“We don’t exactly have a relationship,” Harry said through his teeth. “We have a business association.”
“Not any longer,” she announced triumphantly.
From out of nowhere, Harry felt the dark, brooding sensation descend on him. He should have been thanking his lucky stars for a narrow escape, he thought. A relationship with Molly would never have worked.
But instead of a sense of relief, he knew a hint of despair. He recalled the day Molly had walked into his office-study for the first time.
She had announced that she wished to hire him as a consultant for the Abberwick Foundation. The trust had been established by her father to make grants to promising inventors who could not get funding for their work. Jasper Abberwick had known the problems such people faced all too well. He and his brother, Julius, had labored under financial difficulties for most of their careers. Their cash flow problems had not been resolved until four years ago, when Jasper had succeeded in patenting a new generation of industrial robots.
Jasper had not been able to enjoy his newfound wealth for long. He and his brother, Julius, had both been killed two years ago while experimenting with their latest creation, a prototype design for a man-powered aircraft.
It had taken a year to get the Abberwick Foundation up and running. Molly had invested the money very shrewdly and was now eager to use the income to make the kind of grants her father had wanted her to make.
As the foundation’s sole trustee, she was required to handle a wide variety of problems. She was adept at dealing with the vast majority of them, specifically the ones that involved financial decisions. But, unlike her father, she was a businesswoman, not an engineer or a scientist.
Evaluating the merits of the grant proposals submitted by desperate inventors required a sound, working knowledge of scientific principles and cutting-edge technology. In addition, it demanded historical perspective. Such judgments could only be rendered by a trained mind. The Abberwick Foundation had required the services of someone who could judge a proposal not on the basis of its potential for immediate industrial application, but for its long-term value.
Beyond that, Molly had also needed someone who could weed out the frauds and con artists who circled wealthy foundations such as hers like so many sharks in the water.
Molly had many impressive credentials, Harry acknowledged, but she did not have a strong technical background. She was a woman with half a million dollars a year to spend, and she needed help. Specifically she needed Harry Stratton Trevelyan, Ph.D.
Thus far Harry had perused over a hundred grant proposals for her. He had not approved a single one. He was chagrined to realize that he had not understood how impatient Molly had become during the past few weeks.
His attention had obviously been focused on other things.
He had been curious about her from the moment she had made the appointment to interview him as a consultant. He had recognized her last name immediately. The Abberwick family had produced a long string of eccentric but undeniably gifted inventors over the years.
The Abberwick name was not exactly a household word, but it was certainly a familiar one in the commercial world. There it was associated with a variety of machine tools, control system components, and, in recent years, robotic devices.
As an authority in the esoteric field of the history and philosophy of science, Harry had had occasion to learn something about the various Abberwick contributions to technology.
The family had a history as old as the nation itself. One early colonial Abberwick had made a significant improvement to printing press machinery. That particular device had made it possible to double the output of certain inflammatory tracts and newspapers, which had, in turn, helped shape public opinion concerning a revolution in the American colonies.
In the 1870s another Abberwick had made a major advance in steam engine design. The result had been increased efficiency for the railroads, which had, in turn, influenced the development of the western regions of the United States.
In the late 1930s an Abberwick had invented a control mechanism that had made assembly lines more efficient. The increased efficiency had impacted wartime production of tanks and airplanes.
And so it went. The Abberwick name was sprinkled about the history of American invention like so much popcorn on the floor of a theater. And it was noticed in much the same manner. One didn’t really see it until one stepped on it.
But Harry had made a career of stepping on such odd bits of information. Invention shaped history, and history shaped invention. Harry frequently studied the way in which the two meshed, mingled, and influenced each other.
He gave lectures on the subject at various universities and colleges. He wrote books that were considered classics in the field of the history of science. And somewhere along the way, he had become an authority on scientific fraud.
Harry frowned as he watched Molly fume. It alarmed him that he was still looking for an excuse to pursue an affair with her. An intelligent man would back off at this point, and he was nothing if not intelligent.
“Let’s be realistic, here, Molly,” he said. “Firing me would be an extremely foolish move on your part. We both know that.”
She spun around, brows beetled. “Don’t you dare call me a fool.”
“I didn’t call you a fool. I merely said that it would be foolish to end our business arrangement. You need me.”
“I’m beginning to have serious doubts about that.” She aimed a finger at him. “You’re supposed to advise me, but so far all of your decisions can be summed up in a single word. And that word is no.”
“Molly…”
“It doesn’t take any great talent to say no, Dr. Trevelyan. I’ll bet that I can find lots of people who can say it. Some of them probably charge a good deal less than you do, too.”
“But will they say yes when they should say it?” he asked softly.
“All right, so maybe another consultant will screw up now and then, and I’ll make some grants to the wrong people.” She dismissed that possibility with a wave of her hand. “You know what the French say, you can’t make an omelette without breaking a few eggs. At least something will get done.”
