“I think if I were Jeremy and had an excellent post awaiting me in Durban, I’d refuse to give you a definite answer till the end of the voyage. And if I agreed then to join your company I’d insist on a two-year contract.” This small bombshell was received in heavy silence.
Jeremy was somewhat stunned by Lisa’s quite unprecedented temerity. Astra was gathering her forces, and Mark, naturally, remained the amused, aloof spectator.
“I see,” said Astra in a drawl. “You’re militant on his behalf. How nice for you, Jeremy, to have Lisa already your strong admirer. It should encourage you, because our audiences have a fair sprinkling of young women whom you might convert into adoring fans. But you are by no means a fool about women; you know us very well.”
Before any kind of rejoinder could be slipped in, she inserted a hand into the crook of his elbow. “You and I have had an exhausting day, my dear, but there is just one tiny point I’d like to discuss with you. Shall we go to the reading room?”
It was accomplished smoothly and efficiently, like a stage exit. Jeremy went off resigned but not reluctant, with Astra easting over her shoulder a warm, silky smile. Mark was looking at Lisa and smiling, too; but his was neither a pleasant nor a triumphant smile. It did not reach his eyes.
“Come with me,” he ordered crisply.
“With you?” she echoed.
“Yes, to a place where we shan’t be interrupted.”
“What can you possibly have to say to me that can’t be said here?”
“You’ll find out. This way.”
He did not touch her as they came to the companion down to the lower deck, but indicated that he would go first and she was to follow.
“Take your time,” he said. “You’re not a sailor.”
Lisa had no idea where she was being taken. Here, the deck was narrow and deserted, and she looked back to discover that the lights of the promenade deck were above and infinitely far away. He unlocked a door, pushed her into a dark cavern and snapped shut the door behind them before switching on the light.
Lisa blinked and gazed about her. It was a snug little cabin with book-lined walls, two leather armchairs, a Shiraz rug and a couple of odd tables. The light was a Chinese vase lamp with a tasteful rose and cream silk shade.
“Is this your den?” she queried, unable to suppress the delight in her voice.
“Yes.” He sounded terse. “I have two cabins on the bridge, but this is where I get away from it all, or entertain a friend.”
“It’s cosy, like a lounge in a flat. What heaps of books you have.”
“I didn’t bring you here to debate literature.”
“I realize that. Have I infringed one of your nautical rules and regulations?”
“I expect so—passengers invariably do—but I haven’t been told about it.”
“Then would you mind telling me what you did bring me here for?”
“Sit down,” he bade her. “You won’t like this, but it has to be said. Want a drink to help you through?”
“I’ll have one if you think I need Dutch courage.”
He mixed drinks at a low cabinet, brought Lisa a lime and soda splashed with gin, and sat down with his whisky. There was a tranquility about this cabin which lulled Lisa into believing that nothing painful could happen here. The only sounds were the flapping of the curtain at the window and the perpetual wash of the sea. One might be on a houseboat in one of the lovelier parts of the Thames. On a houseboat ... with Mark.
Her throat went dry and her eyes became soft and bright. She didn’t want him to talk, and even Mark, now that they were settled, seemed disinclined to hasten the moment of approaching the point.
CHAPTER FOUR
At length he set down his glass and opened a box of cigarettes. When their two were lighted he hitched his trousers and crossed his ankles, he narrowed his eyes at her through the smoke.
“Do you mind my being personal?”
“Would it make any difference if I did?”
“Possibly not.” A pause. “What exactly is your connection with Carne?” he asked.
“We’re friends of two days and a bit,” she answered lightly.
“On a ship that’s equivalent to a month’s ordinary acquaintance; by now you must know all the fellow’s hopes and despairs. Not growing fond of him, are you?”
“I like him. He’s good company,” she said frankly. “What are you getting at?”
“Nothing complicated. I think you should realize that if you try to set Carne against Astra you’ll be awfully sorry. For one thing he isn’t worth the trouble, and for another it would be a losing battle. Astra’s bound to get what she wants.”
