He gave a grim nod. “You are referring to her tiredness in town, I think. Did she lose consciousness?"
His grasp of her dilemma and his questions that were designed to help eliminate the need for her to tell him too much were a relief. “I don't think so, but she was close to it when I found her. She blamed it on the heat."
“She would, on anything except the real cause. Why couldn't she have stayed in Greece where she belongs instead of trying to make this cruise?"
“Maybe she preferred being useful to the prospect of a safe and dull old age. Besides, isn't it possible that fretting about a problem could cause more stress for her than doing something about it?"
“It's possible. I don't know. One thing I am sure of, if she had problems this afternoon, she should be resting now."
“I hope you don't intend to tell her so."
“No.” He ran his hand over his hair, clasping the back of his neck. “The bingo session should be nearly over. I wonder, if you should mention that you mean to rest before dinner, would she feel she could bend her pride enough to do the same?"
To be included in the plan gave Maura a feeling of warm gladness that she did not stop to examine. With a smile she said, “It's worth a try."
They descended the steps to the promenade deck and entered the heavy outer doors. As they moved down the inner stairs that led to deck four, they heard the babble of voices. The bingo game, it seemed, was causing more than its usual quota of excitement.
At the door of the lounge, they paused. Three-quarters of the people in the place were on their feet, crowding toward the center of the room. Nearby, a new arrival like themselves, attracted by the noise, asked one of the players still seated for an explanation.
“There was a nice old lady with a foreign accent won the jackpot. When she got up to collect her prize, she passed right out."
Nikolaos, his face grim, started forward. As he pushed through the crowd, Maura slipped in behind him, taking advantage of the path made by his broad shoulders. Then they saw her. Mrs. Papoulas lay stretched on the carpet with her eyes closed and her head with its weight of gray hair resting in the lap of the assistant cruise director.
Nikolaos went down on one knee. “Grandmother?"
Her eyes flew open and she stared up into his face, the grip of her fingers tightening on his as he took her hand. “I was hoping,” she said, her voice a little weak, but perfectly steady, “that I could get to my cabin before you heard of this."
“I don't doubt that.” There was the sound of soft relief in his voice.
“It's really nothing, only the heat in town today. I will be fine."
Nikolaos glanced at the blonde employee of the ship in her neat uniform. “Has the doctor been notified?”
“Yes,” the woman answered. “He is on his way.” Maura stood back. There was not room for her to go to the older woman, and she had no right to push herself forward. At that moment, the doctor entered the room with the Englishman who served as cruise director beside him.
“All right, folks, let's break it up, give the lady a little air. The doctor here needs room to get about his business, too. The bingo session is over, and the lounge will be closed for the next half hour for cleaning, getting ready for the show later on. We hope to see everyone back here then, but in the meantime, there are tea and coffee being served on the lido deck. Everyone is invited!"
Nikolaos seemed to have forgotten everything except his grandmother. He did not look up as Maura was skillfully maneuvered from the room. There was nothing she could do. She was forced to leave with the others, though she hovered in the vestibule outside.
She saw a pair of stewards step off the elevator with a regulation hospital stretcher between them. They entered the lounge while another steward came forward to hold the elevator car on that deck. The seconds ticked past. At last they emerged from the lounge with Mrs. Papoulas upon the wheeled carrier. On one side walked the ship's doctor, and on the other was Nikolaos. The door of the elevator closed upon them, and the car slid upward.
Chapter 7
They sailed at dusk, just as night was coming down upon the sea and the lights of the town were blooming with bright golden pinpoints along the shore. They passed a Norwegian liner on their way from the harbor, and also the Russian ship. Each was ablaze with lights that outlined the vessel from stem to stern and reflected on the ever-moving surface of the water. Along the decks of the other ships, there were bright flashes as the passengers that lined the rails used their cameras to try to catch the image of the Athena as it sailed majestically away from them. And from the Athena there were answering flashes as her own passengers tried to do the same with those lighted ships still sitting at anchor.
They were trying to imprison a memory, those camera enthusiasts. Maura could not blame them. Sitting in her darkened cabin with her arms braced on the ledge beneath the portholes, she felt that same urge. It was a moment of nostalgia for a space of time that was passing quickly, as quickly as the ship was leaving the port behind. It would soon be gone. In just that way the minutes and hours of the cruise were fading. They could never be experienced again. In some ways, that was good; Maura recognized that truth. And yet, the thought of it filled her with depression bordering on melancholy.
The sooner she was away from Nikolaos Vassos and his grandmother, the better. The way she was allowing them to fill her time and her thoughts was dangerous, at least to her peace of mind. If she needed proof, she had only to consider the way she felt at this moment. With lamentable clarity, she recognized that no small part of her dejection was caused by the ease with which Nikolaos had dismissed her from his mind this evening. She did not blame him for his concern for his grandmother, but she would have liked to be included, for him to make some acknowledgment that she might have been of help, and that she was worried too.
It was nonsense, of course. Why should he think of her? Why should it have occurred to him that she would be concerned over someone who had no connection whatever with her beyond the acquaintance of a few days? Why should he think that she would care to contribute anything to his grandmother's well-being and comfort? As for him asking for her because he felt the need of her presence and support, that was even more absurd. She was not so silly as to expect such an admission from a man like Nikolaos, even if he were capable of so much dependence.
