Romance Classics

by Peggy Gaddis

“Don’t lie and say you are, because there isn’t any motion,” he assured her firmly. “The sea’s like a mill-pond, and there’s only the vibration of the engines, so you can’t be seasick.”

  “And who said I was?”

  “Hi, put down that gun,” the young man ordered sternly. “I’m only trying to be sociable, like it says in the brochures — a small passenger list so everybody can be palsy-walsy. Personally, I find that a loathsome phrase, don’t you?”

  Claire was being lifted somewhat out of her dark pit of desolation by the man’s brashness and even managed a faint attempt at a laugh.

  “Well, let’s just say it’s scarcely my favorite phrase,” she agreed.

  The man nodded. “I knew you were the sensible sort.” He seemed to congratulate himself for his perspicacity.

  “That, my friend, as you should surely know, is the most deadly insult you can offer to any woman, whether she’s six or sixty!” she assured him firmly.

  He looked quite surprised.

  “It is, now?” he marveled. “Funny, so few women deserve it I’d consider it a sort of — well, accolade.”

  “Then you obviously don’t know much about women,” Claire assured him, and was startled at the sudden change that came over his face, making it dark and morose and seeming to add years to it.

  “That’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?” he admitted grimly. “I never realized just how little I knew about them until I came back from overseas — ”

  He checked himself with an almost physical effort and returned to his neglected dinner.

  Claire studied him for a moment and then probed gently, “So this isn’t your first trip abroad?”

  The man gave a sound that was halfway between a chuckle and a snort.

  “The first one for which I ever paid my own passage,” he admitted. “Our kindly old uncle in the striped pants and the high hat took care of all expenses on the other trip. This time, I thought I’d like to pick my own route and my own destination. And besides, I’m writing a book.”

  Claire said, gently mocking, “Isn’t everybody?”

  “You’ve got a point there,” he agreed. “But I decided it would be cheaper to ‘get away from it all’ aboard a slow boat to China than to hang around New York and freeze to death. Why are you making this trip?”

  Claire laughed. “Well, I’m not writing a book,” she assured him.

  “Congratulations! Then why?” he persisted. “And don’t tell me it’s none of my business for when you come aboard on one of these junkets, your business is everybody’s business. So — why are you taking the trip?”

  “Partly a vacation, partly to visit my parents in Honolulu,” she answered, and could not quite keep the curtness out of her voice.

  She studied him for a moment and then asked, “Would I dare ask about your book? Its subject, I mean? What it’s about?”

  The man made an airy gesture and leaned away so that the steward could remove his plate and put his dessert in front of him.

  “Oh, I haven’t decided yet,” he said carelessly. “But I’m sure it will be an earth-shaking idea when I catch it by the tail, as I’m sure I will while this voyage progresses.”

  “So, without the faintest idea what you’re going to write about, you are already developing yourself as a ‘character’ because you are so sure your book is going to make you famous?” Claire asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “And rich, of course?”

  “Of course.”

  Claire laughed so suddenly that for a moment the man looked puzzled and then he grinned, too.

  “Sounds pretty fantastic, doesn’t it?” he agreed with her laughter good-humoredly.

  “I have to admit it does,” Claire confessed.

  “Well, don’t be too surprised when you pick up a bright-jacketed book and read the author’s name — MacEwen Russell.”

  “Oh, is that your name?”

  “Well, of course. Handsome Harry introduced us.”

  His slight nod toward Curt told her who he meant, and Claire caught Curt’s eye and saw that he was studying her with a curious intentness. She turned back to the man beside her, her chin slightly in the air.

  “And you’re Claire Frazier,” said MacEwen. “See? I remembered your name. But then that was easy; you are the only good-looking gal aboard — ”

  “There’s Mrs. Barclay and her daughter.”

  MacEwen studied Vera and Nora and shuddered.

  “Like I said,” he insisted, “you are the only good-looking gal aboard —

  “And you’d be a very smart gal if you kept your pretty little paws off Handsome Harry,” MacEwen went on grimly, “on account of the Barclay dame has branded him as her very own. And it couldn’t have happened to two more deserving people. They deserve each other, don’t you think?”

