"But that reminds me of something," Valmon said, as though the thought had only just occurred to him.
"I'm travelling to Brighton early next week. The Government will be conducting sea trials for a new night range finding instrument I recently designed."
Mercia's eyes lit up immediately.
"They'll be demonstrating it during naval exercises," Valmon continued. "Battleships, destroyers, illuminated targets, live firing, torpedoes. It promises to be quite an extraordinary spectacle."
"Oh, I'd love to see that!" Mercia exclaimed.
"You shall."
Valmon smiled.
"You'll be my guests aboard the official yacht. We can leave here at eight o'clock. By half past ten we'll be at sea, and the firing begins shortly after midnight. If you prefer, I'll reserve a suite for you in Brighton afterwards. Otherwise, I'll have you safely back at Greydene before dawn."
Mercia clasped her hands together.
"It sounds absolutely wonderful."
"Then may I consider your answer a definite yes?"
"So far as I'm concerned, certainly."
She laughed.
"I'm quite sure Mother will be delighted as well. One doesn't often receive an invitation to watch the Royal Navy at work."
Valmon nodded.
"And your father?"
Mercia's smile became more thoughtful.
"I can't promise for Father."
"He occasionally disappears to one of his bridge evenings."
She laughed affectionately.
"Some of the hours he keeps are positively scandalous. Sometimes he doesn't come home until the milkman's making his rounds. Still... he never complains, whether he wins or loses."
Valmon showed no reaction.
Not the slightest flicker crossed his face.
"Perhaps," he said gently, "he might allow himself to be persuaded."
He paused just long enough.
"I should feel uncomfortable taking his two most precious ladies out to sea at night unless he accompanied us."
Mercia smiled.
"Leave him to me."
She rose immediately.
"I'll fetch him."
As she disappeared from the room, Valmon's pleasant expression slowly faded.
He wasn't inviting Willard Lyall to witness naval exercises.
He was placing one final piece upon the chessboard.
If Lyall accepted...
Everything changed.
If he refused...
That, too, would answer a question.
A minute later Mercia returned, half laughing as she gently pulled her father into the drawing room.
"There he is," she announced triumphantly.
"A little reluctant, perhaps, but here all the same."
She pointed playfully at Valmon.
"Now convince him exactly as you convinced me."
"If Father isn't every bit as excited as I am, I'll forbid him from playing bridge ever again."
Willard Lyall chuckled warmly as he shook Valmon's hand.
"Mercia has overwhelmed me with excitement," he said. "Unfortunately she explained so quickly that I understood almost none of it."
Valmon smiled politely.
Then he repeated the invitation in full, carefully describing the naval demonstration and extending the offer to include the entire family.
When he finished, Lyall remained silent.
His thoughtful expression revealed nothing.
"Monday night?" he asked at last.
"Yes."
"The exercises begin after midnight?"
"That's correct."
"And we'd return..."
"Approximately four o'clock Tuesday morning."
Lyall slowly nodded.
Then, almost regretfully, he shook his head.
"I'm very sorry, Mr. Dain."
"I should enjoy such a trip immensely."
"But I'm afraid I cannot come."
Mercia looked genuinely disappointed.
"Oh, Father..."
"I've already made another engagement."
His voice remained calm.
"I have a personal rule."
"I never cancel one promise merely because a more attractive one appears."
"I hope you'll forgive me."
Valmon studied him quietly.
"I believe you'll regret missing it."
"I'm certain I shall."
"But a promise remains a promise."
Mercia tried once more.
"Couldn't you make an exception? Just this once?"
Lyall looked directly at her.
"This," he replied quietly, "is the one occasion on which I cannot."
Silence.
For two long seconds the room seemed to shrink around the two men.
Valmon's eyes met Lyall's.
Neither smiled.
Neither looked away.
There was nothing openly hostile in either expression.
Yet something invisible passed between them.
A challenge.
A question.
Perhaps even recognition.
Then Valmon broke the moment.
He gave the slightest shrug and allowed his expression to soften.
"I'm sorry we couldn't persuade you."
He rose to leave.
"It's rather late."
"I've already taken too much of your evening."
"I'll telephone for a taxi," Lyall offered courteously.
"No need."
Valmon picked up his gloves.
"One is waiting outside."
Mercia looked from one man to the other.
"Does Father's decision mean you won't take Mother and me?"
Valmon hesitated.
"I'm afraid not."
"I couldn't, in good conscience, take you without Mr. Lyall."
He smiled politely.
"Perhaps another opportunity will present itself."
He paused.
"Preferably on an evening when Mr. Lyall isn't committed to his bridge."
Everyone laughed.
Everyone except Valmon.
A few minutes later his car was carrying him back through the sleeping streets of London.
Outwardly he appeared as calm as ever.
Inside, however, certainty and doubt were locked in a relentless battle.
Willard Lyall had refused too quickly.
Too firmly.
Too carefully.
And for the first time since creating his extraordinary invention...
Valmon Dain began to wonder whether he had already arrived one move too late.