The disc jockey, who was also one of the announcers from the show in the lounge, came to her table, insisting that she have a drink with him. She accepted a glass of wine, her second for the evening, and they tried to talk, a near-impossible feat over the noise. She danced once with the disc jockey, whose name was Brian, before he had to return to his musical equipment. Then, filled with an odd restlessness, she made her way from the bar.
The night wind was cool on the deck, and still damp, though the rain had stopped. Maura gathered her shawl around her and strolled along the wooden planking, listening to the hollow echo of her own footsteps. Lights shone from the windows and portholes of the cabins, reflecting on the water. Standing at the railing, watching the gliding, rippling wake, Maura thought that the muddy river water was becoming darker, giving way to the salty blue of the gulf.
Turning to walk once more, she let her light and easy treads take her to the prow of the ship. Here, there was a definite rise and fall to the railing. The night darkness stretched ahead of the great ship, though it was ringed on the horizon by red and orange lights that blinked off and on, with portions that burned steady in the shape of squares, like low-lying, fiery constellations against the black of night. The wind flapped the ends of her shawl and whipped her skirts about her knees. It blew her hair away from her face, lifting the long strands in the stylized, backward-flowing tresses of a figurehead. She was alone on the forward deck, and yet not alone, for behind and above her were the subdued lights of the bridge where the officers could be seen moving back and forth in the dimness.
Growing chilled, she started to move away, to go back inside. Further along the starboard side, a door opened, and a ship's officer appeared, the man she had met earlier in the day.
He came even with her, then with a word of greeting, turned to walk beside her, matching his pace to hers. He asked her name and with whom she was traveling, introducing himself as Third Officer Alexandros Maratos. Pointing out the lights she had noticed, he told her they marked the locations of oil rigs in the gulf, the drilling platforms and living quarters for the crews that searched for offshore oil.
“We are nearly in the gulf then?"
“Yes, that is so."
“I'm glad. It doesn't seem as if the voyage has really begun until we get beyond land."
He grimaced. “You may not be so happy in an hour or two. The sea is choppy beyond the river's mouth and the protection of land."
“That doesn't matter. I will enjoy a little rough weather."
“I will remember you said that,” he told her, a smile touching his full lips.
Maura tipped her head to one side, alerted by something in his tone. “Remember, then, that I said only a little. We aren't in for a storm, are we?"
“Who can say?” he replied evasively, then pointed toward a fast-moving light approaching the ship. “Look there, it's the boat to take off the river pilot."
“A river pilot has been guiding us since we left New Orleans?"
“Yes. The course of the Mississippi is changeable, especially at this time of the year, in the spring. It takes a man with special knowledge to navigate it. Also, this is an American regulation of the Mississippi River Authority that we must follow."
The pilot boat sped across the water, rising and falling, wallowing a little with the swells. “Could I watch the transfer of the pilot from the ship to the boat?"
“Yes, certainly. It will take place just below us here."
The pilot boat, looking about the size of one of the ship's lifeboats, eased up alongside an open entryway in the lower portion of the cruise ship. Watching it roll in the waves gave Maura a much more accurate idea of the roughness of the water than she was able to get from the higher deck. A small platform on a metal framework was extended out from the ship. The uniformed pilot stepped out onto the platform, then judging the swell, swung from it onto the heaving deck of the small boat.
There was a brief commotion on the boat down below, and another man emerged onto the deck of the lighted cabin cruiser. Dressed in a gray business suit, carrying a small suitcase not much larger than an attaché case, he scarcely paused as he reached the space of open water between the two crafts. With a single lithe and muscular movement, he swung to the platform of the Athena, and disappeared inside. The motor of the pilot boat roared, and she sped away again, back toward the lights on the distant shoreline.
At the first sight of the new arrival, the officer beside Maura had stiffened. Now he straightened. “I am afraid I must leave you. It has been most pleasant speaking with you, and I hope you will allow me to see you again."
“What is it?” Maura asked. “Who is the man who came aboard?"
