Separate Cabins

by Janet Dailey

  When they stopped climbing stairs, the steward crossed the foyer and started down a long passageway. The level was identified as the Promenade Deck. Rachel stopped for a second to read the small sign indicating the range of cabin numbers located in the direction of its pointing arrow.

  Her gaze was still clinging to the sign when she hurriedly started forward to catch up with the steward before she lost track of him. She didn’t see the person approaching from the opposite direction until the very last second. Rachel tried to stop abruptly and avoid the collision, but she had been hurrying too fast to completely succeed.

  Her forward impetus almost carried her headlong into the man. She cringed slightly in anticipation of the impact, but a pair of hands caught her by the arms and reduced the collision to a mere bump. She’d been holding her breath and now released it in a rushed apology.

  “I’m sorry.” Her head came back to lift her gaze upward.

  A half-formed smile of vague embarrassment froze on her face as Rachel recognized the man from the limousine. Only now his face was mere inches from hers. The detail of his solid features was before her—the sun wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, the angled plane of his jaw and chin, and the smooth, well-defined strength of his mouth.

  Her pulse rate shot up as her glance flicked to his lazy brown eyes. A smiling knowledge seemed to perpetually lurk behind their dry brown surfaces. She felt it licking over her as his gaze absorbed her features from the tip of her nose to the curved bow of her lips and the midnight blackness of her hair, then finally to the silver brilliance of her widened gray eyes.

  This flash of mutual recognition and close assessment lasted mere seconds. On the heels of it came the recollection of Fan’s advice concerning this very man whose hands were steadying her. Rachel went hot at the memory, her glance falling before his as if she thought he might be able to read her thoughts. She began to feel very stiff and awkward.

  His hands loosened their hold on her arms and came away. Belatedly Rachel noticed that he was holding his tan jacket, which he swung over his white-shirted shoulder, casually hooking it on a forefinger. His shirt collar was open, exposing the tanned column of his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” she said stiffly, repeating her apology for bumping into him, trying to distract her thoughts from the tingling sensation on her arms where his hands had been. “I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

  There was a lazy glitter in his eyes as his mouth quirked. “That was my good fortune.”

  She didn’t want him to come back with a remark like that, not with echoes of Fan’s advice ringing in her ears. It only added to her discomfort in the whole situation. Unable to respond to the casual advice, Rachel chose to ignore it.

  “Excuse me.” Her young guide had long since disappeared down the passageway. She brushed hurriedly past the man and started down the corridor in the direction the steward had taken.

  It seemed crazy, but she could feel his gaze watching her go. She even knew the moment he turned and continued on his way. Only then did some of the stiffness leave her, the tension easing in her nerves. Slowing her steps slightly, Rachel drew in a deep, calming breath and felt her pulse settling down.

  At the aft end of the passageway there was another foyer with its own stairwell and elevators. It was almost an exact duplicate of the one at the forward end of the Promenade Deck. She halted, looking around for some sign to point her in the right direction. Just then the steward appeared, having retraced his steps to look for her.

  “Sorry, ma’am.” There was a look of chagrin on his young face. “I thought you were right behind me.”

  “It’s all right,” she assured him. It didn’t seem necessary to explain why she had been detained.

  “Your suite is this way.”

  This time he made sure she stayed at his side as he led the way past the elevator and down a galleria-type corridor to the next section of staterooms. He stopped at the first door on Rachel’s left, opened it, then stepped aside so she could enter.

  “If there’s anything you need, press the button on the telephone,” he said. “That will summon your room steward. There’s someone on duty twenty-four hours.”

  “Thank you,” Rachel nodded.

  “I hope you enjoy your cruise,” he said and left her to explore the suite on her own.

  Rachel closed the door and turned to survey the large sitting room. The drapes were open, letting in the afternoon light. The room was a blend of warm coral colors with brown upholstered chairs for accent. In addition there was a table and four chairs so she could eat in her room if she preferred. A wet bar stood against one wall, fully stocked with glasses.

  The bedroom was tucked in an alcove off the sitting room. The twin beds were built-in and covered with a coral patterned spread. Floor-to-ceiling curtains could be drawn to shut off the bedroom from the sitting area. Rachel inspected the available storage, opening drawers and doors.

  Her three pieces of luggage sat on the floor by the bed. For the time being she stowed them in a closet. There would be time enough to unpack later in the evening. At the moment she was only interested in getting it out of the way.

  There was a private bath as well, with a huge tub and shower combination, and a well-lighted mirror at the sink vanity. Her quarters were very definitely more than comfortable.

  When she returned to the sitting room Rachel spied a cabin key lying on the table and slipped it into her purse. There was a copy of the ship’s daily activity paper, the Princess Patter, beside it. Rachel glanced through its information section and the schedule of the day’s events. There was another small card on the table that gave her the number of her assigned table in the dining room. She noticed that she was in the “late-sitting” group.

  With Fan and John Kemper due to come aboard anytime, Rachel didn’t think she should linger any longer in her room. She double-checked to be sure she had the key before she left the cabin and retraced her route to the lobby at the gangway.

