“If you look carefully, darling,” Lisa said coldly, “you may note that you are not on deck. You are in the lounge. Nor have I seen you on any deck except the Promenade, which is enclosed and heated.” She sniffed. “A pipe! You look like an undergraduate.”
“But, sweet,” Kek objected, drawing up a chair and dropping into it, “I thought you were violently opposed to my cigarette smoking. So therefore a pipe—”
“I’m opposed to smoking in any form, and you know it.”
“But a pipe?” Kek looked amazed. “I thought all women loved to see a man smoking a pipe.”
“Then you thought wrong, darling. I—”
“That’s really not too polite, sweet,” Kek said admonishingly, and blew a mouthful of smoke in the general direction of the ceiling. “Peter smokes a pipe constantly, and Emy seems to enjoy it.”
“Except that you’re not Peter, and I’m not Emy. Peter is just out of the university. You’re quite a bit older.”
“Does one ever get too old for a pipe?” Kek asked wonderingly. “I thought it was quite the other way around. My grandfather, now—” He looked up, smiling, dropping the subject as being inappropriate. “Ah. Hello, Peter. Hello, Emy.”
“Hello, Kek, Lisa …” The two seated themselves across from each other and Peter smiled at Kek about the well-chewed bite of his ancient briar. “Well! I see I’ve finally convinced you that a pipe is far healthier than those cigarettes you used to smoke.”
“I love the smell of a pipe,” Emy said idly, and started to shuffle one of the card decks. She was a petite, pretty girl with a swirl of dark brown hair over an oval face, and large violet eyes. She turned to Lisa, smiling. “Don’t you?”
“Adore it,” Lisa said flatly. “Shall I start the deal?”
The game proceeded.
“Ah,” Peter said, arranging his cards, “I see you also followed my advice in your selection of tobacco, Kek. A mixture of Virginia and Venezuelan, actually. It’s probably the most expensive tin of blend in the ship’s store, but well worth it. Don’t you agree?”
“Completely,” Kek said, and inundated the table with puffs of smoke, to prove it.
Lisa choked a moment and then controlled herself. She stared at the flat metal box, her Walloon sense of values outraged, not to mention her sense of smell, and then reached out, picking it up. Her eye caught the price tag.
“It’s also the smallest and thinnest tin of tobacco in the world for the price,” she said disapprovingly.
“Ah!” Peter said, in the pleased tone of one whose argument has just been won for him by his opponent. “But that’s just the point, don’t you see? It doesn’t bulge your pockets all out of shape like those American or British packets.”
Kek had completed arranging his cards. “One club.”
Peter considered his hand and sighed. “I pass.”
Kek smiled across the table at Lisa, returning to the previous subject, but only for the purpose of eliminating it for all time.
“In any event, sweet, one doesn’t buy tobacco on the basis of the size or shape of the tin, but for its taste. And this one certainly has a grand aroma, doesn’t it?”
As if to prove it, he puffed some across the table.
“One diamond,” Lisa said, and then turned to Emy, smiling with false sweetness. “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s only proper to announce one’s bidding conventions. In our system, a diamond response”—she glared at Kek—“is a denial …”
It was not until the final morning of their voyage that Lisa raised any question regarding the Big Scheme—as she had come to think of it—and in so doing she demonstrated a certain nervousness that surprised Kek. He had come to consider his wide-eyed, fluffy blond Lisa as being almost beyond nerves, and certainly a lot tougher than he had suspected during their courting days and the first months of their marriage. True, at night when they retired, any masterfulness on her part disappeared completely under the fierce driving force of her passion, demanding domination, exhibiting submission as being both essential and delightful to her. But a subdued Lisa in the bright light of dawn was something else again. As they completed their final packing she paused to stare at him.
“Kek, darling?”
“Yes, sweet?”
“There’s just one thing …”
“Yes?”
