Mark Lee - The Canal House

There was an appreciative murmur from the audience. I heard the Indian woman next to me whispering to her husband. “He’s going to run for Parliament. They just have to pick his constituency.”

Richard continued. “Some of you might have read an article in the Times about our refugee camp in northern Uganda. The success of this effort is entirely due to the dedication and hard work of Dr. Julia Cadell.”

Richard turned slightly to Julia and touched her shoulder. The audience applauded, and she nodded slightly. “Julia exemplifies the spirit of our organization. She’s knowledgeable and courageous, ethical and innovative. It is for this reason that I am proud to announce that she has decided to serve as Hand-to-Hand’s first executive director.”

The audience applauded. I watched Julia’s face when Richard made his announcement. For just a moment she looked surprised. Then she recovered and smiled graciously. After years of relief work her immediate impulse was to save the food, save the trucks, save the organization. Richard knew that she wasn’t going stand up in front of all those contributors and walk out. The most vulnerable people in the world, I thought, are those who feel responsible.

“Dr. Cadell will start work immediately to organize a team that can respond to any international crisis. To do this, we need money, your money. As a businessman, I know that nothing is free, so tonight I’m going to auction off some wonderful gifts in exchange for your contribution.”

He pulled a half-dozen index cards out of his pocket and began to auction off a trip to India in his corporate jet with a moonlight dinner at the Taj Mahal. The bidding was loud and spirited. Billy maneuvered around the room with a portable microphone, and several wealthy types made jokes about Richard’s TV ads and tennis skills before they pushed up the bid another five thousand pounds.

I looked over at Julia. She looked startled and tense. Finally Richard sold the last item and smiled at his audience. “And now!” he said. “There’s only one last thing to do! Let’s dance!”

The swing band in the reception tent began to play “Jump, Jive, and Wail.” The music blared from speakers hanging from the tent posts. Everyone applauded and a sizable part of the crowd streamed toward the dais to congratulate Richard and try to shake his hand.

Only Daniel and I remained at our table. The robot dog was suffering from a computer glitch. He raised his foot and nodded, over and over again.

“Julia didn’t want that job,” Daniel said.

“Yes. I saw her face.”

“Think she’ll do it?”

“Maybe. People like Richard usually get their way.”

“He wants to run for Parliament and she’s just part of the plan.”

“Stay out of it, Daniel. She can make up her own mind.”

“I’m just sitting here. I should be doing something, but I’m not.”

“Nothing wrong with that. Sitting is an undervalued activity.”

We stayed together until I felt like he’d calmed down; then I went to find Miss Hedges. A crowd blocked the entrance to the reception tent, but I wiggled my way inside. Wearing zoot suits and two-tone shoes, the swing band wailed on the platform. Julia and Richard were out on the floor, dancing like a bride and groom while everyone watched them. As the band finished playing, Billy hustled over to Richard and whispered something. I figured the home secretary was just about to arrive because Richard introduced Julia to a group of donors, then left with Billy.

I found Miss Hedges at the opposite end of the tent, still holding on to her binder. Some of her hair had broken loose from her barrette, but other than that she looked as perfect as ever. The band started playing again and I had to shout to be heard.

“Where do you live, Miss Hedges?”

“In London.”

“Perhaps I could call you up next week. We could go out and have a drink or something.”

Miss Hedges looked as if she’d been presented with a new problem. She glanced down at her binder as if it might provide the appropriate response. “I’m dreadfully sorry, Mr. Bettencourt, but I don’t have a great deal of free time these days. I’m getting married in six months and I have to organize the wedding. I still haven’t found a caterer that meets my standards.”

“Right. Of course. I understand.”

I backed away from Miss Hedges and lost myself in the crowd. The rejection didn’t bother me as much as the five or ten seconds that she had looked at me and evaluated the entire package. If I had been holding one of my cameras, I could have deflected her attention and taken a picture.

I wandered over to the next tent. A steel floor had been installed on the ground and an electrified wire mesh was overhead. People sat in little cars big enough for two and drove around smashing into each other. It was designed for teenagers at a carnival, but Richard’s millionaire guests were clamoring for a ride. Band music blared out of the speakers. Each car had a steel rod touching the mesh and the electricity crackled and sparked whenever someone stepped on the accelerator and raced across the steel floor. It was every man for himself. Whenever they hit another person especially hard, they’d laugh and keep driving.

I went back into the dining tent to find Daniel, but he had disappeared. Only Digran Petrosyan was there, still sitting at his place on the dais. He had a pen out and was scribbling in a little notebook. He could have been writing a laundry list or a new poem.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“Yes. I’m healthy. But thank you for your concern. I was worried that I’d have to give a speech, but Dr. Cadell told Mr. Seaton that I preferred to remain silent.” The poet shook his head. “I’m tired of saying thank-you to everyone I meet.”

“Did the crowd make you nervous?”

“Not at all.” Digran gestured with his pen at the tables and the flowers and the waiters picking up the plates. “All this is only …” He paused for a moment, searching for the right English word. “Decoration.”

I grabbed a bottle of champagne from one of the tables and went in search of Daniel. In the courtyard, I stood beside the service tent where the staff had prepared dinner. I could hear the cooks shouting at the waiters, the band playing “Take the ‘A’ Train,” the electric crackle and smash of the bumper cars, someone shouting for a woman named Vanessa, and a power hoist groaning as it lifted a stove back into a delivery truck. The portable sodium lights burned with a cold white power and moths fluttered and bounced against the Plexiglas covering. Suddenly, a helicopter roared over the courtyard with red and green lights flashing. The home secretary had arrived.

Julia passed though the barbican gate and entered into the shadowy light on the edge of the party. She was holding the hem of her dress with one hand but moved with the same confident stride that I had first seen at the refugee camp. Miss Hedges hurried across the courtyard and the two women met beneath one of the lights. Julia nodded and followed Miss Hedges past the reception tent to the castle.

The sounds of the party began to fade as I walked through the narrow tunnel of the barbican gate. I came out onto the bridge, crossed the moat, and followed the driveway down the hill. Daniel was standing by a stone wall and looking up at the sky.

“Daniel. What are you doing out here?”

“I wanted to get away from the noise.” A match flared up as he lit a cigarette. For a second I saw him looking excited and happy, then the match went out and his face was absorbed by the darkness. “You okay, Nicky? Having a good time?”

“I guess so. It’s not the usual kind of situation for me. Most of the time I’m on the outside, holding a camera. Now I’m on the inside, with just myself.”