“Half a million dollars a year is more than a few eggs. You’re assuming that you can even find another academic specialist here in Seattle who possesses the historical perspective as well as the scientific and engineering expertise to advise you.”
She looked down her strong, assertive little nose at him. “I don’t see why it should be so difficult to find someone else to do this kind of consulting.”
Harry realized with a sense of amazement that he was actually getting angry. He quickly suppressed the sensation. He would not allow Molly to set a match to his temper.
“You’re welcome to try, of course,” he said politely.
Molly’s soft mouth tightened. She tapped the toe of one suede pump and regarded him with an expression of simmering irritation. Harry said nothing. They both knew that her odds of finding anyone else with his peculiar combination of qualifications was bleak.
“Damn,” Molly said eventually.
Harry sensed a minor victory. “You’re going to have to be patient, Molly.”
“Says who? I’m the sole trustee of the foundation. I can be as impatient as I want.”
“This argument is degenerating.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” Molly brightened. “And you know what? It feels good. I’ve been wanting to say a few things to you for days, Dr. Trevelyan.”
“Harry will do.”
She smiled grimly. “Oh, no, I wouldn’t dream of calling you just plain Harry. Harry doesn’t suit you at all, Dr. Harry Stratton Trevelyan, Ph.D., author, lecturer, and noted detector of scientific fraud.” She threw out a hand to indicate the three copies of his latest book that sat on a nearby shelf. “You’re much too pompous
and arrogant to be a mere Harry.”
Harry became aware of a faint, unfamiliar staccato sound. He looked down and discovered that he was drumming his finger against the arm of the sofa. With an effort of will he made himself stop.
He was an idiot even to contemplate trying to salvage his tenuous connection with Molly. He had enough problems in his life.
But the thought of never seeing her again suddenly conjured up an image of a glass bridge stretched over an abyss. It was an old and terrifying mental picture. He pushed it back into the shadows with every ounce of will at his command.
“Why don’t you sit down, Molly?” he said, determined to regain control of the situation. “You’re a businesswoman. Let’s discuss this in a businesslike manner.”
“There’s nothing to discuss. You said no to Duncan Brockway’s grant proposal, remember? And your opinion seems to be the only one that counts around here.”
“I vetoed this particular funding request because it’s clearly a scam. It’s an obvious attempt to defraud the Abberwick Foundation of twenty thousand dollars.”
Molly folded her arms beneath her breasts and regarded him with belligerent challenge. “You really believe that?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes.”
“Positive?” she asked far too sweetly.
“Yes.”
“It must be nice to be so sure of yourself.”
Harry did not respond to that goad.
Silence fell.
“I really liked Duncan’s proposal,” Molly said finally.
“I know.”
She flashed him a quick, searching look, as if sensing weakness. “There’s no hope at all?”
“None.”
“Not even a shred of a possibility that Brockway has hit upon a fundamentally new concept?”
“No. I can run the proposal past a friend of mine at the University of Washington who is an expert on energy sources, if you want confirmation. But he’ll back me up. There is no valid scientific basis for Brockway’s concept of generating power from moonlight in any manner that is even remotely analogous to the collection of solar power. The technology he proposes to use does not exist, and the theory behind the whole project is pure bull.”
Amusement briefly replaced the anger in Molly’s eyes. “Pure bull? Is that some kind of specialized technical jargon?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is.” Harry was thrown off balance by her sudden shift of mood. “Very useful jargon. It can be applied to any number of situations. Save the foundation’s money for a more deserving applicant, Molly. This Duncan Brockway character is trying to take you for twenty grand.”
Molly gave a resigned-sounding groan and threw herself back down onto the sofa. “Okay, I surrender. Sorry I lost my temper. But I’m really getting frustrated, Harry. I’ve got a lot of things to do. I can’t spend all of my time trying to get grant proposals past you.”
The storm was past. Harry did not know whether or not to breathe a sigh of relief. “Being a trustee of a foundation is time-consuming.”
“Brockway’s plan seemed like such a brilliant idea,” Molly said wistfully. “Just think, a battery that can generate power from moonlight.”
“Con artists aren’t brilliant. They just have an incredible amount of audacity.” Harry eyed her with sudden speculation. “And charm.”
Molly winced. “All right, so I liked Duncan Brockway. He seemed very earnest and sincere when I interviewed him.”
“I don’t doubt that.” So the bastard had tried to sweet-talk her into giving him the money, Harry thought. It came as no surprise. Nevertheless, it annoyed him. “Brockway was very earnestly and sincerely trying to get twenty thousand dollars from the Abberwick Foundation.”
Molly scowled. “That’s not fair. Duncan’s an inventor, not a con man. Just a dreamer who wanted to make his dreams come true. I come from a long line of such people. The Abberwick Foundation exists to help them.”