  All too soon, it seemed, the last call requesting all visitors ashore had sounded and Rachel was leaning on the railing on the port side of the Promenade Deck and waving to her friends on the pier below. Passengers were lined up and down the railing on either side of her. Some, like herself, had friends or relatives in the crowd on the wharf while others merely wanted to watch the procedures of the ship leaving port.

  A few colored paper streamers were prematurely unfurled and tossed to those ashore. The curling ribbons of paper drifted downward. Rachel had a half dozen of the coiled streamers in her hand, presented to her by Fan Kemper for the occasion.

  “They’re hauling in the lines,” someone down the line remarked.

  Within minutes the ship began to maneuver away from the pier. The water churned below as the midship engines pushed it away. There was a cheering of voices, and Rachel threw her streamers into the air to join the cascade of bright paper ribbons onto the crowd waving a last good-bye.

  As the ship sailed stately away from its port, Rachel lingered with the other passengers. The growing distance between the ship and the pier blurred the faces of the people ashore until Rachel could no longer distinguish her friends from the crowd. On either side of her people began to drift away from the railing. The sun was on the verge of setting, a gloaming settling over the sky.

  An evening breeze swept off the water and whipped at her hair before racing on. Rachel lifted her hand and pushed the disturbed strands back into place. A faint sigh slipped from her as she turned from the railing to go back inside.

  Her sliding gaze encountered a familiar figure standing at a distance. It was that man again, talking with one of the ship’s officers. Irritation thinned the line of her mouth as her glance lingered an instant on the burnished gold lights the sun trapped in his chestnut-dark hair. Of the six hundred plus passengers on the ship it seemed incredible that she should be constantly running into this one person.

  Before he had the opportunity to notice her, Rachel walked bri
skly to the double doors leading inside. Instead of going to her cabin, she descended the stairs to the Purser’s Lobby on Fiesta Deck. There were some inquiries she wanted to make about the ship’s services, including the procedure for making radio-telephone calls.

  Judging by the line at the purser’s desk, it seemed there were a lot of other passengers seeking information about one thing or another. There was another line on the mezzanine above her, passengers seeking table assignments or wishing to change the one they had been given. A small group of people were clustered around the board set up in the lobby with a list of all the passengers on board and their cabin numbers.

  The congestion was further increased by passengers taking pictures of each other posing on the winding staircase that curved to the mezzanine on the deck above. Rachel decided against joining the line at the purser’s counter and entered the dutyfree gift shop to browse until some of the crowd cleared.

  Half an hour later she realized there was little hope of that. There seemed to be just as many people now as before. Giving up until tomorrow, Rachel started for her stateroom by way of the aft staircase.

  The Promenade Deck was three flights up. By the time she reached it, she felt slightly winded. Another couple were on their way down as she took the last step and released a tired breath. The pair looked at her and smiled in sympathetic understanding.

  “I’m out of condition,” Rachel admitted; she wasn’t used to climbing stairs.

  “You can always use the elevators,” the man reminded her.

  “I could, but I need the exercise,” she replied.

  “Don’t we all.” His wife laughed.

  It was a friendly moment between strangers. When it was over and Rachel was walking down the passageway to her stateroom, there was a hint of a smile on her face. Being on the cruise gave everyone something they had in common and provided a meeting ground to exchange impressions and discoveries.

  In this quiet and contemplative mood Rachel entered her stateroom and shut the door. She deposited her purse on the seat cushion of a chair near the door and slipped out of the white jacket, absently draping it over the same chair.

  A footfall came from the bedroom. Rachel swung toward the sound, startled. Her mouth opened in shock when the man from the limousine came around the opened curtains. He was busy pushing up the knot of his tie and didn’t see her until he lifted his chin to square the knot with his collar. There was an instant’s pause that halted his action in mid-motion when he noticed her with a brief flare of recognition in his look.

  He recovered with hardly a break in his stride. His glance left her and ran sideways to the wet bar, where a miniature bucket of ice now sat. A faintly bemused smile touched his mouth as he turned to it.

  “I asked the room steward to bring me some ice.” His lazy voice rolled out the statement. “But I didn’t know I was going to be supplied with a companion as well.” His sidelong glance traveled her length in an admiring fashion. “I must say I applaud his choice.”

  Rachel was stunned by the way he acted as if he belonged there. It was this sudden swell of indignation that brought back her voice.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded, quivering with the beginnings of outrage. Her fingers curled into her palms, clenching into rigid fists at her sides.

  Nonchalantly he dropped ice cubes into a glass and poured a measure of scotch over them. “I was about to ask you the same question.” He added a splash of soda and swirled the glass to stir it.

  “I’ll have you know this is my cabin. And since I didn’t invite you in here, I suggest you leave,” Rachel ordered.

  “I think you have things turned around.” He faced her, a faint smile dimpling the corners of his mouth as he eyed her with a bemused light. “This is my cabin. I specifically requested it when I made my reservations.”

  “That’s impossible!” she snapped. “This is my cabin.” To prove it, Rachel turned and picked up her purse. She removed her cruise packet and opened it so he could see that she had been assigned to this stateroom.