“I'm not sure,” Alexandros answered, his dark gaze moving over her shoulder. “But if it's who I think, then he is trouble."
Chapter 2
Trouble for the Athena appeared to be coming from more than one quadrant. Maura had been asleep in her bed in the cabin for perhaps two hours when she came awake with a jerk. For an instant she lay disoriented. The running lights of the ship cast a dim glow through the portholes into the cabin. She stared into the gloom, feeling the pitch of the ship, listening to the steady thrum of its motors from somewhere nearby.
Abruptly, a wave struck the portholes above her. It spun around the circular casings in a hard rush of salt water. For the space of a breath, it was like being under the sea, before the portholes cleared as the ship breasted the next wave. The heartbeat thumping of the engines increased its tempo, and there was a peculiar sense of strain in the movement of the Athena as the ship's stabilizers came into action to keep her on an even keel.
The sea was rising. Pushing to one elbow, Maura tried to look out, but all she could see was the storm-tossed waves and the inky blackness where the sea merged with the night sky. As another wave poured, sloshing, against the thick glass of the portholes, she lay back down. Watching the circular action, she thought the way the salt sea swirled and gurgled around the portholes was like the foaming motion of the water in a front-loading automatic washer. The glass in the openings must be extremely sturdy to withstand such pressure. No doubt if the weather began to be really rough, the heavy iron covers for the portholes would be bolted over them, instead of fastened back out of the way.
Closing her eyes, Maura lay listening to the sounds of the ship laboring through the stormy night. Finally, she slept once more.
The ship's officer was not wrong, however. The dark-haired man who had come aboard from the pilot boat put in an appearance at breakfast. Maura and Mrs. Papoulas sat at their table near the window, Maura enjoying a ham omelet, the elderly woman crumbling a raisin roll and, against the best advice of Stephen, drinking a cup of black coffee. The waves outside did not seem so turbulent from this height on deck four, though they had still dashed against the portholes of their cabin when they had awakened that morning.
Maura saw the man first. He seemed to be staring in their direction, a frown tinged with concern drawing his thick dark brows together as his black gaze rested on Mrs. Papoulas. With deliberation, he turned his attention to Maura in an inspection piercing in its intensity. He did not seem overly impressed. His face tightened, and cold cynicism touched the strong lines of his mouth as he surveyed her slim form.
Surprise that their table should be singled out held Maura suspended. It was only as her own emerald gaze clashed with the gray-black steel of that of the new arrival that she realized she had been staring. With a show of polite disinterest, she looked away, though she could not quite control the rise of faint color to her cheekbones.
“What is it, my dear?” Mrs. Papoulas asked.
Like her great-aunt, sometimes the Greek woman could be uncomfortably acute. “Nothing, really. You see the man who just came in? I watched him come aboard last night."
As Maura went on to sketch what had happened in a few short phrases, the older woman glanced in the direction of her nod. “No,” she breathed between anger and dismay.
&n
bsp; Maura broke off. “Is something wrong?"
“You might say so,” Mrs. Papoulas replied, her voice controlled once more, though her face was pale with annoyance as she watched the approach of the dark-haired man. “You might indeed."
He wore perfectly tailored gray slacks, a gray silk shirt, and over the latter, on this rather cool and rainy morning, a lightweight sleeveless sweater of soft blue. Casually elegant in his dress, he came to a halt at their table, towering above them.
“So,” he said, his dark gaze on the older woman. “I have run you to earth at last."
“My dear Nikolaos,” Mrs. Papoulas answered with asperity. “You needn't make it sound as if I am some unfortunate animal you have been hunting. Since you are here, have the goodness to seat yourself so that we don't have to crane our heads back to look at you!"
Maura thought that amusement flickered over the strong features of the man's face, then disappeared. It was hidden from the older woman, in any case, as he drew out a chair and seated himself.
“Attack is an admirable method of defense. Grandmother, but you should know that with me it will not work."
