One applicant disqualified himself the moment he walked into McAuliff's cubicle. The fact that he was more drunk than sober at one o'clock in the afternoon might have been explained, but, instead, it was used as the excuse to eliminate him for a larger problem: He was crippled in his right leg. Three men were crossed off for identical conditions: Each was obviously hostile to West Indians - a spreading English virus, Britain's parallel to Americus Redneckus.
The Jensens - Peter Jensen and Ruth Wells - were delightful surprises, singly and together. They were in their early fifties, bright, confident, and good-natured. A childless couple, they were financially secure and genuinely interested both in each other and in their work. His expertise was ore minerals; hers, the sister science of palaeontology - fossils. His had direct application, hers was removed but academically justifiable.
'Might I ask you some questions, Dr McAuliff?' Peter Jensen packed his pipe, his voice pleasant.
'By all means.'
'Can't say that I know much about Jamaica, but this seems like a damned curious trip. I'm not sure I understand - what's the point?'
Alex was grateful for the opportunity to recite the explanation created by Dunstone, Limited. He watched the ore man closely as he spoke, relieved to see the light of recognition in the geologist's eyes. When he finished, he paused and added, 'I don't know if that clears up anything.'
'Oh, my word, it certainly does, chap. Burke's Peerage strikes again!' Peter Jensen chuckled, glancing at his wife. 'The royal H has been hard pressed to find something to do. Its members at Lords simply provided it. Good show... I trust the university will make a pound or two.'
'I'm afraid the budget's not that loose.'
'Really?' Peter Jensen held his pipe as he looked at McAuliff. 'Then perhaps I don't understand. You'll forgive me, but you're not known in the field as a particularly inexpensive director... quite rightfully, let me add; your reputation precedes you.'
'From the Balkans to Australia,' added Ruth Wells Jensen, her expression showing minor irritation with her husband. 'And if you have a separate arrangement, it's none of Peter's bloody business.'
Alex laughed softly. 'You're kind, both of you. But there's nothing special. I got caught, it's as simple as that. I've worked for companies on the island; I hope to again. Often. All geophysical certificates are issued by Kingston, and Kingston asked for me. Let's call it an investment.'
Again McAuliff watched Peter Jensen closely; he had rehearsed the answer. The Britisher looked once more at his wife. Briefly. Then he chuckled, as he had done seconds before.
'I'd do the same, old chap. But God help the survey I was director on.'
'It's one I'd avoid like a May Day in Trafalgar,' said Ruth, matching her husband's quiet laugh. 'Who have you set, if it's proper to ask. Anyone we might know?'
'Nobody yet. I've really just started - '
'Well,' interrupted Peter Jensen, his eyes alive with humour, 'since you suffer from inadequate freight charges, I should tell you we'd rather not be separated. Somewhat used to each other by now. If you're interested in one of us, the other would take half-till to straggle along.'
Whatever doubts that remained for Alex were dispelled by Ruth Wells Jensen's words. She mimicked her husband's professional tones with good natured accuracy. 'Half-till, old chap, can be negotiated. Our flat's damned cold this time of year.'
The Jensens would be hired.
The third non-university name, James Ferguson, had been accurately described by Ralston as outspoken and opinionated. These traits, however, were the results of energy and impatience, it seemed to McAuliff. Ferguson was young - twenty-six - and was not the sort to survive, much less thrive in an academic environment. Alex recognized in Ferguson much of his younger self: consummate interest in his subject, intolerance of the research world in which it was studied. A contradiction, if not a conflict of objectives. Ferguson free-lanced for agro-industry companies, and his best recommendation was that he rarely was out of work, in a market not famous for excessive employment. James Ferguson was one of the best vegetation specialists around.
'I'd love to get back to Jamaica,' said the young man within seconds after the preliminary interview began. 'I was in Port Maria for the Craft Foundation two years ago. It's my judgment the whole bloody island is in the middle of a gold mine if the fruit and synthetic industries would allow development.'