“This matter of all those different names,” Lisa said in a worried tone. “Are they all really necessary?” She pushed aside the suitcase she had been packing and dropped onto the unmade bed, frowning up at him with concern. “How will you possibly arrange that many sets of identification papers?”
For a moment Kek just stared at her, and then he laughed.
“My darling Lisa,” he said, “America is not Europe, as you will quickly come to discover. It’s really an amazing place, by continental standards. If one is too old to register for conscription in the army; or if one isn’t required by the circumstances of his job to have a social security number—which is a type of old-age pension—then he can easily pass his entire life without any official identification whatsoever. In fact, if he has no desire to travel abroad, he needs no passport, and if he doesn’t want to drive an automobile, he needs no license. He can truly pass his life with no papers of any kind.”
Lisa stared at him in disbelief.
“No police card? No carnet?”
“Exactly. Remarkable, isn’t it? And if this lack of official recognition bothers one, it’s the easiest thing in the world to arrange whatever documentation one’s little heart desires. Or that one’s ego demands. There are Diners Club cards, gasoline credit cards, hotel credit cards—” He grinned. “I could go on until we docked, sweet, but then you’d still have your packing to finish.”
Lisa refused to be put off.
“But without a police card, how does one—?”
“To begin with, sweet, there are no police cards in America. Strange but true,” Kek said. “The only thing you require to establish a name for yourself”—he smiled at the phrase—“is merely an address, and this you arrange by renting a postal box at any postal substation. If they insist on a home address, you merely point out you are moving and between addresses. The post office sends the bill for the box rent to the box itself, and if you pay it on time and do not allow mail to accumulate too long, you are completely safe. And once you have post office box numbers as addresses, you are free to open bank accounts—as long as you have the money, of course,” he added with a grin.
“And then?”
“Then?” Kek shrugged. “Then America is just like the rest of the world. With bank accounts, all doors open. Credit cards in any name the bank account is in, charge accounts; everything …”
There was a moment’s silence. Then Lisa said, “It sounds like a carrousel.” She shook her head. “A whirligig. A merry-go-round.”
“It is,” Kek assured her gravely. “Exactly. Beautifully endless and completely mad.”
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’” Kek said. “Believe me, there’ll be no problem on that score.” His tone closed the subject; he tightened the final strap on his last bag, set it on the floor near the door, and rang for the room steward. The bell was answered almost immediately; Kek indicated the mountain of luggage already prepared and the final one still spread-eagled on the bed.
“Madame’s luggage, of course,” he said, “will go under the initial of her professional name: Mlle. Nieuport …”
“But, of course!” the steward said, amazed to think anyone would even consider it otherwise with a celebrity such as Mlle. Nieuport.
An envelope changed hands. Kek pulled on his coat, jammed his meerschaum into his mouth as usual, and moved toward the door, skirting the waiting steward, speaking to Lisa past the white-jacketed figure.
“I’ll see you on deck, sweet. We’ll be getting in soon and the view of New York harbor is worth the trip. I don’t want to miss it.”
“Wait for me!” Lisa wailed. She flung the balance of her underthin
gs haphazardly into her suitcase and slammed it shut, only to reopen it a moment later with a muttered Flemish epithet in order to tuck in a bit of trailing lace, and finally latch it. She smiled brightly at the adoring steward, picked up her fur coat, and marched from the cabin with Kek.
They climbed the interior stairway the one flight from their level to the Promenade Deck and pushed through the heavy doors to be greeted by a blast of icy air. Deckhands had dropped the majority of the windows on the normally enclosed deck for some obscure reason of their own, and the brisk wind sweeping over the choppy gray waters of the bay hit Lisa and Kek squarely. Other passengers were also braving the freezing morning, huddled in their overcoats, staring toward the distant skyline of the city rising faintly through the mist; to their left the Statue of Liberty could be seen, looking a bit forlorn on its lonely pedestal so far from any activity except for a tug or two that chugged past, hooting in friendly fashion.
