Love at Sea

by Jennifer Blake

  As Maura sat frowning with her chin resting on her clasped hands, the ship's officers, in uniform once more after changing from the costumes worn during the dance, came from the backstage area. They made their way down the open aisle of the lounge, exiting at the back. Among them was Alexandros. In close conversation with the other men, he did not see Maura as he passed.

  She made a hesitant move, as if to catch his attention, wanting to ask him about her pictures. With greater deliberation, she left her place at the table and slipped from the lounge after him.

  The long strides of the officers covered ground quickly. They were not in sight when Maura reached the vestibule, though she thought she heard their voices on the stairs. Lifting her skirts, she followed after them as quickly as she could. She reached deck three in time to see the outside door on the starboard side closing. Running to the door, she pushed it open and stepped outside just as the men reached the foot of the stairs that led to the bridge.

  “Alexandros?” she called.

  The men turned. One clapped Alexandros on the shoulder with a quick comment, then the other two continued upward, leaving him to move slowly back toward Maura.

  The deck was deserted, the light dim. They were running at full speed, and the wind fluttered her skirt against her. It was not cool, yet Maura drew her shawl around her, holding it across her breast, a futile protection against the sudden doubts that assailed her.

  “So you came after me, Maura,” Alexandros said. “I like that."

  “I—I wanted to speak to you about my pictures. Freda said you had taken them."

  “The pictures, yes. I wanted a souvenir. Are you flattered?"

  Maura managed a smile. “It's a great compliment, but I wanted them myself, as reminders of my trip."

  “But you will allow me to keep just one, won't you? The one taken today was very good. In it you are very beautiful, though not so beautiful as now.” He moved closer as he spoke.

  “I suppose you can have it, if you will give me the others.” She wanted to move away from him, but was afraid he might take offense.

  “You must come with me to my cabin, and I will get them for you.” Alexandros reached to brush the palm of his hand over her arm.

  “I—I couldn't do that.” Maura shifted so that the material of her shawl dropped over her arm. She flung a glance at the door.

  “Why not? You go to the stateroom of Nikolaos Vassos."

  “Only when his grandmother is there,” Maura said quickly.

  “There is no fun in that,” Alexandros said, his voice thickening. “There will be no one in my cabin except me and you. It will be most pleasant."

  “Couldn't you bring the pictures here to me?” As he eased nearer, Maura could not repress the urge to step back.

  “I think I prefer that you come and get them, or at least, that you give me something in exchange."

  “I don't—know what you, mean,” Maura said, but the words were no more than a play for time. She stepped back again, going nearer the door.

  “I mean—this!"

  He grabbed her, pushing her against the bulkhead. His fingers dug into her arms with bruising force. The buckle of his belt jabbed into her, and as she turned her head back and forth, his hot wet lips slid across her cheek. Sickness rose in her throat, and she braced her hands against his chest. She tried to kick out at him but he turned, pressing the lower part of his body against her. He shifted his grasp, clamping his hand to her chin, trying to hold her mouth still for his kiss. In the midst of her distress, the sound of the heavy door from inside opening came to Maura. She screamed, a smothered sound of rage, pain, and fear.

  Abruptly she was free. A man dragged Alexandros around. There was a flurry of blows and grunts of pain and effort. Alexandros, in officers’ white, reeled back against the railing, then buckled at the knees and crashed to the deck.

  Nikolaos Vassos turned to face her, his features dark with murderous rage. He caught her wrist, pulling her toward him so that she stumbled and would have fallen if he had not supported her. He clasped her arms, giving her a hard shake.

  “Why did you run away from me?” he demanded. “Why didn't you wait?"

  Alexandros moaned, and Maura flung a stricken look at the man at their feet. “I didn't —” she began.

  “You told me you didn't care for this man, but the minute my back is turned you go running after him like a lovestruck teenager. You refuse to come with me to Greece, but you invite his rough embrace."

  “It wasn't like that!"