“You talk as if Jeremy hadn’t a will of his own.”
“Has he one?” he queried sarcastically. “I’ve seen his type so often,, philandering with every women they meet but always looking out for themselves. I could even give you an exact description of what he’ll be like at my age; dissipated, charming and maybe married to a disillusioned woman. Outwardly, his sort have the blithe spirit so admired by young women, but underneath they’re cowards. They want a lot more from life than, they have the pluck to get, so they batten on someone else’s courage—usually a woman’s. The fair Jeremy is desperately anxious that you shall back up this new ambition of his.”
“Isn’t that natural? He hasn’t bothered to make friends with anyone else.”
“That’s what I’ve been pointing out,” he replied patiently. Then with a trace of sharpness, “You’re dead against his teaming up with Astra, aren’t you?”
Lisa tapped ash into the beaten metal tray. Irrelevantly she noticed the formal Indian pattern and wondered if he had bought it in the land of its origin. He must have been to many countries, seen many exotic sights; had he seen them alone? She had to stir herself to reply.
“It hasn’t anything to do with me.”
“You’re right; it hasn’t,” he said abruptly. “Then why make it your business? During those two or three minutes up on deck I could see that Carne is caught up in this brilliant plan. He can, visualize himself in a series of romantic predicaments with Astra; the idol of the gallery, the handsome glamor-boy.” His tone became shrewd. “Is that what gets you—the fact that he’ll have to make -stage-love to Astra Carmichael, and maybe practise in private?”
“No, it isn’t,” she told him firmly. “Seeing that you’ve learned so much about Jeremy, you’ll be aware that he’s been studying engineering at his parents’ expense. He’s not a real actor.”
“How can you be sure of that? Astra says .he’s a remarkably good pupil.”
Quite fiercely, she pressed out the cigarette. “So would any man be, who was promised the male lead without any of the donkey-work and strain which normally go to the making of an actor. In a roundabout way, Astra’s making a fool of him!”
“I can assure you she has no such intention,” he said coolly. “Carne was a playboy and something of a fool before he met Astra—before he met you!”
His manner brought Lisa up sharp. Apparently mention of Astra had to be respectful. The woman was a friend of Captain Kennard and therefore her motives must be absolutely sound. For a long moment Lisa was silently furious, wishing she had not allowed him to bring her here. But, too soon, her whole being began gradually to relent, so that resentment melted into a kind of pain.
“I shouldn’t have put it so bluntly,” she said quietly. “Jeremy’s old enough, and probably experienced enough, too, to weigh up his own future, but he brought me into it because I knew how he was placed and he had to talk it over with someone. He pretends not to care about his parents, but I’m sure he feels badly about letting them down.”
“Of course he does, and he yearns to shift the responsibility to your shoulders. You’re an idiot!”
She nodded and gave a short sigh. “I know. But if I have any influence with him at all I shall use it on his parents’ behalf.”
“So?” Mark’s tone was expressionless but his jaw had t
ightened. “I don’t get you at all. You agree that the man is spineless and not worth helping...”
“I didn’t say anything like that! There’s plenty of good in Jeremy even if he does happen to be charming and easy-going. His type of man is the most in need of help.”
“What will you get out of it?” he demanded. “Feeble gratitude to start with and recriminations later, when he begins to mope over what he’s missed. Let him go ahead and make a hash or a success of it.” Almost unpleasantly he added, “I predict that’s what he will do—go ahead, in spite of your sweet and charitable intervention.”
Lisa got up, ostensibly to move the glass from the arm of her chair to the top of the cabinet, but really to avoid his penetrating gaze. She remained standing, as though ready to leave;
“Well,” she said flatly, “I’d rather have no connection with it, but if he persists in using me as a confidante I shall continue to dissuade him. It’s the least I can do.”
Mark also was standing, head and shoulders above her as he remarked curtly, “You’re pig-headed. No woman can mould a man unless she’s in love with him, and even then she’d have a tough job with a jackanapes like Carne. You’ll try but you’ll fail.”
