'Well,' he said, his thin mouth lifting, 'do I meet with your approval?'
'I'm sorry. I didn't know I was staring.'
'It's a habit of the young,' he said. 'And now if you'll excuse me I'm going to find a little bit of that space you were talking about a moment ago. Good night, Miss Beaton.'
Bowing slowly, he turned on his heel, and Jane watched him go, her face mirroring her chagrin.
'Beaton!' she exclaimed. 'He knows perfectly well it's Belton. What an arrogant man.' She tilted her head defiantly. 'I'd love the chance of bringing him to heel!'
CHAPTER THREE
In her first waking moments Jane could not remember where she was and stared, puzzled, at the swaying curtains that covered the round windows of her bedroom.
Round windows? All at once she remembered where she was and sat up in bed, aware of the swelling movement of the ship. Gingerly she pushed aside the bedclothes and stepped on to the floor.
Standing up, the movement was more noticeable, and she padded over to the porthole and looked in dismay at the turbulent grey sea. So much for the sunshine cruise!
It needed care to wash and dress, for the water in the bath had a habit of slopping on the floor when the ship tilted, and looking at her swaying reflection in the mirror she knew herself lucky to be feeling no ill effects.
'I wonder how many other passengers have got their sea- legs,' she thought, and found the answer as she entered the deserted dining-room for breakfast.
A young waiter, busy polishing cutlery, came over to her,
'Would you be wanting breakfast, miss?'
'Yes, please. Or am I too late?'
'You're about an hour too early, I'd say. Most of the passengers don't breakfast until nine, and then they take it in their cabins.'
A quick glance at her watch showed Jane it was barely eight o'clock, and she was annoyed with herself for not realizing that the sort of girl she was supposed to be would never have risen at such an early hour and, once risen, would certainly not traipse down to the dining-room. But it was too late to do anything about it now, and she looked round for a table that was already laid.
'If you wouldn't mind sitting at the other side of the room,' the waiter said deferentially. 'We only prepare a few tables for breakfast. Though from the look of the weather I shouldn't think we'll have to provide many more for lunch either!'
He led the way across the floor to a small alcove at the end where a round table was set with yellow breakfast crockery. She saw she was not the only one who had come down to breakfast, for it was already occupied by a black-haired, saturnine man who was sipping his coffee and reading a newspaper. Stephen Drake!
Hesitantly she stood by the chair and he looked up and saw her. An expression of chagrin matching her own crossed his face as he stood up, and she debated whether to ask the waiter to lay a place for her at another table.
Before she could do so Stephen Drake spoke.
'Would you mind very much sitting down? My breakfast is getting cold.'
Reddening, she did so, and he resumed his seat and continued eating. Jane ordered coffee and toast, and while she waited for it wished she had had the foresight to bring a book with her; even a menu would have been a help, for she could have studied it instead of having to stare vacantly into space.
To her relief the waiter arrived with her order and she busied herself pouring coffee. Her companion had still not lifted his head from his paper and her anger rose at his bad manners.
'Darn the man,' she thought furiously, 'why should I allow him to get under my skin?' Determined to show him she did not care if he sat as silent as a Buddha, she signalled the waiter and asked him to bring her a morning paper.
'I'm afraid we won't be getting any until we call at the next port. There's a ship's paper, of course, but I'm not sure what time it'll be available. I'll go and inquire for you.'
As the waiter walked away, Stephen Drake put down his copy of The Times and looked at her.
'This is yesterday's, I'm afraid. I'd have offered to share it with you, but I didn't think you'd find it interesting reading. There aren't many pictures in it.'
'I don't mind a few words too,' she said sweetly, 'provided they aren't too difficult.'
For an instant he looked taken aback, then a glint of humour became visible in the dark eyes.
'Lord,' he said, 'I must have sounded insufferably patronizing. It's just that I'm so used to women preferring the tabloids. And if you'll forgive my saying so, you're much too pretty to bother your head with this sort of stuff.' He tapped the paper in front of him. 'But you're very welcome to take it - as long as you don't mind yesterday's news.'
'I don't mind at all,' she said. 'The Times of yesterday is better than the Morning Star of today.'