  “When you got it, you didn't like it, any more than you liked mine,” he went on, his voice a scourge for both her and himself. “What is it you want, Maura? To remain untouched while you laugh and tease and play at love?"

  His arms closed around her so tightly that the air was compressed from her lungs. His mouth crushed hers with bruising force, his purpose to punish and humiliate even as he took the trembling softness of her lips.

  A shiver of rage and reaction ran over Maura. With the last of her strength, she wrenched herself from him. Raising her hand, she struck him in the face with a blow so hard it made her hand ache and tingle. With a lightning reflex, he snatched her wrist, jerking her toward him once more. Stumbling, Maura stepped on Alexandros's hand as he lay sprawled on the deck. Off balance, trying to keep her full weight from the foot, she fell to one knee.

  It was then that the door that led onto the deck opened once more.

  “Nikolaos!” Mrs. Papoulas cried. “What is the meaning of this? I hear what sounds like a scream outside my window, and what do I find? You, with Maura—you I would have sworn would not have harmed her for worlds. You, my grandson!"

  Nikolaos drew Maura to her feet. “It's not what you think, grandmother."

  “No,” Maura said, going on in a rush, “Alexandros was the reason I screamed. Nikolaos came when I needed him, but was angry because I left the lounge, because he thought I wanted to be with Alexandros, when all I wanted was to ask him to return my pictures he had taken from the photographer's office."

  “Would you protect Nikolaos, my child?” his grandmother said, reaching to touch the bruises beginning to form beneath the skin of Maura's arms. “I saw him make you fall."

  “He didn't mean it, you must believe me."

  “Nikolaos?"

  “I didn't make her scream, though I might have, in another minute."

  His grandmother closed her eyes. “Enough then,” she said, her voice faint. “This affair of yours —"

  She got no further. She swayed with a staggered step as the ship moved, then crumpled toward the deck. Nikolaos leaped to catch her before she struck, lifting her into his arms.

  “Nikolaos?” Maura breathed.

  He shook his head, nodding toward the door. Maura sprang to pull it open, and he stepped through, turning toward his stateroom. The door to it stood open as his grandmother had left it. He passed inside and on into her bedroom. When he had placed her gently on the bed, he turned at once toward the phone.

  Maura stood on one side of the single bed, and Nikolaos on the other, waiting for the ship's doctor to arrive. The elderly woman was breathing, but her skin was gray and waxen, and there was a blue tinge to her lips. They did not speak; what was there to say? They scarcely even looked at each other.

  As had happened once before, the room was cleared with the arrival of the doctor. Maura paused at the door to look back. Nikolaos, answering the rapid questions of the physician in monosyllables, glanced up. His dark gaze met hers for an instant, but he said nothing to detain her.

  Alexandros had been forgotten in the confusion and concern for Mrs. Papoulas. Maura hesitated a moment at the door that led out onto the promenade deck, then with a deep breath, she pushed it open.

  The deck was empty, Alexandros had gone, or been taken away. The only thing that remained was her silk mesh shawl lying on the deck where it had fallen from her shoulders, glistening in the warm, tropical moonlight.

  Chapter 12

&nbs
p; Maura could not sleep. She tossed and turned, her mind in turmoil. Over and over again, she went through the whole sequence of events, from the moment Nikolaos and his grandmother had left her in the lounge, until she had left their stateroom. How could she have guessed Alexandros would behave as he had? He had given no indication of it before. Her joy at seeing Nikolaos, the shock at his anger, and her answering rage, the terror of watching Mrs. Papoulas begin to fall was replayed again and again. She could not forget the look on the older woman's face when she thought Nikolaos was the cause of Maura's distress, nor could she erase the memory of the elderly woman lying so pale and still on the bed in the suite.

  Things she could have said to Nikolaos, biting, cutting remarks that would refute his opinion of her, came to her now when they could no longer be spoken. She was sorry that she behaved in such a melodramatic fashion, slapping his face, and yet, glad also. His kiss had been meant to hurt her, an expression of his contempt. Still, the fact that he could want to treat her so was more hurtful than the act.