They saw the Van der Mols leaning over one of the windowsills and joined them. With many of the other passengers the two had been watching a small cutter jauntily bouncing over the water, bearing in the direction of the barely moving Nieuw Amsterdam. It flew an official ensign; obviously it carried the immigration personnel. Kek patted his pockets in vain and then turned to Peter.
“How about borrowing some tobacco? Mine’s packed and the ship’s store is closed in port.”
“You and that pipe!” Lisa sniffed.
“Of course.” Peter handed over the tin and turned back to watch the cutter while Kek stuffed the bowl of the meerschaum. The small boat drew close to the huge side of the ship and then bounced away, almost coquettishly. A ship’s ladder had been lowered, angling down from the purser’s deck; a stocking-capped seaman came forward in the cutter while the small boat made another pass at the behemoth. The ladder railing was expertly caught with a boat hook this time, and held firmly while six men hurriedly clambered from the bobbing cutter and made their way up the swaying ladder. Each was clad in a blue uniform with brass buttons; none wore an overcoat. Each was also encumbered with an attaché case. Peter took back his tobacco tin, tucked it into his pocket, and shook his head at the climbing men.
“No coats in this weather! They have to be crazy!”
Kek turned his back on the breeze and applied a match to his pipe. With smoke finally billowing about him, he turned back to the others.
“You folks are off to Florida by train this afternoon, eh?”
“Right,” Peter grinned. “If we wanted cold weather, Interlocken or the Jungfrau is a lot closer. Or Eindhoven itself, for that matter. What are your plans?”
“I cabled for reservations at the Pennsylvania Hotel,” Kek said, “and just had them confirmed. It’s just across Seventh Avenue from your railroad station. We’ll certainly have to get together for a drink, or lunch, or something before you leave.”
“We certainly shall. Look,” Peter said, thinking, “a friend of my father’s is sending a driver together with a station wagon to meet the ship and take us and our bags to the station. So we won’t get lost, I imagine, though we’ve both been here before and we speak the language. Anyway, why don’t we all go there together after customs? I’m sure the car will be plenty big enough. The Americans are ridiculously extravagant in matters like automobiles.”
“Fine!” Kek said, and thought a moment. “I’ll tell you what—”
He was forced to pause. The ship’s loudspeaker system came on the air, the sound echoing hollowly, bouncing eerily from davits, the half-opened windows, the stacked deck chairs lashed against bulkheads, as well as the straining passengers. It requested all passengers to assemble in the main lounge for the formality of immigration and requested them not to forget their passports. The announcement was made first in Dutch, and was then followed in both French and English. When the last echo had died away, Kek returned his attention to the other three.
“As I was saying, you can do me a favor and take Lisa to the hotel. You’ll go through customs quickly in weather this cold, mainly because the customs shed here is open and unheated. Lisa can check into our suite at the Pennsylvania and you are more than welcome to use it as a place to wait out your train. Your driver can leave your bags at the station and deliver the checks to you at the hotel, and then go on his way.” He grinned. “You can even order the drinks and have them ready when I finally get there.”
The three stared at him in surprise.
“And just where do you plan on going?” Lisa demanded.
“Me? Nowhere, sweet. Just through customs, like everyone else,” Kek said innocently, and then paused a moment to put his thoughts in order, to explain the thing properly. “You see, when I came to this country for the first time—which was a little over three years ago—the very first man I met happened, by chance, to be the chief of the customs service here in New York.” He shrugged expansively, but a bit ruefully. “Somehow he took a fancy to me …”
“And of course he knows you’ll be arriving on the Nieuw Amsterdam,” Lisa said sardonically.
“He’ll find out soon enough,” Kek prophesied, “and he’ll want to see me. I imagine it’s mainly because he has envied me the many things I’ve been able to do in my lifetime that he has not.” He waved a hand languidly. “Like being married to Lisa, for example.”
“Wonderful,” Lisa said. “Especially since you must have met this man at least two years before you met me.”
“I merely said, for example. At any rate,” Kek went on, “each time I land in New York, he insists on seeing me and spending hours talking over old times.”