It was a challenge, the words like flints. His eyes were like stones, too, and Lisa had the sensation of being out in a keen wind. It was all she could do not to shiver.
“Yes, I’ll try,” she murmured. She moved to the door and pushed down the handle.
“It’s locked,” he said. “It locks automatically. That’s why I brought you to this cabin.” He gave a short, hard laugh. "Don’t worry, I’ll let you out. By the way,” the keys jingled between his fingers as he looked down at her, “you’re the first woman to see this sanctum since I’ve been master of the Wentworth.”
“It’s a doubtful privilege,” she said. “I feel like a stewardess on the mat.”
“You needn’t. I don’t deal with the stewardesses.” He paused to select the key and said deliberately, “You’re g an unusual person, Lisa Maxwell. For some reason—I can’t fathom it yet—I trust you.”
“Thank you, sir.” She inclined her head graciously. “If you’re subtly intimating that no one must know that I’ve had a private session with the Captain—you may go on trusting me. But I’d like to go now.”
“You take offence quickly, don’t you?”
“On the contrary, I’m rather forbearing. You’ve called me incompetent and an idiot and I’ve managed not to lose my temper. I consider that good going.”
“I suppose it is, for a woman. As a matter of fact, I’m not used to handling women. I daresay I’ve overdone it a bit.”
She smiled. “More than bit. You’ve made me feel about as big as sixpence.”
The hard lines of his face relaxed. “That wasn’t my intention at all. We started off on the wrong foot, didn’t we—when Nancy fell down the stairs at the hotel. I owe you an apology for the way I spoke to you that day. I know almost nothing about children, but I ought to have remembered some of the nursery episodes abroad, and made allowances.”
“It’s sweet of you to apologize,” she said gratefully, hoping he wouldn’t spoil everything by harking back to Jeremy.
He didn’t. “Some time,” he said, “you must tell me how you came to be Nancy’s keeper. I won’t detain you any longer now”
A minute later they were outside in the moonshot darkness and moving towards the companion. A junior officer appeared and saluted.
“Sir, the officer of the watch...”
Mark cut him short. “All right, I’ll see him. Escort Miss Maxwell to the promenade deck.”
He behaved as if it mattered not a scrap that she was there with him in a part of the ship sacred to officers and men, thought Lisa, who had been thrown into a temporary panic. But as she went on her way with the young man she reflected, more calmly, that Mark would never allow himself to be disturbed by so trivial an incident. His men knew him. They would, know that the Old Man—yes, even Mark was given the affectionate appellation by his subordinates—really had no time for women. He always put in the duty hour in the lounge after dinner, but he preferred a game of poker, or to read, or simply to stare over the vast expanse of ocean, thinking.
A little later she lay in bed, recalling details of the short interlude in the comfortable little sanctum. Chiefly, it was Mark that she saw; his angular face and the mouth that could harden or soften his whole expression. She remembered his fingers holding his glass, strong and brown and well-tended; his wrist below the navy serge and gold braid, his hair, dark and very slightly wavy above the short hair at the temples. And she remembered his touch when they had both stood at the door while he unlocked it; the impersonal pressure of cool fingers on her arm which, for an agonizing second, she had wished would intensify, even bruise her. During those last minutes he hadn’t behaved like a ship’s master at all. She had glimpsed a gentler, more human personality.
It dawned on her, suffocatingly, that many women must, at different tunes, have fancied themselves in love with the aloof and commanding Mark Kennard.
The next day was comparatively tranquil. Madeira was sighted, a green mound with shadowed valleys in the sunshine. Through binoculars Lisa saw the tiny white mass which was Funchal, and, much nearer, the long boats crammed with laughing, gesticulating Portuguese. There were a few flying fish, the vanguard of the swarms which inhabit tropic waters, but these Lisa found disappointing. They were so small, like a lot of aerial herrings, flashing silver in the sun but without the color she had somehow expected.