  What did she want, he had asked. The answer was simple. She wanted love and respect, and needed love and respect in return. She wanted permanence and commitment, the symbol of which was marriage. Anything less was a counterfeit that mocked at love, reducing it to no more than a physical attraction. It wasn't fair then, that in spite of her reasoning, no small part of her sleeplessness was caused by the nebulous regret that she would not be going to Greece as the mistress of Nikolaos Vassos.

  He was domineering and arrogant and unreasonable, she told herself, but remembered his tender concern for his grandmother and his gentleness with Katrina, the small daughter of Captain Spiridion. He was thoughtless and selfish, she insisted, which brought to mind the many instances large and small when he had provided for her comfort and enjoyment. He was hard and cruel, she assured herself, and could not banish the memory of his sweetly ravishing touch.

  Toward dawn, there came a strange sound, like the beat of an extra motor. It was muffled at this lower level, but it seemed to come from outside the ship. When Maura sat up, she could see nothing from the portholes except the gray-blue face of the early-morning sea.

  Since she was wide awake, she might as well get up. If she put on her clothes and went up to the Vassos suite, she might see someone she could ask for news of Mrs. Papoulas. It would be better than lying here, torturing herself and wondering.

  It was much better to be doing something. In slacks, a shirt, and deck shoes, Maura moved quietly along the corridors. There was no one at the purser's desk in the lobby area. She turned toward the stab's.

  On deck three, the throbbing noise was much louder. It had a familiar pattern, though she could not place it. She had grown so used to the steady rumble of the ship's engines that she was hardly aware of them anymore. Hopefully, this wasn't a malfunction of some kind. That would put the crowning touch on this cruise.

  The door of the suite was flung wide. The sitting room was empty, as were the bedrooms beyond. Turning to leave, Maura nearly collided with a room steward. He stepped aside, then with a lifted brow, a backward jerk of his head, and a lifted hand, he waited to be told the purpose other presence there.

  “Mrs. Papoulas, the grandmother of Mr. Vassos, where have they taken her?"

  For an answer, the steward pointed upward.

  “What?” Maura stared at him in incomprehension. She had expected to hear that the elderly woman was in sick bay, but not to be given a sign that might well mean she was dead.

  “Helicopter,” the man said in heavily accented English. "Kyria Papoulas they take away. Grand Cayman."

  “To the hospital? Is she that critical?"

  The words were beyond the steward. He only shrugged, pointing upward once more.

  Maura stared at him, then swinging around, ran for the outside door and the stairs to the lido deck. The noise she had heard was the helicopter's engine and the beat of its whirling blades. The only unobstructed place on the ship for it to land was the open deck above.

  She was too late. Even as she climbed the rubber-treaded steps, she heard the change in the motors, felt the pressure and wind of the helicopter's upward draft. She stopped at the head of the stairs. The helicopter rose above her, hovered a moment, then swung with clumsy grace out over the sea, heading on a northeasterly course. Its red and green lights blinked on and off like the beat of a pulse, fading slowly from view. The sound of the engine grew fainter and died away.

  At the far end of the deck was a group of men. They were too far away for her voice to carry to them. It was hard to be sure in the dim light, but she thought Captain Spiridion was among them, as well as his second officer, the ship's doctor, and the deck steward. She started toward them, but already they were turning away, going into the lido bar.

  Maura halted. She would not go after them. It was doubtful they could add much to what she already knew, or could guess.

  Such reticence did not prevent her from stopping Freda, when she saw the assistant cruise director crossing the vestibule outside the lounge a few minutes later.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “I saw the helicopter leave. Can you tell me how critical Mrs. Papoulas is?"

  The look in the other woman's blue eyes was cold. “Critical enough so it was thought best not to wait until we reach New Orleans for arrangement to be made for surgery. She is being taken to Grand Cayman where she will be flown directly to Houston, Texas. I understand they have one of the best facilities for heart patients in the world there."

