Hardly Working

I didn’t give him a chance to blow it.

I came right out with it.

I said, “I’m Marjory Nichol’s daughter. My mother said I’d find you here.”

He put his hand on his heart. “Oh Jesus.” Then he put his hand to his head. “Christ. What a shock. That explains it. You scared the life out of me.”

“I did?”

“Just give me a second. Now. Marjory Nichols. Hell. You’re…? Goddamn. You’re…uh…wait a minute…Diane.”

“Dinah. You used to come round to our house years ago.”

“Well, sure I did. Of course I did. Stand back and let me look at you. How about that. So, well… How about that? Goddamn. You’re Marjory’s daughter.”

“Yes, I am.”

“How is your mom, anyway? How’s Marjory. I haven’t seen her in ages. I keep meaning to get in touch but life has a way of conspiring against old friendships….”

“Fine. She’s fine.”

“I keep meaning to get in touch but I’m often on the move. You know, I caught her on TV, that interview she did on the dying oceans for the BBC, a couple of years back. She sure is something. I was about to pick up the phone but as usual was interrupted by a business call. I’m rarely in the country these days and when I am, it’s all work.”

“She’s often on the move too so…”

“Yes, right, well, good, Marjory’s daughter. Unbelievable how time flies. You were just a little kid the last time I saw you….”

Then I blurted it out. No formalities. “I made her tell me. How to find you. You know? She knew how badly I wanted to meet my father. And well, now, here we are.”

Rupert Doyle’s eyes opened a little wider and took on the shape of half-moons as he peered. He took a step backward and held up his hands as if he were pushing me away. “Nooo,” he exhaled. “No, no. Just a minute now. You’re making a big mistake.”

Chapter Four

I was devastated. My first thought was, What’s so horrendous about me that you don’t want to admit that I’m your daughter? A minidepression was starting to form in me, like a tiny whirlwind building into a hurricane, with a pinch of pure rage tossed in for good measure.

I wanted to run crying to Thomas, make one of my emergency calls to him.

But Rupert Doyle read my expression right away. Total dejection edged with fury. He leapt in to correct himself. “No, no, please, don’t misunderstand. It’s not the way you think…you think I’m your father? Is that it?”

I nodded.

“I’m not your father…Dinah.”

I shook my head.

“I may have a few kids scattered around the world for all I know, but you’re certainly not one of them. Rest easy in the knowledge.”

I couldn’t bring myself to look him in the eye.

“That’s not to say I wouldn’t be proud to be your father. But I’m not him. You’re too young to know about it but I can’t tell you how many men, myself included, wanted your mother to be the mother of their children. That woman was something special. Imagine she still is. Marjory Nichols had us all hopping like fools for the love of her. Damn her anyway.”

I started to frown and then to laugh. He laughed, too, and suddenly my mother’s powers of attraction gave us common ground, something to grab on to, to make us old friends, as though he had been a constant visitor to the house for the last twenty-five years.

He rubbed his face vigorously with both hands, like someone waking from a long sleep. He seemed about to say something but his words were replaced with a frustrated sigh. Until he finally said, “Listen. I do know who your father is.”

I gave my own huge sigh of relief.

He smiled. “Your mother probably didn’t want to have anything to do with it. Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“She can be a very stubborn woman.” His expression was odd, his blue eyes luminous.

“You’re telling me. I mean, we’re talking about my own father and I’m not allowed to know anything about him. I’m only just realizing now how pissed off I’ve been with her for not telling me about him. Information is advancement, evolution. She’s not being very scientific.”

Rupert Doyle chuckled. “Here, Dinah. Sit down.” He pointed to the scarred black bar stool. “Can I order you something? A beer?”

“A coffee…” But then I saw the glass pot on the hotplate behind the bar, untouched brew with a scummy encrusted high tide line, so I accepted a soda water.

Rupert Doyle said, “I can imagine how your mother probably feels about this and I don’t want to be responsible for starting a family war. They’re the worst. So you need to go carefully with this one. Your father is what I’d call a…difficult character…apart from the fact that he’s volatile…he has…he had the power to take people places where they didn’t always want to go.”

“Who is he? Tell me something about him.”

He stroked his chin. “Yeah…well, now. Let me think about this. I can do better than tell you about him. I can introduce you to him.”

“He’s here? In Vancouver?”

“Sure is. I’m just trying to figure out the best way to go about this.”

“Why? Is there a problem?”

“We really did not part as the best of friends.” Rupert shook his head and let a small bitter laugh escape.

“Well, I’m not too secure about this whole thing myself. You’re scaring me a bit.”

“Oh, no…don’t take this the wrong way…”

“Mr. Doyle…”

“Rupert.”

“Rupert. I’d like to get a glimpse of him first. From a distance, you know? Not have to commit myself. Without him knowing anything about me.”

“Sure. Of course, Dinah. In the interests of not prejudicing your opinion, I can see how you’d want to take your time before you decide whether or not you really want to get to know the man. You might take one look and decide it’s better not to. He might not want to have anything to do with you. Or me.” He laughed again.

“What’s the problem?” I was picturing my mother with some impossible kind of man. A married politician? Another mad scientist? “Does he have a high-profile job or something? Would this create a scandal for him?”

“No, no.”