It was as though a shutter came down over his face, and Jane regretted her impulsiveness.
'I'm sorry,' she said. "Now I'm the one who's rude. It's just that I - I know who you are and I was trying to be funny.'
His thick eyebrows lifted. The only thing funny about your remark is that you should know who I am. Most people I don't.'
'I read about you in the Morning Star a few years ago. It was when you bought the paper.'
She did not add that at that time she had also made up her mind to work on it, and wondered what he would say were he to discover she was an employee of his. She bit her lip to hide a smile. If only Maggie could see her now, sharing a breakfast table and the marmalade pot with Fleet Street's biggest tycoon!
'It must be wonderful being in such a position of power,' she said artlessly. 'I suppose you've got plans to become bigger and bigger?'
'I haven't any plans at all at the moment. I'm too tired.'
'Tired! You strike me as much too dynamic ever to be tired.'
'Even a dynamo can run down,' he sighed. 'At least, that's what the doctor chaps have been telling me for the past few months.'
He rubbed the side of his face, a gesture she had seen him do once before, only this time she realized it was not a mannerism but a sign of exhaustion. It could explain the lines on his face and the shadows round his eyes.
'People don't understand that having to exercise power can drain you of all your vitality,' he went on. 'They assume that once you've reached the top the rest is easy.'
'I'd say that staying at the top is even tougher than getting there,' she answered. 'When you've nothing to lose, it isn't as much strain as when you've everything to lose just by making one false move.'
'And yet it's the knowledge that you can lose everything by one mistake that makes power so exciting.' He leaned forward, his body tense. 'Being the biggest man in your field without any competition to worry you is like a living death. The only thing that makes life worth anything at all is the danger in it, the knowledge that it's you against everyone else. Ordinary routine business is like a—' he hesitated - 'like a casserole cooked without seasoning!'
'And you regard danger as the bouquet garni?'
He laughed. 'For a sheltered heiress you display great understanding.'
It was too late to revert to ingenuousness, and she had to see the conversation through.
'Just because my father's Cedric Belton it doesn't make me an idiot!'
'My dear child, I wasn't for the moment suggesting you were. I was merely remarking that it's unusual for a girl in your position to be so intelligent.'
'I suppose you think only career women are intelligent?'
'Unfortunately yes. It's rare to find an intelligent woman who's content to stay in the background.' There was a bleakness in his voice she could not help noticing. 'Female emancipation has been a terrible thing for men. If a woman today has any capabilities she regards keeping house and bearing children and taking care of her husband as a bore and a nuisance. She has to go into the man's world and compete against him. She has to prove she can be as good as he is, and yet uses every feminine wile to do so!'
Intuition told Jane he was speaking from experience, and she wished
she knew more about his past life. Was he divorced? Had he been in love with a woman who had given him up in place of a career? She longed to ask him, yet knew that even in the guise of the artless Janey Belton she could not do so.
The waiter came into the alcove carrying a couple of sheets of newsprint in his hand. 'Hot off the press,' he grinned, and handed them each a copy of the Cambrian News.
Jane glanced at it. It was mostly social chit-chat about the passengers, and she recognized Dinky Howard's verbose style in the prose. There was little mention of the news in England, but as she turned the sheet over her eye was caught by a black headline half-way down the page. 'ONE-TIME JOCKEY DIES IN LONDON HOSPITAL.' Her body stiffening, Jane read on. 'Edward Hawton, who in his youth was a well-known steeplechase jockey, died in the early hours of the morning of injuries received in a road accident two days ago. The driver of the car did not stop, and Mr. Hawton, who only recovered consciousness for a couple of moments, was unable to give the police any clue.'
Jane put down the paper. This must be the man her father had told her about, the one he had hoped would be able to give them more evidence as to the whereabouts of the Lorenz Diamond. She wondered whether, in the few moments of consciousness, Hawton had been able to say anything further.
'Bad news?' With a start she looked up to see Stephen Drake watching her intently.
'I was just - I was just reading about someone who was killed in a hit-and-run accident.'