  “I’m afraid I wouldn’t know,” Claire said diplomatically. “You see, I don’t really know either of them. She is beautiful, though.”

  The other men rose politely as she stood up, all except the captain, who seemed lost in not too pleasant thought. And Claire was glad to escape to her cabin and solitude.

  Chapter Six

  The night was gusty and windy, though clear, and overhead the stars swam in a bowl of blue so dark that it was like velvet. Claire leaned on the rail, her coat drawn about her shoulders, and was lost in her thoughts when a voice spoke from the gloom behind her and she turned, startled, to see in the faint light from the cabin behind her Curt Wayne.

  “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” His tone was as routine as the words. “It will be much better a few nights from now, as we get closer to the tropics.”

  “No doubt.” Her voice was curt as she turned back to the rail.

  “Are you enjoying your trip, Miss Frazier?” he asked politely.

  “Oh, yes, thank you.”

  There was a brief silence, and then he said quietly, “I hope you won’t let Russell bother you, Miss Frazier. I saw him talking to you at dinner. He’s a — well, a rather peculiar person. Seems to have a ‘down’ on the whole world — ”

  “I didn’t find him like that at all, Mr. Wayne,” Claire said coolly. “As a matter of fact, I found him quite interesting. He’s writing a book, you know. I suppose all writers are a bit peculiar or they’d be living instead of writing about it, don’t you think?”

  “Matter of fact, I’m afraid I’d never given the subject much thought,” Curt answered. “We frequently carry writers on our passenger lists. Usually they’re rather run-of-the-mill human beings. Russell seems to fancy himself as a ‘character.’ That’s usually the mark of a would-be writer who just talks about writing and never does any.”

  “I thought you’d never given the matter much thought,” she mocked him with a touch of acid.

  There was a tiny silence, and then Curt said politely, “I only meant, Miss Frazier, that I hoped he wouldn’t annoy you. It’s part of my responsibility toward the passengers to see that they have a pleasant time.”

  “Oh, I’m sure they do, Mr. Wayne.”

  “It is, at least, something we all hope for.”

  “Even the captain, who hates passengers and considers them merely a necessary evil and very much wishes they weren’t necessary?”

  “Oh, you do the captain an injustice, Miss Frazier,” Curt protested lightly. “It’s just that he — well, he isn’t very sociable by nature. After forty years on a freighter, and with passengers only introduced to the line a few years ago, I suppose he feels that his responsibility is to navigate the ship, see to it the cargo reaches its destination without loss — ”

  “So he keeps you to attend to the social activities?” There was a sneer in her voice that obviously puzzled Curt.

  He stood with his back to what faint light there was so she could only guess at his expression, and when he spoke she could detect the chill in his voice.

  “I’m not sure just how to take that, Miss Frazier. You sound as though you considered me as a sort of gigolo.”<
br />
  “Oh, not at all, Mr. Wayne,” she mocked, but made no effort to put conviction into her voice. “But it really isn’t a bit important to me. I’m here on a vacation, a leisurely trip to Honolulu, and perfectly capable of entertaining myself. So please have no feeling of responsibility toward me.”

  Before he could answer that, Vera Barclay stepped out on the deck, saying gaily, “Oh, Curt dear, I’m so sorry I kept you waiting, but that poor, silly child of mine — ” She broke off as she became aware of Claire and said hastily, “Oh, it must be Claire. I saw the other women in the salon playing bridge. Don’t you play, Claire?”

  “Not very well, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad. I’m afraid you’ll be bored.”

  “There’s no danger of that. This is my first freighter cruise, and I expect to enjoy every moment of it.” Claire spoke as much to Curt as to Vera.

  “Oh, well, it’s my first, too, and I don’t want to waste time with cards.” Vera laughed vivaciously. “Shall we go, Curt dear?”

  Curt said politely, without warmth, “Will you join us, Miss Frazier, for the traditional three times around the deck?”