  He crossed the room to stand in front of her and paused to look at the ticket she held. His brown eyes narrowed slightly and flicked to her, a tiny puzzled light gleaming behind their sharply curious study.

  “Is this some kind of a joke?” He motioned to the ticket with his drink. “Did Hank put you up to this?”

  “A joke?” Rachel frowned impatiently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The name on that ticket,” he replied and sipped at his drink, looking at her over the rim. There was a delving quality about his look that seemed to probe into sensitive areas.

  Rachel felt a prickling along her defenses. She glanced at the ticket, then back to him. “It’s my name—Mrs. Gardner MacKinley. I don’t see anything funny about that,” she retorted stiffly.

  “Since I seem to be suffering from a memory blank, maybe you wouldn’t mind telling me just when we were supposed to have been married,” he challenged with a mocking slant to his mouth.

  For a second she was too stunned to say anything. “I’m not married to you.” She finally breathed out the shocked denial.

  “At least we agree on that point.” He lifted his glass in a mock salute and took another swallow from it.

  “Whatever gave you the idea we were?” She stared at him, caught between anger and confusion.

  He leaned a hand against the wall near her head, the action bringing him closer to her. There was a tightening of her throat muscles as she became conscious of his physical presence. There was a heightened awareness of her senses that noted the hard smoothness of his cheek and jaw and the crisply fragrant scent of after-shave lotion. The vein in her neck began to throb in agitation.

  “The name and address on that ticket—” His glance slid to it again, then swung back to her face, closely watching each nuance in her expression. “If you leave off the Mrs. part, it’s mine.”

  It took a second for the implication of his words to sink in. “Yours?” Rachel repeated. “Do you mean your name is—” She couldn’t say it because it was too incredible to be believed.

  “Gardner MacKinley,” he confirmed with a slight nod of his head. “My friends call me Gard.”

  Rachel sagged against the wall, all the anger and outrage at finding him in her cabin suddenly rushing out of her. It seemed impossible and totally improbable, yet—her thoughts raced wildly, searching for a plausible explanation. Her glance fell on the ticket.

  “The address—it’s yours?” She lifted her gaze to his face, seeking confirmation of the claim he’d made earlier.

  “Yes.” He watched her, as if absorbed by the changing emotions flitting across her face.

  “That must be how it happened,” Rachel murmured absently.

  “How what happened?” Gard MacKinley queried, tipping his head to the side.

  “Last week my friend went to the offices of the cruise line to find out why I hadn’t received my ticket. They assured her it had been mailed, but I’d never gotten it. They reissued this one,” she explained as the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. “I noticed the address was wrong, but I just thought that was why I hadn’t received the first one. But it was sent to you,” she realized.

  “Evidently that’s the way it happened,” he agreed and finished the rest of his drink.

  “It sounds so incredible.” Rachel still found it hard to believe that something like this could happen.

  “Let’s just say it’s highly coincidental,” Gard suggested. “After all, telephone directories are full of people with the same names. Imagine what it would be like if your surname were Smith, Jones, or Johnson?”

  “I suppose that’s true,” she admitted because he made it seem more plausible.

  For a moment he studied the ice cubes melting in his glass, then glanced at her. “Where’s your husband?”

  Even after all this time the words didn’t come easily to her. “I’m a widow,” Rachel informed him, all her defenses goi
ng up again as she eyed him with a degree of wariness against the expected advance.

  But there was no change in his expression, no sudden darkening of sexual interest. There remained that hint of warmth shining through the brown surfaces of his eyes.

  “You must have a name other than Mrs. Gardner MacKinley, or is your first name Gardner?” There was a suggestion of a smile about his mouth.

  “No, it’s Rachel,” she told him, oddly disturbed by him even though there had been no overt change in his attitude toward her. When he straightened and walked away from her to the wet bar, she was surprised.

  “The foul-up must have happened when our two reservations were punched into the computer.” He swung the conversation away from the personal line it had taken and brought it back to its original course. “No one told it differently so it linked the two of us together.” His dark gaze ran back to her, alive with humor as his mouth slanted dryly. “What the computer has joined together, let no man put asunder.”

  His paraphrase of a portion of the marriage ceremony seemed to charge the air with a sudden, intimate tension. There was a knotting in the pit of her stomach, a tightness that came from some hidden source. The suggestion that this inadvertent union was in any way permanent sent her pulse to racing. It was a ludicrous thought, but that certainly didn’t explain this sudden stimulation of all her senses.

  Chapter Three

  Rachel straightened from the wall she had so recently leaned against and broke eye contact with him, but that didn’t stop the nervous churnings inside. Moving briskly, she returned the ticket packet to her purse, a certain stiltedness in her actions.

  “That’s very amusing, Mr. MacKinley.” But there was no humor in her voice. Just saying his name and knowing it was the same as her own seemed to add to this crazy turmoil.

  “Gard,” he insisted, irritating her further with his easy smile because it had a certain directness to it.

  She ignored his invitation to address him more familiarly. “We were both assigned to the same cabin by mistake, but it’s a mistake that can be remedied,” she informed him with a trace of curtness, her gray eyes flashing. “The simplest thing for you to do would be to simply move to another cabin.”