'Hawton, you mean? Yes, I was looking at that a moment ago. Poor devil. He was a wonderful rider in his time. I used to watch him.'
'Did you know him?'
'Vaguely. You couldn't be a racegoer and not know him.' He crumpled his napkin and stood up. 'I expect I'll be seeing you again, Miss Belton. If you haven't succumbed to malaise by now, you've obviously got your seagoing legs.'
She watched him disappear through the alcove and then poured herself another cup of coffee, thoughtfully staring into space as she remembered their conversation.
When Jane returned to her cabin she found a note from Colin pushed through the door. He wrote that he was in bed with no hope of getting up until the weather was calmer, but looked forward to seeing her as soon as the sun shone again.
It was a friendly note and it wanned her to feel there was at least one other person on the ship who was human. She thought again of her breakfast companion. He was a man of intensity and dynamism, of that there was no doubt, but whether or not he was human was another question.
Luckily Janey had equipped her wardrobe for all weathers, and Jane put on a thick ribbed lemon wool coat, tied a pale green headscarf round her hair and went up to the top deck. The moment she stepped out of the shelter of the companionway the wind tore at her with fierce fingers and she was buffeted along the deck, arriving breathless at the prow. She was able to obtain shelter by standing beside a mound of chairs covered with waterproof and lashed safely together with stout rope, and from this vantage point gazed out at the foaming sea and grey sky. Loath to return to the stuffy interior of the ship, for even air-conditioning was stuffy compared with the salty tang of sea air, she decided to remain on deck, and pulled at the ropes in order to release one of the chairs. They were damp with moisture and her fingers slipped, her knuckles grazing against the wood. She gave an exclamation of pain and pressed them against her mouth.
'Let me do it for you.'
She looked up, surprised to see Stephen Drake. Heavens! The man would think she was chasing him if they kept meeting so often.
'I - I didn't know you were here.'
'I've been standing on the other side of the deck-chairs.' He smiled briefly. 'If you want to watch the sea this is the only sheltered part to do it from.'
'I didn't realize that. I don't want to be in your way, but I - I would like to sit down.'
'My dear girl, there's no reason why you shouldn't. The yacht isn't mine, you know.'
'Last night you said you wanted to be alone.'
'Last night I also apologized for being rude.'
He turned his attention to the chairs and deftly undid the ropes. He placed two against the shelter of the wall and then disappeared through a door on the left which she had not noticed, re-emerging with two brightly coloured blankets.
Ignoring her protests, he pushed her into the chair and wrapped the blanket firmly around her legs, pushing it up until it nestled beneath her chin. He did the same for himself and they were soon sitting cocooned in wool, side by side.
He made no conversation and seemed content to gaze out to sea, occasionally closing his eyes and drifting off into sleep. During these moments Jane watched him with unabashed curiosity, aware of how different his face looked in repose. There was no doubt that the excitement he had talked about earlier that morning had taken its toll of him, for though she had a vague remembrance that he was about thirty-five, he looked considerably older. Yet he still remained the most attractive-looking man she had ever met.
The morning passed quickly and at noon the deck steward approached them with hot consomme. Though she had assumed the man by her side to be asleep, he sat up straight the moment the steward approached.
'I didn't mean to wake you, sir.'
'You didn't, but I'm a light sleeper.' Stephen Drake took the consomme and sipped it appreciatively. 'I hope I haven't been snoring, Miss Belton?'
'Even if you had I wouldn't tell you.'
'A very well brought up little girl.'
'I'm not a little girl. I'm—' Jane was almost going to say twenty-three, but remembered in time that she was only supposed to be nineteen.
'Well?' he teased. 'How old are you?'
'Nineteen.'
'You look about fifteen with that scarf on and that fluffy wool thing you're wearing.'
'This fluffy wool thing is a Givenchy!'
'That just shows how lucky you are.'
Remembering Janey's domination by her father, Jane could not help replying:
'It isn't always lucky to inherit money. You said power brings problems. Well, so does wealth.'
'You surprise me. I should have thought the only problem you have is deciding which suitor to accept.'
'And also deciding which suitor loves me and not Belton's Bakeries.'
