by Janet Dailey
“Five years ago,” she admitted, “when Mac and I went fishing in British Columbia.”
“You need this vacation,” he asserted. “There was a time, shortly after Mac’s death, when working long and hard had a therapeutic value, but you’re over that stage now. You need to stop working so hard and start enjoying life again.”
“I enjoy my life,” Rachel insisted, but she knew she was beginning to feel the strain of the constant pressure. It was a long time since she had truly relaxed and taken it easy. This cruise would provide her with a much needed respite from meetings and telephones and paperwork. By the same token she was daunted by the prospect of doing nothing for seven days. “I admit I need to get away and relax for a while, but I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself for all that time. It isn’t as if I know anybody on board. They’re total strangers.”
“Strangers are what you need right now,” John said wisely. “If you were surrounded by friends, you’d start talking about the business. Instead of leaving it behind, you’d be bringing it with you. Getting to know new people will be good for you. Besides, after working so hard, it’s time you were pampered. And a sea cruise is just the place for it. If you don’t believe me, ask Fan.”
“These cruise ships treat you like a queen.” His wife was quick to back up his assertion. “I never had to lift a hand to do anything when John and I went on that trip through the Caribbean last fall. After taking care of four children and a husband, believe me, that was heaven!”
“I’m sure it’s very nice.” Rachel didn’t question that.
“And the food aboard—it’s an epicurean delight,” Fan declared. “Of course, it isn’t so delightful when you have to lose the five pounds you gained during the cruise.”
“All your arguments are very sound,” Rachel said, because the pair seemed to be ganging up on her. “But I just have some misgivings about this trip. That doesn’t mean I’m not going. I’m here and I have my ticket.”
“Then stop saying things that make it sound like you’re trying to back out at the last minute,” Fan reproved her. “Especially after all I went through last week to make certain you had your ticket. Speaking of that”—a frown flickered across her expression as Fan was distracted by the run of her own thoughts—“I wonder what happened to the ticket they supposedly mailed to you. It’s strange you never received it.”
“It isn’t so strange,” John disagreed. “Considering how undependable the mail service is these days, it was probably lost.”
“It was sent to the wrong address,” Rachel said.
“How do you know that?” Fan looked at her with a frowning interest.
“I meant to tell you about it before, but with all the last-minute packing and preparations, I simply forgot to mention it.” She began her answer with an explanation of why she hadn’t cleared up the mystery before. “When the cruise line reissued the ticket, it was made out to Mrs. Gardner MacKinley all right, but the address they listed wasn’t mine. Obviously the original one was mailed to that address, which is why I never received it.”
“That explains it.” John shrugged diffidently. “Sooner or later the missing ticket will be returned to the ship line.”
“Do you suppose I should contact the Princess Cruises and tell them they have the wrong address listed for Rachel?” Fan asked, ever one to have things neatly in order.
“It’s hardly necessary since I have my ticket and my pass to get on board.” Rachel didn’t see the need for it.
There was a lull in the conversation and Rachel sipped at her drink. A car pulled up to the curb to unload its occupants. Three young couples piled out, dragging with them a cooler and a large tray mounded with assorted sandwiches and cheeses—refreshments for their own private bon voyage party. As the luggage was unloaded from the trunk and given to a waiting baggage handler with a cart, it became apparent that only one couple in the group was going on the cruise. The other four had come along to see them off and tour the ship.
When the car had been emptied, the driver slipped behind the wheel to park it in the lot adjacent to the port terminal while the remaining five waited in front of the terminal entrance. A sleek black limousine swung quietly into the curbside spot the car had vacated and came to a halt. There was an immediate stirring of interest all around.
Fan leaned closer, murmuring to Rachel, “Who do you suppose is arriving?”
An answer wasn’t expected for her question, but Rachel’s curiosity was naturally aroused, like everyone else’s. The limousine’s smoked glass was designed to protect the privacy of the passenger, but it also heightened the interest of those wondering who might be inside.
The trunk latch was remotely released by a panel button. A second later a uniformed chauffeur was stepping out of the limousine and walking around the hood to open the rear passenger door. All eyes focused on the opening, including Rachel’s.
A man emerged, unfolding his long length with loose-limbed ease. Tall, easily over six feet when he finally straightened to his full height, he was well built, wide shouldered, and slim hipped. A breeze immediately rumpled his hair as if it couldn’t wait to run its fingers through the virile thickness and feel its vital texture. The slanting rays of an afternoon sun caught the desert-tan highlights that streaked his dark hair. His sun-browned features were strong and handsome, ingrained with a maturity tinged with wry cynicism.
As she studied him Rachel was reminded of a statue she’d seen once. Not because of his trimly muscled build or his male good looks. It was another quality that brought the memory to mind—a tempered hardness of form and character. Yet even that impression seemed belied by the laziness of his stance, so relaxed and at ease.
Rachel guessed he knew he was the cynosure of all eyes, but he appeared indifferent to the attention he attracted. His indifference did not appear to be arrogance, but as if he felt his presence was unimportant.