The managing director of Vassos Lines needed no one. Certainly, he appreciated women; her own experience and his grandmother's revelations had confirmed that much. He enjoyed their company but they meant nothing. He forgot them the moment his back was turned.
All right. She did not particularly like that kind of man; still she could accept the fact that this was Nikolaos's personality. The problem was with herself. She did not like the idea that she was the type of woman who could be easily forgotten. Discovering that it was so was a blow to her self-esteem, her conception of herself as being desirable, of being able to instill love. That was the main thing that was troubling her. It was not that she actually wanted Nikolaos to care for her, or that she had any personal feelings for him. That wasn't it at all.
It was warm and stuffy in the cabin, though when Maura held her hand to the air vent, there seemed to be a stream of cooler air beginning to make itself felt. She ran a tepid bath and added a handful of bath crystals with the scent of spring flowers. Stepping into the water, she lay soaking for a long time, letting her mind drift as the water cooled, enjoying the effect of the gentle swaying of the ship on the water surrounding her. She shampooed her hair, giving it a final rinse with the hand-held, European-style shower. Emerging from the bathroom, she splashed on a cooling cologne, and took out the adaptor that would allow her to use her blow dryer.
The hours she had spent in the sun had lightened the hair around her face, giving it a red-gold sheen. With a practiced hand, Maura dried its shining length and turned the ends under in a smooth, shoulder-length pageboy.
The heat of the dryer had negated the feeble effort of the ship'
s air conditioning. In the expectation of a warm evening ahead, Maura took a dress of a sheer mint-green voile from the closet. With a deeply cut heart-shaped neckline and a fluttering capelet in place of sleeves, a wide belt and a full, unconfining skirt, it was the coolest thing she owned. Its touches of eyelet lace and satin ribbon also made it one of the most feminine.
Dinner that evening was open seating, the passengers being free to choose any available table. The occasion was a Grand Buffet Magnifique. It was a spectacle as well as a feast. As Maura entered the dining room, there were men and women with cameras in their hands running here and there, snapping pictures by the dozens as they tried to capture on film the color and variety of the food and decorations that weighted the long tables around the room.
There were platters of sliced turkey, ham, roast beef, rock cornish hen, tongue, and liver pâté, all cut from loaves that were frosted with cream cheese and decorated with color tints in fluted and scrolled designs. Towering above the table on which they sat was a pyramid of roast chicken inset with orange halves, cherries, and parsley. Behind that section of the table were pastry sculptures of the Eiffel Tower and a lifesize, brilliantly plumed parrot. Nearby, behind the egg dishes and the plates of chicken, potato, tuna, shrimp, and salmon salad was a cream-cheese rendering of Heracles fighting the nine-headed Hydra, a favorite subject of the shutter bugs, since Heracles, in the classical style, was entirely nude.
There was a table of golden baked bread formed in the shapes of a radiating sun, a cannon, a pirate's sword, and many other rolled and twisted designs. A Greek temple lighted from inside, a peacock, a windmill, a swan, and a tree laden with black Greek olives were formed from either ice or confectionary, and there was an enormous white frosted cake replica of the MTS Athena that was complete in every detail. The fruit trays were works of art, as were the jelled cream cakes imprinted with line drawings of seascapes, women from classical literature, and graceful geometric patterns. These were backed by marbelized busts of gods and goddesses fresh from butter and cream-cheese molds.
There was so much to choose from, and all so marvelously presented, that when at last the lines formed and the time came for the passengers to file by and fill their plates, it was nearly impossible for anyone to decide what they wanted to eat. Maura was no exception. She took a little of this and a little of that from the bounty, wanting to taste every delicious dish, yet mindful of overfilling her plate. The result was that when she reached the end of the line, her plate was only half full.
As Maura crossed the dining room toward a table near where she usually sat, the man who served the function of headwaiter in the dining room smiled and lifted his brows at seeing her alone. At the same tune he gave the peculiar backward jerk of the head that seemed, in the Greek parlance, to have a whole range of meaning from surprise and admiration to an angry challenge. He came forward to bow and hold her chair for her as she was seated, then relinquished her into the care of Stephen who came forward to fill her water glass.
“You are alone this evening,” the waiter said, carefully holding a linen napkin under the silver water carafe so it would not drip.
“Yes, since Mrs. Papoulas was taken ill."
“One hears. That is too bad."
Maura agreed, and began to unfold her napkin.
Stephen cast a disapproving look over her plate. “You do not eat much."
“There's so much to choose from I couldn't make up my mind,” Maura explained with a smile.
“I will bring more."
“If I stayed on this ship much longer, I would be fat, as big as a house."
His gaze flicked over her discreetly. His face remained solemn, though there was a glint in his dark eyes. “There is no danger. It is good to eat."
Stephen left her then to serve the passengers arriving at another table. A short time later, he was back, standing near the windows with his hands clasped behind his back, on duty, but not busy on this night when the diners were serving themselves from the buffet line. Maura glanced at him, and found he was running an expert eye over the appointments of her table to be certain she had everything she needed. The hum of voices and clatter of silverware made a droning background around them.