  “And—Mr. Vassos?” The question was a difficult one.

  “He went with his grandmother, of course."

  “I see,” Maura said with a nod. She had expected no less.

  “I am surprised you weren't informed,” Freda went on. “I thought you were on the scene when the excitement began."

  Maura stared at the blonde girl, her thoughts divided between what she had been told and what was being said, “Yes—yes, I was. But I was asked to leave when the doctor came."

  “How disappointing for you. I suspect then that you may be unaware of another development."

  The sneer in the other girl's tone finally penetrated Maura's absorption. “What do you mean?"

  “Third Officer Alexandros Maratos has been confined to his quarters as a result of what took place with you last evening. His contract with the line is to be terminated, and he is to be deported back to Greece at the earliest possible moment. That will be as soon as we reach New Orleans. I hope, Miss O'Neal, that you are satisfied!"

  Without waiting for an answer, the assistant cruise director turned on her heel and strode away, though not before Maura had seen the glitter of something suspiciously like tears in her eyes.

  By breakfast time, the news of Mrs. Papoulas's illness was all over the ship. Stephen enlarged Maura's knowledge of it, telling her of the ship-to-shore calls that had been placed, the physician who had flown out with the helicopter to care for the elderly woman on the trip back to Grand Cayman, and the special charter that had been arranged to leave at once for Houston. For a man like Kyrios Vassos, nothing was impossible. Why, by noon, the surgery would be over.

  Stephen's prediction was a little optimistic, but not by much. Maura was finishing dinner when the dining-room steward brought a note to the table where she sat alone, handing it to her on a silver salver. The missive, in a woman's hand, invited her to come to the captain's quarters for a message of importance. A steward would be waiting to show her the way. It was signed Julie Spiridion.

  Captain Petros Spiridion's American wife wore a flowing caftan in bright, tropical colors that admirably camouflaged her advanced condition of pregnancy. She welcomed Maura into the spacious living quarters with their wrap-around view of the sea, offering her a glass of iced juice for refreshment. Maura declined, then immediately wished she had not. Holding the drink would have given her something to do with her hands in this odd situation.

  “I have been wanting to meet you,” Julie Spiridion, a petite young woma
n with softly curling blonde hair, said. “I've heard so much about you from Petros, and from Nikolaos, of course."

  “Nothing to my discredit, I hope.” There seemed no comment to be made other than the usual banality.

  “Well, yes. They told me of how slender you are, which to me just now is a definite flaw!” The other woman patted her rounded waistline with a wry smile.

  They spoke of the baby due in a few weeks. Delivery was carefully timed, Julie said, to coincide with the month the ship would go into dry dock in Piraeus for repairs. If anything went wrong, the ship's doctor would cope. The sick bay was fully equipped for just such an emergency.

  “I saw your Katrina at the pool with Nikolaos,” Maura said. “She is a darling."

  “Yes, she spoke of the pretty kyria, that is to say the pretty lady, with the red hair. But I did not ask you here to talk about my family, as fascinating as the subject is to me. I have been delegated to pass on the good news concerning Madame Vassos, that is, Mrs. Papoulas."

  “Yes, please,” Maura said, “tell me how she is."

  “The surgery was a success, everything went smoothly. She came through it very well, and is now resting comfortably. They will have to keep an eye on her for a few days, but she is expected to be well enough to be flown to Athens, which is her greatest wish, naturally, within two weeks at the maximum."

  “That's marvelous,” Maura said fervently.

  “If all goes well tonight, Nikolaos will be flying back to Athens sometime tomorrow to arrange the transfer. There will have to be a specially equipped hospital plane to make the transatlantic flight. And then I expect there is any number of matters of business waiting on his return after such a hurried leave-taking five days ago. Especially if he does not plan to be at his office full time while his grandmother is ill."