A slow smile pulled his lips apart, briefly showing a row of white, even teeth. He said something to the chauffeur, the words inaudible, but the soft timbre of his voice drifted to her, husky and warm. The uniformed driver immediately smiled back. Rachel had the feeling it was the natural response of anyone who was the recipient of that smile.
Her gaze traveled with the chauffeur as he moved to the rear of the vehicle and began to unload the luggage from the carpet-lined trunk and pass it to the baggage handler. Then her glance swung back to the man in the tan sports jacket and brown slacks. In the brief interim he had squared around, providing her with a better view of his face.
Experience had hammered out any softness in his strongly handsome features and etched into them an understated virility that didn’t rely on good looks for its attraction. A cigarette dangled from his mouth as he bent his head to the match flame cupped in his hand.
The unhurried action served as a misdirection while his partially lidded gaze made a slow sweep of the people on the walk outside. It paused to linger on Rachel with mild interest. There was a deliberateness about him, making no apologies for the good, long look he was taking. She had the sensation that his mind was absorbing her image, measuring her attributes against other women he’d known, but offering no judgment. She stiffened slightly, disturbed in some small way she couldn’t define.
A pulsebeat later his gaze moved on as casually as it had paused. The match flame was shaken out while he exhaled the smoke he had dragged from the burning cigarette.
Fan’s blonde head changed its angle, tipping a degree toward Rachel. “I don’t know who he is,” she murmured in an aside, “but he’s one hunk of a man.”
Silently Rachel agreed with that assessment of the man’s potently attractive male looks. There seemed to be some magnetic pull that kept her gaze riveted to him even when she felt that her staring was bordering on rudeness.
Again that lazy smile spread across his face as he shook hands with the chauffeur, taking his leave of the man. A hint of it remained when he turned to the baggage handler and discreetly passe
d the man a folded bill with the ease of one accustomed to tipping. Then his easy-flowing stride was carrying him to the entrance of the terminal building. As Rachel followed him her gaze encountered John Kemper’s frowning expression.
“His face is familiar,” John said with a puzzled shake of his head. “But I can’t think why I should know him.”
“It’s obvious he’s going on the cruise,” Fan said and slowly turned her head to look at Rachel. A light of scheming speculation gleamed in her eyes. “He’s just the kind of man you need to meet.”
“Fan, don’t be silly,” Rachel protested, her lips lying together in a patiently amused line.
“I’m serious,” her friend insisted.
“Well, I’m not interested in getting involved with any man,” Rachel asserted when she realized Fan wasn’t teasing. “I’m going on this cruise to relax. I have no intention of being caught up in some shipboard affair.”
“Who said anything about getting involved?” Fan lifted upturned palms in a blameless gesture. “But you are traveling on the Love Boat.”
“Don’t remind me.” Rachel sighed with mild exasperation at the reference to the long-running television series, which had filmed its location shots aboard the Pacific Princess.
“Someone needs to remind you if you haven’t thought about it.” Fan’s look was faintly skeptical.
“Let’s just say that I haven’t given it much thought,” she replied. “And if I take any moonlight strolls around the deck, it will probably be alone. There’s no percentage in becoming romantically entangled with a stranger for a week.”
“I’m not suggesting romance,” Fan corrected that impression.
“Then what are you suggesting?” Rachel demanded, becoming a little impatient with the subject.
Instead of immediately answering her, Fan threw a glance at her husband. “John, close your ears. A husband shouldn’t hear the advice his wife gives to single women.”
An indulgently amused smile twitched the corners of his mouth. “I’m as deaf as a mouse in a bell tower,” he promised and looked in another direction, pretending an interest elsewhere.
Fan turned back to Rachel. “What I’m talking about is something a little more basic than romance,” she said. “What you really need is a little sex; something to start the fires burning again. And that man looks like he’s got what it takes to deliver the goods.”
Advice like that had been offered before, but it was usually given by the man interested in becoming her sexual partner. If anyone else but her best friend had said that to her, Rachel would probably have thrown the orange drink in their face. Instead she set the container on the ledge and stiffly stood up, waiting as Fan rose also.
“My fires are burning nicely.” At the moment most of the inner heat came from suppressed anger. She had never considered herself to be a prude. Lonely though she sometimes was, Rachel hadn’t become so desperate for love that she resorted to casual sex.
Struggling against her rising agitation, she turned a cold shoulder to Fan. Her forward-facing gaze looked into the glass front of the terminal building. The shaded interior produced a mirrorlike backing for the glass, causing it to reflect a faint image of her own white-suited figure and obscuring the building’s many occupants but not to the extent that she failed to recognize the tall, broad-shouldered man talking to one of the cruise staff.
The sight of him, posed so nonchalantly with one hand casually thrust in the side pocket of his slacks, seemed to add to the seething fury that heated her blood. Unquestionably he was sexy but not in any overt kind of way. It was much more subtle than that. Rachel recognized that and was impatient with herself because she did.
While she unwillingly watched him, he was taken over and introduced to another staff member, who greeted him familiarly. Then he was personally escorted past the roped-off boarding area around the open doorway. Her last glimpse of him was his tapering silhouette outlined briefly in the rectangular patch of light marking the doorway. While all the other passengers had to wait until the appointed boarding time, he was being escorted onto the ship. She supposed it meant he had friends in high places.