“What old times?”
But Lisa’s eyes were twinkling now; she suddenly knew what Kek was talking about. Her luncheon with Vries Waldeck at the Chambord had revealed many things about her husband, and she was rather surprised at herself for allowing the diversion of the ship’s crossing to have permitted herself to forget them.
“Any old times,” Kek said expansively. “You don’t know the man, sweet, so you’re really in no position to understand his mental processes. Such as they are.” He hustled them toward one of the large heavy doors leading from the deck. “And there’s no sense in freezing out here any longer when they’re waiting for us in the main lounge. Who knows, they may even be serving drinks …”
The others discovered the truth of Kek Huuygens’ prediction when they saw him being approached and spoken to in the customs shed by one of the uniformed inspectors, and a moment later saw the inspector pick up his bags and walk off toward one of the offices at the end of the large, drafty dock. Kek waved to them with a grin, shrugged his shoulders to indicate his helplessness, and then the door closed behind him.
It was fully two hours later before he finally appeared at the door of the suite in the Pennsylvania Hotel. Peter was sitting in the living room as Kek tipped the bellboy and had his bags deposited just within the door.
“Well, well,” Peter said with a smile, “your friend really took up your time! For a while there I figured we’d been traveling with a famous smuggler, and that they’d have you in irons, or something, before we’d even get a chance to have that drink together.”
He was sitting on a comfortable sofa, a tall glass in his hand. Kek noticed a tray with whiskey, brandy, soda, and ice standing next to a nest of glasses on one of the tables. He slipped off his coat, dropping it onto a chair, and walked over to pour himself a stiff brandy.
“Nothing that dramatic, I’m afraid,” he said with a smile. “Where are the girls?”
“Your wife is unpacking, and I’m afraid my wife is sitting there watching and envying everything she sees.”
Kek grinned. He drank his brandy quickly, dug his meerschaum from his pocket, and then began the ritual of patting himself all over. Peter laughed and tossed across his tobacco tin.
“You’re going to be in serious trouble once we catch that train,” he said, smiling. “You’ll have nobody to borrow tobacco from.”
“I may even be driven to buy some,”
Kek said with mock concern. “A terrible thought.” He turned toward the bedroom, packing the pipe as he went. “Let me just tell Lisa I made it here in one piece.”
He came back in a moment and tossed the tobacco tin back to Peter, who caught it expertly. Kek dropped into a chair, applied a match to his pipe, and once it was drawing to his satisfaction leaned his head back against the cushion in relaxation.
“She wasn’t particularly surprised that I got here,” he announced with a grin, and slowly shook his head. “You know? I can still feel the motion of the ship. It always lasts with me for several days.”
“So can I.”
“But at least you’ll be on a train in another six hours, and knowing those trains, you won’t feel the motion of the ship, believe me. You’ll feel the motion of the train. And count your blessings if you can even walk, let alone sleep.”
“In another hour, I’m afraid; not another six,” Peter said with true regret. “The train leaves at one o’clock.” He saw the shocked frown on Kek’s face and nodded. “I know—I thought it was later today, too, but it isn’t. Well, at least it’s nice to know that American travel agencies can make mistakes as well as Dutch ones.”
“That’s a shame. I’m just happy you hadn’t left before I came back. That would have been a tragedy. I’d hoped we could have lunch together.”
“I’d hoped so, too,” Peter said, “but Emy and I will have to eat on the train. And I’d better collect her and get moving.” He grinned. “Maybe we can eat while the train is still in the station. If what you say is true, we’ll probably spill less.”
“Much less,” Kek assured him gravely.
Peter finished his drink and came to his feet. “Well, it was fun. We were lucky to meet you people on the trip. We both enjoyed it.”
“And so did we,” Kek said sincerely.
Peter called his wife; the two women emerged from the bedroom.
“You know,” Kek said thoughtfully, “I never got to kiss the bride.”
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