“There must be enormous complications involved.” Nikolaos was in Houston now, and tomorrow he would be in Athens, miles and worlds away.
Julie agreed.
“I can't say how glad I am that Mrs. Papoulas will be all right."
“Yes. Nikolaos told Petros you must be informed at once, so you would not worry. He was afraid, I think, that you might feel responsible in some way."
“He was right.” Maura did not look up, contemplating her hands clasped in her lap instead.
“You must not; those are his orders.” Julie leaned toward her. “This visit to the hospital would have been necessary at some time. That this last attack of his grandmother's occurred on the ship was not so very different from having it occur while on their island in the Aegean. It would have meant a trip by air to Athens for surgery anyway."
“But not so long a trip as to Houston."
“The wait for the helicopter would have been longer. It doesn't matter now, anyway. It's over, and everything is fine."
“You are very comforting,” Maura said, allowing her lips to curve into a smile.
“And very devious. Now that your mind is at ease over one problem, there is another I must present to you. It's this thing about Alexandros."
“What about it?” Maura waited, unable to see how she could help.
“Do you still want to press charges against him? Did he hurt you so badly?"
“I never wanted it,” Maura answered. “I only learned this morning that orders had been given for him to be confined."
“I thought as much. It was Nikolaos who gave the order. Not directly, of course; Petros is still captain of this ship. But the recommendation was his, and lacking the facts, Petros had no choice but to act on it."
“I would have thought knocking Alexandros senseless would have been punishment enough."
“The purpose of the confinement may have been to keep him from annoying you."
“Surely not,” Maura protested.
“I have lived with a Greek for some years now, and sometimes their minds take a diabolical twist straight out of Istanbul!” Julie said.
“But deporting him?"
“And canceling his contract. This is a little extreme, Petros thinks, for a man losing his head over a young woman on the promenade deck. It's unlikely he actually meant to assault you here in so public a place."
“Can't Captain Spiridion countermand Nikolaos's orders?"
“He could, but Nikolaos is his friend, as well as being director of the line. He would prefer not to make it a test of wills. On the other hand, Alexandros is a good officer, and Petros needs him. There has never been an incident like this before you came aboard, Alexandros is a bit of a flirt, with an eye out for a conquest if it can be made, but he has always taken his losses philosophically, always turned back to Freda. You know whom I mean?"
Maura gave a nod of understanding.
“They have been a couple, off and on, for some time now."
“If Captain Spiridion talked to Nikolaos, he might be persuaded to drop the matter,” Maura suggested, reverting to the original subject.
“Petros will do that, naturally. I have been directed to speak to you, however, as one American to another, and one woman involved with a Greek to another, in the hope that you will use your influence with Nikolaos also."
“Influence?” Maura almost laughed aloud. “What influence?"
“He will listen to you. We, Petros and I, have heard little more from him these last few days except ways to improve the Athena that you have brought to his notice."
“How presumptuous that sounds,” Maura said with a grimace. “They were only suggestions made from my point of view. I never actually thought Nikolaos would do anything about them. In fact, he always had good reasons why they wouldn't possibly work."
“You see? He may pretend otherwise, but he will listen to you."
“There is one other problem,” Maura said slowly. “I doubt very much that I will see him again."
“Oh, but you must!"
“You don't understand. Regardless of what you may have thought, there is nothing between Nikolaos and myself, there never was, and never will be."
There were more protests in obvious sincerity from Julie, more disclaimers from Maura. In the end, the facts could not be denied. Nikolaos had left the ship without saying good-bye, without a message or an acknowledgment of any kind that he was sorry to be separated from her. In that situation it seemed unlikely that she could be of any assistance.
The next day passed with excruciating slowness. Maura was up early after a restless night. Standing at the rail as the sun rose before breakfast, she saw a school of flying fish. The small, iridescent silver fish sailed from wave to wave, skimming the water. They covered a distance of from three to eight feet, sometimes more, in a single glide, catching the wind under the membrane between their fins and their bodies. They flung themselves into flight with such abandon, plunging into the crests of the waves with so much joy, that it was exhilarating to watch them.
That was the high point. From there, the hours stretched. She dawdled over breakfast, then idled through the ship's shopping arcade, winding up at the library.
There she scanned the titles of the books behind locked glass cases. Most of the volumes seemed to have been left on the ship by departing travelers from France, Germany, or Greece, or else American science-fiction buffs. She could find nothing in the English language that looked interesting enough to warrant troubling Freda for the key. Maura scanned the teletype pages for the headlines of the world news for the day, then wandered out again.
Morning tea, a swim, and forty minutes of sunbathing, twenty minutes on each side, took her up to lunchtime. Rather than go below to shower and change to go into the dining room, she opted for the poolside buffet. Then, in a bit of illogic, she descended directly afterward to shower. Her sleepless nights caught up with her then, and she stretched out on her bed. Watching a patch of light on the ceiling, reflected upward from the water through the portholes, she fell asleep. When she awoke, it was time for afternoon tea and the movie, another recent release. And so to dinner.