  “Oh, yes, do,” said Vera as politely and with as little warmth.

  “Thanks, no. Not tonight.”

  “Well, then — ” Vera did not take the trouble even to mask her relief as she slid her hand through Curt’s arm and drew him away.

  “Good night, Miss Frazier,” said Curt over his shoulder, and Claire said, “Good night. Have fun.”

  She stood watching them as they moved away. When they passed beneath a light farther down the deck, she could see Vera clinging to his arm, her face lifted, the light bright on her ruddy-gold hair beneath the soft web of a chiffon scarf tied coquettishly beneath her chin. Curt’s handsome head was bent toward her as he listened, and their laughter flowed back to her.

  She turned and went back into the companionway. En route to her own cabin, she stopped in the salon where she had seen several shelves of books and scanned their titles to find something that would ease the hours until she could hope for sleep.

  She glanced at the card players as she passed and noticed that Major Lesley was absorbed in a poker game with a slowly accumulating stack of chips in front of him to denote his winning streak, while the stack in front of MacEwen was dwindling as he scowled at his cards.

  She found a book she had meant to read and went out of the salon and down the corridor toward her own cabin. As she passed the door of the adjoining cabin, she heard strangled sobs that stopped her for a moment. Behind that door, someone was weeping with the abandon of a heartbroken child, and without a moment’s hesitation, she knocked lightly at the door.

  The sobbing ceased on a caught breath, and momentarily there was silence in the cabin.

  “What do you want?” demanded a harsh, tear-sodden voice.

  “Is there anything wrong? Can I be of help?” For the moment Claire had forgotten she was not back in the hospital, where any sound of distress called her to instant and helpful attention.

  The door was yanked violently open and Nora stood there, her plump face raddled with tears, her eyes blazing.

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?” she blazed furiously.

  “I’m sorry, but I heard you crying — ” Claire began.

  “So what?” snapped Nora belligerently, her voice wobbling slightly. “Is it against the law to cry if I want to and feel like it?”

  “Of course not,” Claire said gently. “For two cents, I’d join you and we’d both have a bang-up time weeping on each other’s shoulders.”

  “What have you got to cry about?” Nora tried to sneer, but the tears were slipping down her plump face and her mouth was tremulous.

  “You’d be surprised, Nora,” said Claire gently. “Maybe something like what you’re crying about — ”

  Nora took a backward step, and uncontrollably her free hand slid up to touch an ugly mark on her cheek, and something akin to panic showed behind the tears in her eyes.

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about — ” she said, and banged the door shut in Claire’s startled face.

  Claire stood there for a moment, and then she shrugged and went on to her own door.

  “Let that be a lesson to you, my girl,” she reminded herself dryly as she made ready for bed. “You’re not in the hospital now, and any storm, strife and tears among the passengers is no affair of yours. So keep your nose out of other people’s affairs.”

  The morning dawned gloriously gold and blue, and Claire found her fellow guests already assembled at breakfast when she came in from a brief turn around the deck. All save Vera who hurried in a few minutes later, looking young and slender and lovely in powder-blue slacks, a cardigan a shade deeper in blue swung about her shoulders over a thin cashmere shirt.

  “Did anybody ever see such a glorious morning?” she caroled gaily as she slid into her seat on Curt’s left and gave him a smile as beaming as the morning. “And just imagine! I can’t get that lazy child of mine up to enjoy it. She’s such a sleepy-head. I can tell you it was a proud day for me when she graduated from high school and I was spared the terrible burden of dragging her out of bed and seeing she got off to school on time.”

  She looked about the table, inviting them all to share her mirth at the memory. But Mrs. Hennessy and Mrs. Burke exchanged meaningful glances that indicated they would have been able to cope with such a problem, and without any nonsense either.

  Major Lesley, seated beside Claire, was across the table from Vera, and covertly Vera studied him, even as she chattered gaily and intimately with Curt, until at last she leaned forward and addressed herself directly to Major Lesley.

