Sweetly Contemporary Collection - Part 2 (Sweetly Contemporary Boxed Sets)

by Jennifer Blake

  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 marbleized 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 time 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.”

  He was making a major concession, both in his acceptance of her criticism, and his attempt at explaining his position. Maura felt the tension of her irritation ease. She glanced at him from under her lashes. “I suppose you have a point.”

  He smiled, warmth lighting the darkness of his eyes. “You don’t give up easily, do you? My grandmother will be happy to know that someone has taken her job of bringing possible reasons for complaint to my notice.”

  “That wasn’t why I brought it up,” Maura said, though she could not prevent her own lips from curving in a response to his lighter mood.

  “I know. You were annoyed with me for sending Stephen about his business.”

  “Not exactly, though it bothers me that you consider it necessary.”

  “It may be,” he said, a reflective note in his voice, “that I find it not necessary, but preferable.”

  There it was again, that hint of jealousy, of personal interest. To allow herself to acknowledge it, however, would be the greatest folly.

  “Speaking of your grandmother,” she said carefully, “I haven’t asked how she is, or what the doctor said.”

  He leaned back, his regard stern, before he answered. “She is resting comfortably, having dinner in her room. She wanted to get up, but the doctor thought it best that she have an early night. As for the diagnosis, there was nothing new. She overdid it today, with the result, entirely predictable, that you saw.”

  “She is so gallant, so strong-willed, it’s hard to believe she is really that ill.”

  “It isn’t apparent because she herself refuses to believe, or to act the invalid.”

  “You have to admire such an attitude,” Maura suggested.

  “I try my best,” he said with a wry grimace, “when I’m not busy preventing her from overextending her strength.”

  “It’s a pity she had to miss the Grand Buffet.”

  “She will not mind since the concept was hers. It was inaugurated many years ago on this run, a substitute for the barbecues on the seashore or seafood cookouts that invariably end with stomach illness among the passengers. But I have strict orders to bring you to see her when we are finished here.”

  Maura looked up from her plate. “Are you certain she is well enough for visitors?”

  “She says so, and the doctor is in agre
ement as long as she doesn’t become excited. However, if you have other plans, there is no reason to disturb them.”

  Stiffness entered his voice as he spoke the last words. Maura suppressed a smile. “No, that isn’t it at all. I will be glad to see her.”

  The words she had spoken were true, but there was more to it than that. She was gratified at the invitation, at being included. The depth of her pleasure was surprising, and also troubling.

  “You aren’t eating,” Nikolaos pointed out.

  “I — I’m not very hungry tonight.”

  He put down his fork and reached to touch her cheek with the back of his fingers, drawing them down its gentle curve with the feel of a caress.

  Maura flinched, then as he drew back at once, managed a light laugh. “I’m not feverish, if that’s what you think.”

  “I thought,” he said with soft irony as he surveyed the soft color in her face, “that you might be coming down with heatstroke.”

  “Nothing so dramatic,” she said, taking his words at face value, though the glint in her emerald eyes let him know she recognized his reference to her concern for coolness.

  “It must be that you didn’t find what you liked then,” he said smoothly, and summoning Stephen, sent him to refill Maura’s plate from the bounty. Between the two of them, she was urged to try Greek-style stuffed eggplant, tiny spicy meatballs called keftethakia, an assortment of salads with olive oil dressing, a small slice of every kind of meat available, and for dessert, baklava, the extremely sweet Greek pastry drenched in honey and butter. As the tense atmosphere at the table was banished, Maura’s appetite returned, but at last she had to call a halt.