“I was not aware of any need to defend myself,” Mrs. Papoulas answered, lifting her chin. “Before we go any further, you must permit me to introduce you to my table companion, a young woman who has been most kind to me. Maura, this is my grandson, Nikolaos Vassos."
As her own name was given to the grandson, Maura frowned. “Vassos?” she asked. “Not —"
“Don't tell me,” Nikolaos Vassos grated with a glance from Maura to his grandmother, “that you are going to pretend you didn't know. I can bear anything in my grandmother's hangers-on except hypocrisy."
Maura stiffened. Before she could form a coherent reply, Mrs. Papoulas broke in.
“Nikolaos! There is no need whatever to be rude. Maura is by no stretch of the imagination my hanger-on, as you put it. If anything, I am hers. And yes, Maura, in answer to your question, my grandson is managing director of Vassos Shipping Lines, which owns and operates the Athena."
“What do you mean, you are her hanger-on?” Nikolaos Vassos demanded.
“I mean I am sharing her cabin for the time being."
“Why?"
The single syllable, spoken with the slightest trace of a Greek accent, was uncompromising.
The older woman pursed her lips, the light of impenitent amusement in her eyes. “Mine smelled of fumes from the engines."
“Fumes? You mean they put you in a cabin on one of the lower decks?"
“It was necessary to take a lower cabin, since I did not mean to advertise to all and sundry my connection with the line, and all other accommodation had been reserved."
“Connection! You very nearly control Vassos Lines, and you allow yourself to be treated like some middle-class tourist from the United States!"
“You will please lower your voice, and also, take care how you speak of tourists. Maura belongs to that breed, one without which the Athena would soon have to be sold for scrap."
Nikolaos flung Maura a glance of impatience. “Something will have to be done. I will see that arrangements are made at once."
“If you do, it will ruin everything,” Mrs. Papoulas declared. “Besides, it is not at all necessary. I am quite comfortable where I am."
“Ruin everything? What are you saying?"
“I am registered under the name of my second husband."
“I know, since I had the passenger list checked. What I don't understand is why. You haven't used that title since the man died fifteen years ago."
“Nevertheless, it is legally mine. I did not wish to be know as Madame Vassos. I wanted to see the ship and the service it provides as an ordinary tourist, to experience whatever discomforts and inconveniences there may be, so as to know why the ship is not making the profit it should."
Nikolaos Vassos leaned across the table, stretching out a hand to his grandmother. “You realize this isn't wise, or necessary. What would your doctor say if he knew you were here? To my knowledge, he has not prescribed a long, international flight and a stormy cruise for your health. As for the other, there are plenty of people in our offices in Athens perfectly capable of analyzing the problem."
“Then why aren't they here?” Mrs. Papoulas asked, her mouth set in a straight line. “I have told them time and again that someone should take this cruise from beginning to end and report on the complaints of the passengers. What happens? Nothing! You are all so busy with your container freighters and your super tankers that you pay no heed. You seem to have forgotten that it was the passenger vessels that made Vassos Lines what it is today!"
“Yes, yes, Grandmother, so you have been telling me for years.” He gave a sigh of strained patience.
“But you don't listen!"
“I promise you I will personally look into it. For now, we must decide what is to be done. Tomorrow morning the ship lands at Cozumel, off the coast of Mexico. It is possible to make connections from there back to New Orleans where my private plane is waiting. We should be home in forty-eight hours, at the latest."
His grandmother stared at him. “I am not leaving the ship."
“Of course you are. I cannot stay with you. I have been away from the office too long, tracing you to the states, arranging to intercept this ship. Besides that, I am traveling light, with little more than a clean shirt."
“Your presence is not required.” The elderly woman stared at him, her breathing quick and a flush mottling the fine crepe of her skin.
“I can't leave you alone, now that I have found you."
“I did not ask you to find me."
“How could I not make every effort when you disappear without warning?” As his anger rose, the foreign inflection in the voice of Nikolaos Vassos grew more apparent.