Someone sighted an albatross which was written off by skeptics as an oversize seagull, and someone else embarked on a lecture about the geographical importance of the islands, and about the men who had discovered them.
The deck sports got under way, but as Lisa found out from the notice board that she had been paired with Jeremy—who presumably was again closeted with Astra—she only played a practice game here and there, and spent much time teaching the finer points of table tennis to Nancy.
With the ship ploughing steadily ahead with scarcely any detectable movement, the swimming pool was crowded, and all the space about it, covered now by a white canvas awning, was packed with deck chairs. The swift change from grey biting weather in England to the semi-tropical heat off the shores of North Africa had reduced many to slumbering heaps.
It really was hot. The rail burned, and so did the deck beneath bare feet. Even the wind was heat-laden and lazy. The officers came out in dazzling whites; crisp shorts, short-sleeved shirts, stockings to the knee and white shoes, and a snowy cover to the peaked cap. The plainest of them looked young and dashing. The Captain, of course, wore full uniform in white drill—at least, he did in public.
Lisa lunched that day at Laura Basson’s table. The rich widow had taken to Nancy, but she knew too much about children to press attention upon a child who obviously did not want it. Not that Nancy was rude, Or even stand-offish. The girl listened when the older woman spoke to her and gently indicated that she understood, but she made no attempt to prolong the conversation by putting a question or offering comment, and invariably escaped as quickly as she decently could.
“Mrs. Basson’s all right,” was Nancy’s answer to Lisa’s private remonstrance, “but she looks broody. I’d rather be with happy people.”
“That’s all very well, but the unhappy ones are more in need of friendship. I believe Mrs. Basson was once a merry person, but things went wrong for her.”
“She has two of her own children,” protested Nancy.
“The trouble is, they can get along without her, and she feels unwanted, which is a nasty thing to feel.” Nancy could understand that. Her whole existence had altered with the knowledge that her Daddy wanted her with him. But she was not yet prepared to welcome Mrs. Basson into her very limited circle of friends.
“Well, I like her jewellery,” she conceded dismissively. To Lisa, Mrs. Basson was something of a puzzle. She never sewed or knitted, as other wo
men did, and the same book had remained open on her lap at more or less the same page since they had first spoken together.
Now that the voyage was well under way and the passengers were learning each other’s history, a certain amount of gossip filtered through the ship, but Mrs. Basson would have no part in it. She gave out the bare facts about herself and her purpose in visiting the Cape, and was uninterested in everybody save Lisa and Nancy. Which, in the light of her statement that she was dependent upon friendships, was strange.
After lunch they visited the shop. Lisa’s predicament in the matter of evening wear had begun to rasp a little, and she had decided that one extra change could be effected by wearing a bolero with the white and adding a detachable touch of the same color to the frock itself. At the back of the shop two rolls of stiff watered silk were pushed away on the top shelf of a glass case. One was cream and the other a deep ruby red. Lisa chose the latter.
“That floss-like hair of yours is a foil for any color,” said Mrs. Basson, as they came from the shop. “If I were a man I should long to bury my face in it.”
“I’m glad you’re not, then,” laughed Lisa. “I wouldn’t have the smallest potion of how to deal with a man who did that.”
“You would if it happened.” Her tone deepened. “You’re young, but you know what you’re after—or rather you know what you don’t want. At your age I was a ninny. I loved my husband, but he was wealthy and he never did believe that I hadn’t married him for his money. I used to protest and joke about it—we were always frank with each other—but under the jesting the belief was there like a steel core, that his money had been the attraction, not his personality.”
“What a pity,” said Lisa softly.
“No. In a way he was right. When we married I was guileless and showed a wild delight whenever he bought me a ring or a bracelet. I came to regard him as the provider and he unconsciously fostered my attitude by giving me more and more. I was fairly satisfied because the children were young and needed me, but when he died and they went off, uncaring, to boarding school, I found myself alone, with a great deal of money and memories which were tinged with bitterness because I’d failed him.”
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