“I know I probably sounded crude,” Fan continued, slightly defensive and apologetic. “But it seems to me that the longer you abstain from taking a lover, the more difficult it becomes. Rather like losing your virginity all over.”
“Let’s just forget it.” Severely controlling her voice, Rachel was aware that her friend’s advice was well intentioned. She was just personally uncomfortable with it.
There was a stirring of activity inside the terminal building. The crowd was beginning to bunch closer together and press forward against the ropes. It appeared that the boarding process would commence shortly.
Afraid that if she stayed Fan would continue on the same subject, Rachel decided that it would be better if she joined the other passengers inside before she lost her temper. She didn’t want to start out on this vacation arguing with her best friend. And somewhere she seemed to have lost her sense of humor. She couldn’t turn aside the conversation with a joke that would make light of it, even though she knew it was the best and the most diplomatic way to handle it.
“They’ve started boarding,” she said. “They aren’t admitting visitors until all the passengers are on the ship, so you two might as well wait here. I’ll meet you later on the ship—by the gangway.”
“We’ll be there.” John patted his breast pocket, where he had put their visitor passes.
With that agreement voiced, Rachel left them and walked briskly to the entrance, her white reflection in the glass following and merging as she passed through the open doors. It would be a slow process to board the hundreds of waiting passengers, but this was one time when Rachel didn’t mind the long wait in line. It would give her a chance to simmer down. At the moment she was too tense, her nerves strung out like high-tension wires.
Voices ran together, creating a low din as Rachel reduced her pace and approached the pressing crowd of passengers. She found a place in the main flow and let it sweep her along to the gate that funneled them into a single line to the door.
Chapter Two
Shining pristine white, the ship loomed beside the terminal building, tied to the pier only a few feet from the building’s outside walls. Its massive size and sleek, pure lines demanded attention as Rachel followed the slow-moving string of passengers traveling along the raised walk to the gangway.
On the bow of the ship, high blue letters spelled out her name—Pacific Princess. The blue and green emblem of the cruise line, a maiden’s head with long hair streaming out in waves, was painted on the black-ringed smokestack. Rows of portholes and deck railings marked off her many levels. Rachel was slightly awed by her size and stately majesty.
Ahead photographers were snapping pictures of passengers next to signboards welcoming them aboard the Pacific Princess. Usually they took photos of a couple; sometimes two couples wanted their picture taken together; sometimes it was a family shot.
But Rachel was traveling alone. It was the first time she’d gone on a pleasure trip without Mac or some member of her family or even a friend. The point was brought home to her as she stepped forward to take her turn in front of the camera. She thought she had become used to her solitary state, but she felt awkward and self-conscious. It was an unexpected reaction to something she thought she had accepted.
“How about a big smile?” the photographer coaxed with the camera to his face so his eye could frame her in the lens.
Rachel tried to oblige, but the forced movement was stiff and strained. The click of the camera captured it on film. Then the photographer was nodding to her that it was over, smiling at her with a hint in his glance of male appreciation for her striking looks.
An absent smile touched the corners of her mouth in return, but it faded quickly on an inner sigh as she stepped forward to make room for the couple behind her. She blamed her raw sensitivity on the strain of overwork and quickened her step
s to close on the line of passengers progressing slowly up the gangway. After a couple of days rest she’d be her old self again.
Members of the ship’s crew were on hand to receive the boarding passengers and direct them to their assigned staterooms. Rachel walked onto the rich blue carpet of the foyer and paused beside the white-uniformed officer, who inclined his head in greeting to her.
“Welcome aboard the Pacific Princess. Your cabin, madam?” His voice carried a British accent, reminding Rachel that the ship was of British registry.
“Mrs. MacKinley. Promenade 347.” She had the number memorized after writing it so many times on her luggage tags.
He turned to a young, blond-haired man in a steward’s uniform and motioned him forward. “Promenade 347,” he repeated to the steward, then turned to Rachel, smiling warmly. “Hanson will guide you to your stateroom suite, Mrs. MacKinley.”
“Thank you.” Her mouth curved in an automatic response, then Rachel moved past him to follow the young steward across the wide foyer to the stairwell flanked by elevators.
The decision to reserve a suite instead of a simple stateroom had been an impulsive one and admittedly extravagant, since she was traveling alone. Part of it had been prompted by Fan’s urging that Rachel should do this vacation up right and travel in style, and part of it had been motivated by a desire to have uncramped quarters where she could lounge in comfortable privacy.
A landing divided the stairs halfway between each deck and split it into flanking arms that turned back on itself to rise to the next deck. The landings, the turns, the lookalike foyers on each deck, began to confuse Rachel as she followed the steward. Already cognizant of the size of the ship, she quickly realized that it would be easy to become turned around with so many decks and the maze of passageways.
Instead of relying solely on her guide, Rachel began to look for identifying signs so she would learn her route to the stateroom and not become lost when she had to find it again. The striding steward didn’t give her much time to dawdle and still keep him in sight.