“You told me that the mandate of the foundation is to fund serious inventors who can’t get government or corporate backing for their projects.”
“I believe that Duncan Brockway is serious.” Molly lifted one shoulder in an elegant little shrug. “So maybe his plans were somewhat overenthusiastic. That’s not unusual in an inventor.”
“And he seemed like such a nice man,” Harry muttered.
“Well, he did.”
“Molly, if there’s one thing I know, its con artists. You hired me to weed them out for you, remember?”
“I hired you to help me select the best grant proposals and to choose funding applicants who present innovative concepts.”
“And to ferret out the scams.”
“Okay, okay. You win. Again.”
“This isn’t supposed to be a battle,” Harry said wearily. “I’m just trying to do my job.”
“Sure.”
“I know that the foundation money is burning a hole in your pocket, but there will be plenty of opportunities to give it away.”
“I’m beginning to wonder about that.”
“You don’t want to be too hasty. Selecting legitimate applicants takes time. It should be done cautiously and deliberately.” The same way a man should select a lover, Harry thought.
“Uh-huh.” Molly glanced at the crammed bookcases that covered two walls of the large living room. “How long have you been doing this kind of consulting?”
“Officially? About six years.” Harry frowned at the sudden change of topic. “Why?”
“Just curious.” She gave him a sublimely innocent smile. “You’ve got to admit it’s an unusual career. There aren’t a lot of people who specialize in detecting fraudulent grant applications. How did you get started?”
Harry wondered where this was going. The woman changed directions faster than alternating current. “A few years ago an acquaintance who was overseeing a government-funded project became suspicious of some of the test results. He asked me if I would take a look at the methodology the grant recipient claimed to be using. I did. It was immediately clear that the outcome of the experiments had been rigged.”
“Immediately clear?” Molly’s eyes widened with sudden interest. “You realized the guy was a fake right away?”
“Yes.”
“Just like that?” She snapped her fingers.
Harry did not want to go into a detailed explanation of just how it had become evident to him that an elaborate fraud had been perpetrated. “Let’s just say I have a feel for that kind of thing.”
“A feel for it?” Molly sat forward, obviously intrigued. “You mean you’re psychic or something?”
“Hell, no, I’m not psychic.” Harry grabbed the teapot and forced himself to pour more of the Darjeeling into his cup. He was pleased to see that not so much as a single drop splashed on the glass table. His hands were as steady as ever. “That’s a crazy thing to suggest. Do I look like the kind of person who would claim psychic powers?”
Molly settled back against the sofa. A thoughtful expression lit her eyes. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”
Harry assumed his best professorial tone. “I’m a student of the history and philosophy of science.”
“I know.”
He gave her a hooded look. “In addition to my doctorate in that field, I have undergraduate degrees in mathematics, engineering, and philosophy.”
She batted her lashes. “Wow.”
Harry ground his teeth. “My background gives me insights which those who have specialized in only a single field tend to miss.”
“Ah, yes. Insights.”
“Exactly. As I was saying…”
“Before you were so rudely interrupted,” she murmured.
“To answer your question concerning my career path,” Harry plowed on steadily, “on
e consulting job led to another. I now do a handful every year, provided that they don’t get in the way of my research and writing projects.”
“Your research and writing are more important to you?”
“Absolutely.”
Molly propped one elbow on the arm of the sofa and rested her chin on the heel of her hand. “So how come you agreed to work for me? I’m sure I’m not paying you nearly as much as you can get from a contract with the government or a big corporation.”
“No,” he agreed. “You aren’t.”
“Why, then, are you bothering to consult for the lowly little Abberwick Foundation?”
“Because you’re willing to do what government and industry won’t do.”
She tilted her head to one side. “What’s that?”
“Waste money on interesting, intriguing projects that don’t have any immediate, obvious application. You’re willing to invest in the unknown.”
Her brows raised. “That’s why you agreed to work for me?”
“That’s why I agreed to consult for you,” he corrected coolly.
“Same thing.”
“Not quite.”
She ignored that. “Why are you so eager to fund a bunch of crazy inventors?”
Harry hesitated and then decided to try to explain. “I’ve spent my entire career studying the history of scientific and technological progress.
“I know. I read your latest book.”
Harry was so surprised by that revelation that he nearly choked on his tea. “You read Illusions of Certainty?”
“Uh-huh.” Molly grinned. “I won’t pretend it was the hottest bedside reading that I’ve ever done, but I admit that I found it unexpectedly interesting.”
Harry was amazed to discover that he felt flattered. He glanced at the book on the nearby shelf.
Illusions of Certainty: Toward a New Philosophy of Science was not the sort of volume that made best-seller lists. A lengthy, meticulously researched discussion of historical and societal constraints on scientific and technological progress, it was aimed squarely at the academic market. It had sold very well as a college text for students in the history of science, but it had not been meant for the average reader. Of course, Molly Abberwick was hardly average, he thought ruefully.