The costume party, a traditional shipboard diversion, was held that evening. There were not a great many of the passengers who chose to participate. Those who did staged a grand march around the lounge to display their finery. A collection of Greek nymphs led the way, portrayed by the complement of teenage girls on the ship. Next came a middle-aged couple dressed as Raggedy Ann and Andy. They were followed by a widow decked out as Chiquita Banana, complete with a bowl of artificial fruit on her head, a Roman senator wrapped in a sheet toga, a one-man band, a singing cowboy, and a clown.
Maura applauded the effort shown by all as the prize for the best costume was awarded to the widow. Still, somehow, though everyone else seemed marvelously amused, for Maura the evening was flat. Soon after the costume parade was ended, she went to her cabin.
The next day passed much the same. Maura spent time during the afternoon catching up on her notes for Aunt Maggie, trying to sort out her impressions of the different ports and jot down details of various operations and responsibilities of the ship's crew. It was hard to concentrate at first, but it was good to have something to occupy her mind.
That evening would be their last aboard the ship. A most formal occasion, it was the night of the captain's farewell cocktail party and dinner. Maura had little enthusiasm for the affair. It was going to be wrenching enough to be leaving the ship tomorrow without the prospect of listening to the obligatory fond good-byes. The black crepe gown she had left to be worn for this night would be appropriate. Mourning seemed in order.
It was odd how sad she felt about leaving. In the few short days of the cruise, the ship had become as familiar as any place she had ever known. She had favorite places where she liked to stand at the rails, favorite tables in the lounge, favorite foods, favorite people among the waiters, the stewards, even the crew who were forever polishing, painting, o
r scrubbing some portion of the ship. She believed that if things had been different she could have sailed on and on, never leaving the Athena.
She had been so catered to and pampered this last two days that it was going to be difficult readjusting to a less glamorous existence. It had crossed her mind once or twice that everyone was being extra attentive to her, but she had dismissed the notion. It was only wishful thinking to suppose that Nikolaos, now back in his native country, could have troubled to effect such treatment for her. If she was being singled out, it was probably because the ship's personnel felt sorry for her for having been deserted in so summary a fashion.
It was over. The cocktail party, the dinner, the evening, the cruise. At midnight on Friday night, the Athena reached the mouth of the Mississippi River once more.
Maura, gathering her courage, went up on deck in that quiet night hour, something she had avoided the evening before. Leaning on the railing at the bow of the ship, she watched the choppy, deep blue-black waters of the gulf turn to the muddy brown of the river. She gazed around at the red lights that marked the offshore oil-drilling rigs ringing the horizon, feeling the greater coolness of the air on her face. The dank smells of wet earth and decaying vegetation came on the night wind, and she drew her all-weather coat, donned against the night chill in this hemisphere, closer around her.
It was all over. So much for her romantic cruise. Aunt Maggie would be disappointed. Maura wondered how her great-aunt was faring with her broken foot. She would have to be told about the shipboard affair; it was impossible to keep such things from her. Who knew? It might even become the basis of her next book. For Maura, reading about it as if it had happened to someone else might prove beneficial, might even give her a healthier perspective. For now, she felt a fool for letting herself be so affected by what had been, for Nikolaos, no more than another diversion, a means of passing the time. A game.
A game. What had Mrs. Papoulas meant that evening by those words? The question had bothered Maura for some time. She wished she could remember the exact context in which they had been spoken, wished she had questioned Nikolaos's grandmother more closely. They had been talking of Nikolaos's request to her to become his pillow friend. Had Mrs. Papoulas meant he had suggested it merely to see what she would say, to see if he could sway her judgment, persuade her to abandon her principles, without meaning to go through with it? Had he, in fact, been attempting to prove she was not what she pretended to be, that she was just like all the others who had battened upon him and his grandmother?
Maura did not like to think so, but she had to concede it was possible. It gave her some gratification to think, in such a case, that she had confounded his expectations, proving him wrong, though it would have been better if she could have heard him admit it.
But perhaps that wasn't it? Perhaps his game had been no more noble than that of Alexandros, to make a conquest?
There was one other explanation. He could have been attempting to prove she was what she claimed to be. However, that view, with its image of Nikolaos as a harsh judge of her character, was also unsatisfactory. It would be hypocritical in the extreme for him to hold himself so high, demanding proof of her purity. It was applying the double standard with a vengeance.
An additional flaw was, either he had never meant to pursue the matter past a discovery of her innocence, or else he had found that she was not up to his lofty standard. What he wanted, she told herself with a flash of irony, was a Victorian miss, schooled to a show of cold purity before marriage, but programmed to thaw at her husband's discretion.
Such thoughts got her nowhere. It would be far better if she put Nikolaos Vassos out of her mind completely.
There was a bright light on the water, like a spotlight that bounced and bobbed over the waves, coming closer at high speed. It was the pilot boat, coming to bring the man aboard who would guide them up the one-hundred-and-fifty-mile stretch of river to New Orleans. The water was much calmer tonight; the pilot should have less trouble boarding than the man who had directed the Athena down the river nearly a week ago had had leaving her that first night out. For Nikolaos, boarding had been no problem at all. It was not surprising, really.
