Death Instinct - Jed Rubenfeld [64]
“Mrs. Meloney can now tell the time in the blackest hour of night,” said Brighton. “If the police and firemen of this city had been wearing my watches, they would never have been hindered by the great smoke cloud of yesterday’s explosion. They would have had a source of light, requiring no batteries, no fuel, no power source at all. That’s the wonder of radium. Now for you, Miss Rousseau, we had to make a special item. Our usual products wouldn’t fit the delicacy of your wrist. May I?”
The watch Brighton offered to Colette was encircled with round-brilliant diamonds, refracting every color in the rainbow despite the dim illumination of the church. Uncomfortably, Colette lifted her hand. Brighton fastened his gift to her forearm, the green glow of the luminous watch face reflected in his polished fingernails. He expressed the hope that his present was to her liking. Colette didn’t know what to say.
“Your generosity leaves us speechless, Mr. Brighton,” said Mrs. Meloney. “Pray continue.”
“Continue?”
“Your contribution, Mr. Brighton.”
“My contribution? Oh, my contribution, of course.” Brighton patted his pockets again and withdrew a bank draft from his vest—nearly knocking over the lectern in the process. After a lengthy preface, he declared it his great pleasure to present to the Marie Curie Radium Fund a check in the amount of twenty-five thousand dollars. Gasps came from the audience, together with loud, sustained applause.
Mrs. Meloney thanked her benefactor profusely. She then opened the floor to questions, professing her certainty that many in the audience would have questions for Miss Rousseau.
“Excuse me,” said a woman three pews back, “but I’ve been using radium soap every day for the last year, and I still have warts on both my elbows. I’m very upset about it.”
“Oh,” said Colette. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about radium’s cosmetic uses.”
Mrs. Meloney came to Colette’s assistance: “Have you tried Radior night cream, my dear? It’s done wonders for me.”
Another hand went up. “I have a question for Miss Rousseau. What is the proper dosage of radium water for a sixty-year-old man to restore his vitality?”
“I’m sorry?” said Colette. “His what?”
“His vitality,” repeated the woman.
Mrs. Meloney whispered to Colette, whose livid cheeks reddened.
Afterward, during refreshments, Mrs. Meloney complimented Mr. Brighton on his height. “You are so very much bigger than one expects, Mr. Brighton,” said the gray-haired Mrs. Meloney coquettishly. It was true. From a distance, Brighton looked short, and his countenance suggested an absent-minded professor of mathematics. Up close, he proved much taller; one couldn’t quite tell where the height came from. The effect was to make his clumsiness considerably more concerning. “And your gift,” added Mrs. Meloney, showing off her sapphire wristwatch, “I have never received a present so entrancing.”
“While I,” replied Brighton chivalrously, “have never received so entrancing a visit to my factory as the one you and your assistant paid me two weeks ago.”
“Heavens, Mr. Brighton,” protested Mrs. Meloney, “what would my husband say?”
“Why?” asked Brighton in some alarm. “Did I do something wrong?”
“Would that men always did such wrong,” Mrs. Meloney reassured him. “I must insist you attend our presentation ceremony, Mr. Brighton, when we give Madame Curie her radium next May—if only we can raise the rest of the money. I intend to persuade the Mayor to preside.”
“The Mayor?” said Brighton. “Why not the President? I’ll speak with Harding about it; he’ll be in the White House by then. Miss Rousseau, have you seen our nation’s capital? I’m going down—oh my, when am I going down? Where’s my man Samuels? I can’t remember a thing without him. There he is now, the dour fellow. What were you saying, Madam?”
“I, Mr. Brighton?” said Mrs. Meloney. “I believe you had just made reference to Mr. Harding.”
“Oh, yes—I’m going to Washington to meet with Harding. Why don’t you ladies accompany me? I have my own train,