“Where in Greece are you from, Stephen?” she asked.
He moved nearer, though his alert stance did not lessen. “I am from a little village, perhaps one hundred and fifty kilometers above Athens."
Mindful of what Nikolaos had told her, Maura went on, “Do you return there often?"
“I go back for one month each year."
“You speak English very well. Do they teach it in school in your village?"
He gave a decided shake of his head. “I learn from speaking to American tourists, like this, since I was a little boy, and on the ship for seven years."
“You have been working on the Athena for that long?"
“On the Athena and other Vassos ships. I have only one month more, and then I will go home to my village. No more the seaman."
The simplicity of that last statement, and yet its feeling, held Maura silent. She looked away, scanning the dining room. There were several among the passengers who must have been at the beach party that afternoon. Their feverish, sunburned faces and raw-looking skin gave evidence of overexposure to the sun. One woman in a strapless dress at the next table had the marks of her swimsuit plainly imprinted in white on the red width of her back.
As Maura watched, the woman shivered a little, as though the fever of her burns made her feel chilled.
It was cool in the dining room, a decided contrast to her cabin. Noticing the waiters as they went in and out of the swinging doors that led to the kitchens, however, she saw the foreheads of those who came from that region were beaded with sweat.
“Is it hot in the kitchens this evening?” she asked.
For an answer, Stephen turned his eyes to the ceiling, fanning himself with the napkin he carried over his arm. “It is always hot in the kitchens."
“It was warm in my cabin before dinner."
“Yes. Sometimes it is, when we are in port."
He had no time to elaborate. Coming to attention once more, he turned to pick up the ice-water carafe from the serving stand beside him just as Nikolaos Vassos reached the table.
The greetings that were exchanged were strained. Nikolaos fastened the young waiter with a hard stare. A touch of self-consciousness in his manner, Stephen moved away to help an elderly gentleman who was trying to take a chair from another table to make a foursome at a table set for three.
“Did I arrive at an inopportune moment?” Nikolaos inquired, his tone dry.
Maura sent him a cool look. “What do you mean?"
“You appeared to be having such an interesting conversation with Stephen."
“Yes, fascinating. All about how hot this ship is."
“Hot? It seems cool enough to me."
“In here, yes. But my cabin was uncomfortably warm this afternoon, and yesterday evening."
“You said nothing about it yesterday."
“That was because I thought it was a minor failure in the system. By the time I went below after the ship got underway, the room was cool again."
Nikolaos unfolded his napkin and took up his fork. “There was no failure. It is a policy of the line to turn off the air conditioning when we are in port."
“To turn it off?” Maura echoed in disbelief. “When there is not a breath, of air stirring because the ship is not moving? At midday when the heat is the greatest?"
“Why not?” he asked, fixing her with his hard black gaze. “It's a question of economy. It takes fuel to keep the power generators running."
“It looks like a question of comfort to me. The passengers didn't pay good money for passage on the Athena in order to swelter in hot little cabins where the portholes don't even open!"
“Most of the passengers are taking advantage of the shore excursions that time of day. There's no point in wasting precious fuel oil to keep a ship cool
that is virtually empty."
Maura stared at him with anger in her green eyes. “I can see that conserving fuel is important, but it seems to me that the welfare of your passengers takes precedence. Do you really think it's a good thing for people who are used to cool, air-conditioned rooms to come back hot and exhausted from a day of shopping to a ship that is stifling with heat?"
“You can hardly say it's stifling,” he told her with an impatient gesture.
“Have you been down to deck seven?” she demanded.
“It's probably cooler than the upper decks, since warm air rises and cool air is funneled down through the shafts of the staircases."
“That may be, but it doesn't keep the rooms on the west side of the ship cool."
“It is,” he said, the words measured, “the policy of the line."
“Which you could change, if you wanted."
“Not without consulting the board of directors."
“Yes, sitting in their cool offices in Athens, thousands of miles from here."
“Piraeus."
“What?” she asked blankly.
“Piraeus. It is the port city that serves Athens."
“Wherever!"
He stared at her for long seconds, the black of his eyes penetrating as he held her furious green gaze. He shifted his attention to the flush of her cheeks, then over the shining bell of her hair and the soft curves of her shoulders above the crisp green voile of her dress. Looking away abruptly, he said, “You were thinking perhaps of my grandmother and her susceptibility to the heat this evening?"
“I suppose I was,” Maura admitted. She drew a deep, steadying breath, staring beyond him through the window glass to where the moon was just rising on the black sea-rimmed horizon.
“All right then. I will look into the matter. Keep in mind, however, that when I speak of economics I am concerned not so much with the amount the ship will make, as with keeping the price of the ticket to board her to a minimum. What good would it do to include all the extras you think necessary if it raised the cost of a week-long cruise to more than the average person can pay? Remember also the fuel costs are beyond the control of the shipping line, just as they are beyond the control of the U.S. government. Conserving this commodity has become a global concern, a matter more important than comfort."
Love at Sea Page 10