The boat drew alongside. Her engine was cut to an idle. The landing platform was not out tonight. The pilot would have to jump directly to the open gangway. From where she watched on the deck above, Maura could see him standing ready, a short, gray-haired man in uniform.
And then the transfer was made. The pilot disappeared inside the maw of the ship. The engine of the pilot boat roared into life once more, and it swerved away from the white cruise ship, heading back toward the distant shore. Only one man had come aboard.
Maura straightened, turning slowly from the railing. It was time she went to sleep. By the time she awoke, she would be in New Orleans.
She was supposed to be, but she wasn't. Maura came awake when the engines stopped. It was still dark in the cabin, and it crossed her mind that the Athena had made exceptionally good time if they were docking already; they were not due in until after breakfast. There was no use getting up right away, however. It would be a while before they could be cleared. She wasn't even sure the customs office would be open this time of day.
When she awakened again, it was daylight, but the cabin was dim. Raising herself in bed, she pushed aside the curtains over the portholes and looked out.
She could see nothing. The world was white. A gentle, lapping sound could be heard. The ship was shifting lightly, so that it was difficult to be certain, but she did not think they were underway. Pulling herself higher, she pressed against one porthole. From that position, she could see the yellow-brown current of the river water flowing past.
What was going on? It took no more than a few short minutes for Maura to dress and go up on deck, and a minute more to discover they were indeed sitting at anchor in the river. Other passengers were there already, staring around in attitudes of helpless resignation. One man had gotten a report from the purser. They were fog-bound, had been since three o'clock that morning. The Mississippi River Authority had closed down all traffic along the length of the river, from the mouth to Baton Rouge, until further notice. Nothing, no one, could move. They might well sit where they were for several hours yet.
Where were they? That one was easy. They were still five hours out of New Orleans. If they could crank up and get started that minute, they would be lunch time making port.
What could not be changed had to be endured. Maura went down to breakfast. By the time she had finished, the sun was trying to penetrate the fog that surrounded them, turning it to a dirty yellow.
The sun climbed higher, growing in strength. Passengers milled here and there. There was nothing for them to do, no planned activities. Their cabins were in the process of being cleaned and made ready for the next list of passengers. The deck chairs and cushions had been neatly stacked away, and the swimming pool emptied for cleaning. Most people gravitated to the lounge, the only place still available to them. There they sat talking in grumbling voices about the way the purser and cruise director were making themselves scarce, to say nothing of the captain, about the nights leaving New Orleans airport that they were supposed to be on, and the unreliability of sea travel where nothing could keep to schedule. There was, in addition, a general feeling of irritated embarrassment in the air, as if they were guests who had overstayed their welcome.
The fog dissipated by degrees. As it burned away, it revealed ships of all sizes and descriptions surrounding the cruise ship, from fishing trawlers to oil tankers. With the fog concealing more than half of their superstructures as it lay close to the surface of the water, they appeared like ghost ships, sunken phantoms wreathed to their decks in mist.
At last the water was clear. Pilot boats began to appear, streaking toward first one ship and then another. A freighter just ahead of the Athena sent black smoke rising from her stacks. She began to move. Another freighter started her engines. A trawler crept past the cruise ship
. Whistles blared and were answered, echoing from one distant bank of the Mississippi River to the other. The river traffic was getting underway, all except the Greek ship, the MTS Athena.
Lunch time arrived, a delicious meal though not elaborate, featuring the usual buffet fare plus a selection of hot soups. The passengers gathered in concerned groups, talking in low voices.
And then at last they began to move. Jubilation broke out, then faded into apathy as the ship crept up the river.
It was nearing six in the afternoon when New Orleans was finally sighted. The purser and cruise director were suddenly on the scene again. They had been in contact with New Orleans airport, and arrangements were being made for those passengers who had missed flight connections to catch later planes, a full listing of which was now available at the purser's desk. Those passengers who could not get out of the city at a reasonable hour would be guaranteed hotel accommodations. If the passengers who planned to stay overnight in New Orleans in any case would stand back and let those who had to get to the airport leave the ship first, it would not only expedite matters, but it would be greatly appreciated.
The announcement, instead of calming the crowd, simply caused pandemonium as tired and harried men and women surged into the lobby area near the gangway, waiting to disembark. They stood, with no idea of how long they would have to wait, most with cameras and heavy hand luggage slung from their shoulders or hanging from their hands, and no few packages in their arms. There were any number of straw hats, baskets, woven animals, and stuffed shopping bags stitched in bright yarn with the word Jamaica on the side as evidence of where they had been.
Maura sat on the carpeted stairs, her handbag at her feet. Since she would be taking a taxi to the apartment she shared with her great-aunt, there was no need for her to be in a rush. She doubted that Aunt Maggie was concerned over her non-appearance. She had probably called the shipping office for a report of the status of the vessel long ago.
Maura could have waited in the lounge, but she had felt in the way of the stewards trying to make it ready for the next passengers who would be sailing in three hours or less, just as soon as fresh supplies could be loaded. The staff and crew of the Athena would have their hands full soothing that irate group, most of whom had doubtless been waiting for hours for the ship to get in.
Love at Sea Page 17