There was a defensive fight in the elderly woman's voice, and her fingers shook a little as she reached for her coffee cup. “I left word that I would be away a few days for purposes of business."
“But not where, or why, or when you would return."
“It is not necessary that I account for my every move to you!"
“Grandmother, be reasonable!"
The elderly woman did not reply. As she began to lift her cup, the hot liquid splashed out into the saucer. With a small cry of distress, she set it down again.
Maura reached out quickly with her napkin to blot the hot coffee from the older woman's fingers. Emerald fire flashed in her eyes as she threw a glance at the man on the other side of the table. Until this moment she had kept silent, unwilling to interfere in a family matter. Now the harsh note in the man's voice and the harassed look on Mrs. Papoulas's face affected her like a goad.
“Mr. Vassos,” she said, “it seems to me that it is you who is being unreasonable. If your grandmother's well-being is really a matter of concern, you have a poor way of showing it. I'm not aware of the full circumstances, of course, but it seems to me that it would be better for her to rest for a few days before embarking on another long flight back to Greece."
“I am not in need of your opinion, Miss O'Neal."
“No, I expect you disregard the opinions of others, just as you ignore the convenience of everyone except yourself."
His dark brows snapped together. “Meaning?"
“Meaning,” Maura said, unable to restrain her irritation with his overbearing manner, “that it appears to me you want your grandmother to cut short her stay on board the ship to suit your own plans, rather than for her sake."
“That isn't true."
“Then why are you insisting she leave with you?"
Mrs. Papoulas held up her hand. “My dear Maura, it is sweet of you to defend me, but there is no cause. I am not leaving the Athena."
Nikolaos swung to stare at the older woman. “Grandmother Vassos —"
“My name is Papoulas."
“You are a Vassos of the Vassos Lines, and so called by everyone. Why you must insist on this masquerade, I cannot comprehend."
“I have given you my reasons, and must ask you to respect them."
“Very well,” he answered, his mouth tightening for an instant. “Have you considered this well, including your probable reaction should this weather continue?"
“I do not need to be reminded of my unfortunate weakness where the motion of the sea is concerned, Nikolaos. And if I had not given careful thought to what I was doing, I would not be here."
He nodded, men pushed back his chair, rising to his feet. “If you stay, I stay."
He could not be dissuaded. The deficiencies in his wardrobe could be remedied in the shopping arcade or, failing that, he would throw himself on the mercy of the ship's captain, a friend from boyhood. Wearing apparel of some kind could be put together.
No time was wasted in arranging to move Mrs. Papoulas from deck seven. Her luggage was retrieved from Maura's cabin and taken away to one of the bedrooms of the owner's suite where Nikolaos was ensconced, usually held vacant if not occupied by special guests of the line or of the captain. The steward who transferred the cases of the elderly woman was already aware that she was the grandmother of the managing director of Vassos Lines. That being the case, it seemed unlikely that it would be long before the entire ship knew exactly who she was, effectively destroying her stated aim.
Soon after Mrs. Papoulas had departed to settle into her new quarters, the lifeboat drill, mandatory for all ships their first full day at sea, was called. Maura made her way to her assigned station and strapped on her regulation orange Mae West life jacket. With that out of the way, she attended a briefing on Cozumel, the island of their first port. There, she took notes on the relative merits of shopping in town for the famous black coral of the area, or signing up for the alternate tour, an expedition to the Mayan ruins of Tulum on the mainland of Mexico. The ruins sounded more appealing, and colorful, an important consideration for Aunt Maggie's purpose.
When she had signed up for the Tulum tour, Maura wandered back up to the lido deck. It was almost deserted, swept by a wind-driven mist. On the games deck above, however, was a weather shield of plexiglass. Maura stood behind its protection for a time, watching the waves roll past the ship with the wind tearing the white caps from their crests. Tiring at last of the sight, she moved to descend the wet rubber treads of the outside stairway.
Love at Sea Page 3