'Ah, yes, I was forgetting.' His face was sympathetic. 'That must be quite a problem to you. Still, I'm sure there are plenty of wealthy young men you can choose from.'
'What about you?' Jane said with daring. 'I'm sure there are lots of wealthy young girls you can choose too. Or are you already married?'
'No, I'm not. And I've no intention of ever getting married either. I was - I was engaged some time ago, and when it ended I decided to stick to business.'
Jane looked at him with innocent eyes. Was she a pretty dumb blonde like me, or was she an intelligent career woman?'
'You've got a very inquiring mind, haven't you?'
'I'm sorry,' she said quickly. 'I'm curious about people and - and it's an awful habit of mine to ask point-blank questions.' 'You'd make a good reporter,' he said dryly. 'If ever you decide to take a job, come and see me.'
She giggled. 'Would you give me one?'
'As a matter of fact, no. You're not tough enough for Fleet Street.'
Jane's temper rose but she managed not to answer him back.
'I don't think you'd have called Georgina pretty,' he said unexpectedly.
Jane realized he was answering her question and she waited for him to continue, hoping that what he said would give her some clue as to his emotional life.
'Striking was a better word for her. She was taller than you, with jet black hair and brown eyes.'
A picture of Claire Saunders flashed into Jane's mind. 'Was she English?'
'No, American. She was working for a magazine in London and I met her when I took over the group.'
'So she was working for you.'
'Yes.'
'What went wrong?'
He was so long replying that she was afraid this time she had gon
e too far, and in order to show him that she was not expecting an answer she closed her eyes, surprised when she heard his voice again.
'Georgina only saw me in terms of my possessions and the power I wielded. As my wife she felt she would share them too. I didn't happen to agree with her and so - and so she went back to the States. She married a few months ago. Someone with a chain of small-town newspapers. I'm sure Georgina will turn it into a national concern before long.'
Jane opened her eyes. 'I'm sorry. No wonder you're so bitter against career women.'
'Did I tell you that?' He looked surprised. 'Lord, I seem to have talked a hell of a lot to you today. That's what comes of being on board ship. It makes everything else seem unreal.'
'That's why doctors recommend it. It's the quickest way of escaping from your problems.'
'I hope you're right. I can do with escaping from mine. Sometimes I think I never want to go back at all, that I'd like to live the life of a lotus eater on a Fijian island.'
He glanced at his watch and stood up. 'I'm going to have a work-out in the gymnasium before lunch. Maybe we'll meet again at dinner.'
Jane nodded and watched him stride away. In a few words he had given her a key to his character. Strange how simple were the reasons for one's complexities and yet how great were the repercussions they had on one's life. She was convinced that a broken love had given Stephen Drake the impetus to get to the top in the same way that it would also prevent him from allowing himself to fall in love again. Yet love did not know the meaning of the word allow; it was an emotion which, like the sea, could seep into the most tightly closed confines.
Determined not to give Stephen Drake a chance to think she was eager for his companionship, she deliberately did not go up to the top deck during the afternoon, but remained in the ship's lounge listening to a recorded musical concert. The weather had not improved and the ship creaked and groaned as it was tossed like a cork on the sea.
How awful if the weather remained like this the whole time! If the other passengers were closeted in their cabins it would put paid to her sending any stories to the Morning Star. Remembering the Morning Star made her realize she had not yet made any plans for sending her copy, and her earlier intention of trying to bribe the wireless operator did not seem such a good one now that she was actually on board. From what she had seen of the crew they were a hand-picked selection, and Dinky Howard was no doubt paying them sufficient to commandeer their loyalty. Anyway, her father had sworn her to secrecy about her identity, and if she were to cable news to the Morning Star it would mean breaking her promise. But this was something she dared not do, for memory of Hawton's death made her realize the significance of her father's warning. Which one of the passengers could be the man she wanted? Or perhaps it might even be a woman? From the little she had seen of everyone, no one seemed a likely candidate. 'If only I had another clue to go on,' she said to herself. 'Short of inspecting every bag and looking through every pocket for a gold coin, I don't see what I can do.'
Rachel Lindsay - Moonlight and Magic Page 4