  “I suppose it’s silly of me, Major,” her smile was almost as warm and winning as the ones she showered so freely on Curt, “but I have the craziest feeling that I’ve met you somewhere before. Have I?”

  Claire looked curiously at Major Lesley, remembering his own words about seeing Vera before. But the Major merely smiled and gave Vera his slight, old-fashioned bow.

  “Oh, I’m sure we’ve never met before, Mrs. Barclay,” he said politely. “I’m certain I would have remembered so charming a lady.”

  “Well, aren’t you sweet?” purred Vera. And Claire could not be sure, but she felt that Vera was somehow relieved as she turned back to Curt and went on with her low-voiced, intimate murmuring.

  Later, as Claire paced the deck, pausing now and then at the rail to breathe deeply of the fragrant, salt-tangy morning, to revel in the blue of the cloudless, sun-drenched sky, the water that was even bluer, broken only by the thin white wash that sped back from the ship’s prow, Major Lesley spoke at her elbow.

  “Oh, hello, Major.” She was touched by his eager face that was like that of a child not too sure of its welcome. “This is a morning new-made and offered to us on a golden platter, and isn’t it glorious?”

  Major Lesley lifted his head, crowned by the incongruously sporty cap, and sniffed with childlike delight.

  “And they’re probably having a blizzard back in Chicago,” he said happily.

  “I imagine it’s pretty cold back home,” Claire agreed and could not keep back the question, “Why did you tell Vera you were sure you’d never seen her before?”

  Major Lesley gave her a swift glance and looked away.

  “Oh, I don’t think I quite said that, Miss Frazier,” he protested. “I said I was quite sure I’d never met her before. And I haven’t.”

  Claire smiled at him. “That sounds a bit cagey, Major.”

  Major Lesley answered courteously but firmly, “I’m afraid it does, Miss Frazier, but it will have to be left like that, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course I don’t mind,” Claire answered, feeling as if she had been smacked, very gently and very politely, but smacked just the same. “It’s none of my business, of course. I didn’t mean to be nosy.”

  “I’m sure you didn’t, Miss Frazier. And if I were su
re — ” He broke off and looked oddly uncomfortable and Claire changed the subject.

  “You seemed to be having fun last night. Did you win everybody’s money?” Her tone was light but quite friendly.

  Major Lesley chortled happily.

  “Nearly enough, I’m afraid, for the others to suspect me of being a card shark,” he boasted. “It was just beginner’s luck, a winning streak. They’ll get it all back tonight, I’m sure.”

  “Then you shouldn’t play tonight.” Claire laughed as she tucked her hand through his arm and walked with him along the deck.

  “Oh, I must.” He seemed shocked by the thought that he could avoid it. “I have to give them the chance to get their money back.”

  “And if your winning streak fails you tonight?”

  “Oh, I can only lose twenty dollars, at the worst,” he told her happily. “That’s my allowance. Once I lose twenty dollars, the game is over for me.”

  “You’re a smart man, Major!” Claire applauded him.

  “There are men who should never gamble,” Major Lesley said, so unexpectedly grim that Claire glanced at him curiously. “Men like that young MacEwen Russell, for instance. He’s got no business playing poker! He’s a very bad poker player. He loses his temper and plays recklessly, and that’s no good. You have to play as though you didn’t care whether you lost or won, as if you were playing purely for sport. He doesn’t; he played for blood! That’s why I have to play again tonight and give him a chance to win back what he lost.”

  “But how can you be sure he won’t just lose again?”

  “I can’t be.” Major Lesley was deeply distressed. “That’s just the trouble. I have to get his money back to him, and I don’t know any other way he’d accept it. Can you think of any?”

  “I’m afraid I can’t, Major, unless you just go to him frankly and offer to return it — ”

  “I did that last night,” said Major Lesley. “You see, he and I are cabin mates; I felt very badly about winning such a large sum from him, and I told him so frankly and offered to return it. He was much offended and quite abusive.”

  “Then I wouldn’t worry about it,” Claire counseled.