attempt he made it. 'Not bad,' Sharon said approvingly. 'Granddaddy tried it once, but we never got his second leg in.'

'I,' Alan said, 'am not only younger, but also more flexible than Granddaddy.'

In three swift movements Sharon turned the car around and they moved off, jolting rapidly over the dockside road. The MG's interior was small and snug. Their shoulders touched and he was conscious of the same perfume he had noticed last time they met.

'About being flexible,' Sharon said, 'the other day I was beginning to wonder. Where to?'

'Back to the office, I guess. There's some swearing I have to do.'

'Why not here? I know most of the words.'

He grinned. 'Let's not go through the dumb-brunette routine. I know better.'

She turned her head. Her lips were red, full, and slightly parted in a humorous bow. He was conscious again of the petite elfin quality.

'All right, so it's some sort of legal thing.' She returned her eyes to the road. They took a corner sharply and he was jolted against her. The contact was pleasant.

'It's an affidavit,' he told her.

'If it doesn't offend your stuffy old rules to tell me,' Sharon said, 'how is it all going? The man on the ship, I mean.'

'I'm not sure yet,' Alan said seriously. 'The Immigration people turned us down, but we expected that.'

'And then?'

'Something happened today ... just now. It might turn out that there's a chance - just a remote one - we can get the case into court.'

'Would that help?'

'It might not, of course.' Sharon's question was one he had already asked himself. But with this kind of problem you could take only one step at a time and hope for the best after that.

'Why do you want to go into court if it might not help?' They swung through traffic, accelerating to beat a light already changed to amber. In the intersecting street, brakes squealed. 'Did you see that bus?' Sharon said. 'I thought it was going to hit us.' They made a sharp turn, left then right, around a halted milk truck, barely missing its driver. 'You were talking about getting into court.'

'There are different ways,' Alan said, swallowing, 'and different kinds of courts. Could we go a little slower?'

Obligingly Sharon slowed from forty to thirty-five. 'Tell me about the court.'

'You can never know in advance just what's going to come out in evidence,' Alan said. 'Sometimes there are things you'd never get to hear of otherwise. Points of law, too. And in this case there's another reason.'

'Go on,' Sharon urged. 'It's exciting.' Their speed, Alan noticed, had crept up again to forty.

'Well,' he explained, 'whatever we do, we've nothing to lose. And the longer we keep things stirred up, the better chance there is that the Government will change its mind and give Henri the chance to be an immigrant.'

'I don't know if Granddaddy would like that,' Sharon said thoughtfully. 'He hopes to make it a big political issue, and if the Government gave in there wouldn't be anything left to argue about.'

'Frankly,' Alan said, 'I don't give a damn what Granddaddy wants. I'm more interested in what I can do for Henri.'

There was a silence. Then Sharon said, 'You called him by his first name - twice. Do you like him?'

'Yes, I do,' Alan said. He found he was speaking with conviction. 'He's a nice little guy who's had it rough all his life. I don't think he'll ever be president of anything, or amount, to very much, but I'd like to see him get a decent break. If he does, it'll be the first he's ever had.'

Sharon glanced sideways at Alan's profile then returned her eyes to the road. After a moment she asked, 'Do you know something?'

'No. Tell me.'

'If I were ever in trouble,' she said, 'you're the one, Alan, I'd like to have help me.'

'We're in trouble now,' he said. 'Will you let me drive?'

Their tyres squealed. The MG slid to a halt. 'Why?' Sharon asked innocently. 'We're here.'

The mixed odour of pizza and spaghetti sauce was unmistakable.

Within the office Tom Lewis was reading the Mainland edition of the Vancouver Post. He put down the paper as they came in. 'The Law Society will disbar you, of course,' he announced. 'After a public unfrocking, no doubt, in Stanley Park. You did know the rules about advertising?'

'Let me see,' Alan said. He took the paper. 'I just said what I thought. At the time I was a bit peeved.'

'That,' Tom said, 'comes through with remarkable clarity.'

'My God!' Alan had the front page spread out, Sharon beside him. 'I didn't think it would be like this.'

'It's been on the radio, too,' Tom informed him.

'But I thought it would be mostly Duval...'

'To be perfectly honest,' Tom said, 'I am bright chartreuse with envy. Somehow, without even trying, you seem to have corralled the outstanding case, a hero's publicity, and now, it seems...'

'Oh, I forgot,' Alan interjected. 'This is Sharon Deveraux.'

'I know,' Tom said. 'I was just getting to her.'

Sharon's eyes sparkled with amusement. 'After all, Mr Lewis, you are mentioned in the newspaper. It says quite distinctly Lewis and Maitland.'

'For that crumb, I shall be eternally grateful.' Tom put on his coat. 'Oh, by the way, I'm off to see a new client. He has a fish store and, I gather, a problem about his lease. Unfortunately he has no one to mind the store so I must go to the fish. You wouldn't like a nice cod cutlet for supper?'

'Not tonight, thanks.' Alan shook his head. 'I'm planning to take Sharon out.'

'Yes,' Tom said. 'I somehow thought you would.'

When they were alone, 'I'll have to work on the affidavit,' Alan observed. 'It "has to be ready, so I can appear before a judge tomorrow.'

'Could I help?' Sharon asked. She smiled at him, the dimple coming and going. 'I can type too.'

'Come with me,' Alan said. He took her by the hand into his glass-panelled cubicle.